“Thank the Heavens the spell was in place before,” whispered
the queen.
“Why did they imprison you like this?”
“When she died, they suspected that it had been done on
purpose by either her or us, so they locked us away.”
Compassion helped to dissipate his upset with their actions.
They’d done much more to protect their daughter than parents in her era
normally would have. Even more than parents in his era would have done. With a
love bite like that, any girl would have been forced to wed the assailant. It
was horribly wrong and unjust, but it was true. Christian had to admire them
for what they’d accomplished, even while locked up for as long as they had
been.
But worries for her well-being continued to assail him. “She
could already—”
“He will not murder her until after the wedding.”
“How can you be certain?”
“For him to gain her possessions he must first wed her, then
kill us so that she inherits our land. It would not benefit him to do it
before.”
Christian straightened his spine. “Then train me. Prepare
me. We must do it with great haste.” He didn’t say it, but inside, he longed to
spill the blood of that selfish fey prince.
“First you must learn from Tabitha. She can teach you
incantations to use against him. It is the reason we had you bring her here.”
“Can’t you teach me fey magic?”
Wouldn’t that work better
against a fey prince?
“He will not be expecting it, and the magic will work just
as well against him as ours would. Perhaps better, in fact.”
Perhaps?
“I’m more than happy to come with him, to aid—” offered
Tabitha.
“You cannot go. If you near Dominic’s castle he will sense
your magic.”
“Will he sense me?” Christian asked.
“No. Magic is in her blood, it is not in yours.”
He supposed they were saying he would have stealth as a
human and wasn’t sure if he should be offended by that or not.
King James made a list of spells he thought would be most
helpful. Tabitha scribed them down and then began coaching Christian in how to
remember them. It was difficult learning Welsh and Gaelic on short notice.
They spent an immeasurable amount of time—at least to him it
felt that way—rehearsing spells for deflecting magic, spells for disarming the
prince of weapons, spells for opening locked doors, spells of confusion in case
he is seen, even spells for masking his very presence or the essence of his
being.
His head began to ache and he hoped they were nearly done,
because he could not stop the worries for Contessa’s well-being from tormenting
his thoughts.
The king stood and gathered something wrapped in cloth from
the mantle. Christian tried not to gulp when a gleaming sword was revealed. It
wasn’t that he was intimidated by the blade, but rather, concern about wielding
it. The king lifted it and held the hilt end toward him. He took it and attempted
to hide his internal panic. It was far heavier than the foils he was accustomed
to. Would he be able to handle it with the proper amount of skill? He was not a
small man, but he was also not a muscle-roped, medieval warrior, which is who
this weapon had been crafted for.
“My sword, a fey sword, is the only blade that will defend
you against his. You must take this with you.”
Christian thought about the hunting rifles he had at home.
Of course he knew fencing, but he was a much better shot than he was a
swordsman. There was a large knot in his throat that he tried to swallow and
frowned when he was unsuccessful in dislodging it.
“I must teach you the moves Dominic will use to fight. Fey
techniques are slightly different from yours.” Stepping back, James said, “Come
to the atrium, there is room there for us to train.”
Linking the buckle for the scabbard around his waist,
Christian re-sheathed the blade. It lay heavy against his thigh. He shifted the
belt, feeling awkward and unqualified, like a young, foolish lad trying on his
father’s shoes and then trying to walk in footwear while his feet slid around
inside.
He let out a long exhale, then followed the king.
James went on, apparently not noticing the fact that
Christian lagged behind a bit, “I’m sorry we do not have access to the usual
training grounds due to the mist.”
That was the last thing Christian cared about at the moment.
Gathering another sword, James withdrew the weapon and
didn’t hesitate in engaging Christian in a violent bout of fencing that
strained all of his strength and skill after a very short period of time.
And somehow the man was able to maintain casual
conversation. “So, you’re engaged to my daughter, are you?”
Tripping, Christian barely blocked a blow sent from a man
much older than him, and his bones rattled from the force. James wasn’t even
breaking into a sweat. This just wasn’t right. “I, er, Sire, I must beg your
forgiveness. I did not know she was fey.”
“That point is quite irrelevant, young man.” The king’s
blade flashed with candlelight on a graceful slice to the left.
Metal rang against metal as Christian parried. “It is?” he
managed, getting to the point of panting. That last blow, he was fairly
certain, had shaken his teeth loose.
“The only difference between us is magic, Lord Sparks.”
“But she will live so much longer.”
James lowered his blade, and Christian was grateful for it.
“As long as you’re with her, you will live as long as she.”
“I will?”
“Yes. The magic will...rub off.”
“Then you will grant your consent?”
“Is that what you’re inquiring of me?”
“I...yes, sir. May I have Contessa’s hand in marriage?”
“I was wondering when you’d get around to asking.”
Was that a yes or a no?
Chuckling, King James put his blade away. “We would be
pleased to have you for a son-in-law, Earl of Krestly Castle.”
Christian nearly fell flat on his face when the king slapped
him on the back.
James had not gone easy on him. He ached from head to toe
and feared that if saving Tessa rested on his shoulders alone—they may be quite
doomed.
Chapter
29
Death
Defying
That night, Contessa’s prayers were answered when she got
her wish. She awoke floating above the mattress as only a spirit could, and she
squealed with joy. Not wanting to waste a single second, Tessa flew to the
door, drifted through it, and silently slipped out into a narrow landing at the
top of the stairs.
The guard was there. She could barely see him, for he was
half hidden in shadow, but he was certainly not sleeping, though he appeared
quite tired. Nervous, she watched him for a moment. The gigantic man scratched
at his beard and adjusted the sword slung across his wide back. His head turned
and he looked through her without giving any sign that he could see anything
more than empty space.
Relief settled around her and she made her way down, pausing
at times to listen for anyone coming up. When she made it to the bottom and saw
that the corridor was still clear, she could hardly believe it.
But just as suddenly as she’d turned into a spirit, she
returned to living flesh and blood. Contessa frowned at the golden wedding gown
that would now hamper her movement. Still determined to make an escape,
Contessa turned and made her way to a window on the lower level that was open,
jerking the enormous train of fabric along with her. She was terrified she
might now get caught and was nearly crippled by the worry. Her heart was
pounding so hard it was painful and loud; at least to her it beat like a drum
in her head. She feared if anyone were near they would discover her by that
thundering sound along with her shuddering breaths.
She gathered fistfuls of her skirt, attempting to stop the
uncontrolled trembling in her limbs, and lifted one leg over the windowsill.
She edged out over the ledge. It wasn’t too high for her to drop, so she did,
and landed with a soft thump upon the grass below.
But just as she began to move forward, she felt a tug on her
dress. Panicking for a moment, she swung back to see the ruffles of her skirt
had simply gotten caught onto the edge of the windowsill. She yanked at it
several times before it ripped lose.
As she righted herself, a deep voice said, “Where do you
think you’re going?”
Emitting a shriek, her breath seized and her heart stopped.
Contessa turned to face Dominic, who was looking at her with a
what-have-we-here look on his face. She said nothing in reply for it was quite
clear what she was doing.
“Do you have any idea how far away from anything you are?”
She really did not care, and ran for it. Instead of chasing
after her, Dominic called for his mount with a low whistle. Tessa looked back
and saw him saddle the beast with magic, and then mount…at leisure. She didn’t
give up and darted, breathing heavily, to a gap in the hedges surrounding the
garden. She could hear the horse’s feet pounding the earth behind her. She
thought of one of Christian’s curses, ducked between the foliage and struggled
through the thick plant life in the woods.
Branches clawed at her sleeves, skin, and skirt. But she
kept going, cursing the flimsy slippers hindering her flight as she trudged
forward in a gown too heavy for running.
Sparing another look, whilst struggling past long grass and
brambles, Contessa saw his horse leap over the hedge.
She could hear the hoof beats coming closer and closer until
she was finally captured and hauled onto the horse in front of Dominic.
“I was awakened when I felt you suddenly vanish from the
castle,” he mumbled against her hair. “I left my chamber to search for you when
you reappeared just as suddenly in the drawing room. What happened, Contessa?
Care to explain?”
She could not explain, for she was just as confounded by
this. Perhaps that is why he had not bothered to check on her all this time. He
could feel her presence, except for when she was dead. Why could she not die
again? She would never escape otherwise.
He stopped his horse near the door leading inside from the
gardens, stepped down from the saddle, lowered her down along with him, and
then passed his eyes over her moonlit form. “This cannot be!” He gathered
fabric of her gown into his fingers. “This is your wedding gown! How—?”
She remained silent.
Scowling with wrath, Dominic grasped her arm and forced her
inside. When they reached the entrance to her chamber the guard nearly fainted
at the sight of her.
“How did she get past you?” demanded the prince—or rather
the king.
The guard reached for the door handle and tugged. “It is
still locked, Sire.”
Dominic tested and thrust a hand out for the key when it did
not budge. He opened it, shoved her inside, and followed. “Tell me, Contessa,
how did you get out?”
Still unwilling to answer, Contessa backed away. He stalked
toward her, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. His hands lifted, but he did not
touch her...physically. A bit of twisting magic came from his palms and
gathered around her chest. She tried to push it away, but could not. “Confess
it, Tessa, or Christian will die this very night.”
Her eyes rounded, for she knew he meant his threat. “It was
one of Tabitha’s spells,” she lied, hoping he would believe that because she
didn’t know how to explain turning into a ghost.
“The witch?”
She nodded.
He released her and swore in French. “I should have known.”
She collapsed onto the bed with relief.
Dominic swung around and hit her with another spell,
stripping her mind of Tabitha’s words for magic. In her mind she recognized the
words for a simple disarming incantation spoken in fey. But with his sorcery
already upon the chamber, she was utterly helpless to do anything to stop him.
“It won’t happen again,” he said before leaving her alone.
The wedding. Today was the day. She’d been locked in this
chamber ever since her failed attempt to escape. Whilst she had been well fed,
and been allowed a hot bath, she was weary and depressed. And not ready to
marry Dominic.
She had tried to remember Tabitha’s incantations. She had
prayed to turn back into a spirit, but nothing had changed. She had not gained
another chance for escape.
Staring out the window she wept for a miracle, but it seemed
none would come. She reached out to feel the breeze that swept past her high
chamber. Dominic had not blocked the window with magic for it was just too high
up for an escape. She peered down...the height was utterly dizzying. Unless she
were a butterfly, she pondered as a small yellow and black one alighted upon
the stone ledge she leaned against. Contessa tried to touch it, but apparently
sensing the movement of her hand, the insect fluttered away. She watched the winking
splotch of color descend until she could not see it any longer.
Her door opened and the maids entered, carrying a white
wedding gown.
“We’re here to dress you, Your Royal Highness.”
Speaking not a word, she turned back to the view beyond her
chamber, searching the sky for another creature blessed with wings.
Silence ensued until the older maid, whose name she still
did not know, said, “You will don this gown.”
“How long will I live after I marry him?” she asked.
A couple of soft snickers were her reply. Chills crept up
her neck and crawled along her scalp.
“What happened to his other wives?” she asked. She’d had a
great deal of time alone to think over the past several hours, and she
remembered Dominic had already been married before even she’d met him. Besides
never having liked the man, the fact that his past wives were all deceased by
some peculiar mishap or another was the reason she had refused him in the first
place.
“The punishment could be severe if you do not put on the
dress,” warned the younger maid.
Contessa may have wondered before, but now she knew and
understood the ugly truth. It would not matter whether she married him or not.
She would remain in danger, and so would her parents and Christian. “I’ve
decided I will not marry him,” she finally said as she brushed a tear from her
cheek.
The older maid took her arm and forced her away from the
window. “You will.”
“Ouch!” she yelped as both women began pinching her arms.
She tried to push them away, but they remained determined to
inflict a great deal of pain. When she continued to struggle and began striking
back, the older woman raised a hand to slap her face.
But the other maid stopped her. “We cannot bruise
her...visibly. The guests will see.”
The older maid lowered her hand. “He will force you into the
gown if you do not put it on,” she threatened.
Knowing it was true, and tired of being physically
brutalized, she jerked free and gathered the dress from the bed. “Fine, I’ll
wear it,”
but I will not marry him
, she finished in her head.
The cruel servants began stripping her current dress from
her body, and she mused quietly to herself. So there were guests there? How
many? she wondered. Did the guest list include her mother and father? Perhaps
if she would not speak the words during the ceremony, the others would help
rescue her.
Contessa remained in brooding silence as the two maids
tugged the wedding gown over her head, forced her hands into the sleeves, and
fastened the pearl buttons up the front of the bodice. She was shoved into a
chair after that so they could reach her head. They then styled her hair in
many braids that twisted into a high bun, securing it with pins. They placed a
crown upon her head and attached a long white veil to the back of it with a
pearl-encrusted comb.
Hinges creaked as the door reopened. Again, Contessa stood
at the window; a cool breeze stirred tendrils of her hair and rippled like a
wave over her gown and veil. She did not need to turn around to know it was
him. She could hear his boots clomping across the stone floor; the sound was
distinctly
Dominic
.... Unwilling to face the horrible wretch, Tessa kept
her gaze focused on the scene beyond her window.
“We’ll be married soon.” Warm air from his breath brushed
the shell of her ear. Reflexively, her shoulder lifted in revulsion.
“No, we will not. I’ve decided I will not marry you,” she
said, disappointed in the way her voice quivered on the last word. Her brow
furrowed.
She gasped when she was forced around to face him. “Our
guests will be disappointed.”
“I do not care!” A whimper was pushed from her lungs when he
lifted her arm and jerked back her wrist at an uncomfortable angle. “If you
think this will motivate me, you’re quite wrong,” she muttered between clenched
teeth, trying to not cry out in agony.
“Really?” One sable brow lifted and he smiled as he added
force against the bone, which, she feared, was threatening to break.
And she couldn’t help the cry that escaped. “Ah!”
A low chuckle rumbled from his throat, and he twisted her
wrist to intensify the pain. Contessa sank to her knees.
“What will they think if your bride has a broken wrist?” she
managed on another gasp of pain.
A muscle in his jaw flickered and it seemed her words had
reached him because he released her. She bent forward, cradling her bruised
joint against her breast.
“Get up. You’ll soil your gown,” growled Dominic.
When she failed at accomplishing the task whilst only using
her good hand, he groaned with frustration, hooked hands beneath her arms and
hauled her to her feet.
“Everything is set for a lovely wedding,” he said evenly,
apparently attempting to keep a rein on his fury.
Her speech came out nowhere near that even. “Are my parents
here?”
His jaw tightened at that and she took his lack of response
for a no.
Whilst caressing her arm, he kissed her cheek. She scowled
at his attempt to act the doting groom, and pulled away.
Remembering his nature...and his past actions, she said, “If
I marry you, Dominic, how long will I live afterward?”
He laughed. “Silly girl. You’ll live.”
It was impossible to miss the fact that he failed to say how
long. “I will not say the words.”
She could see he was losing control over his anger now, but
what had she expected? Contessa knew she was defying him in outright rebellion,
and she knew it would not go over well with one as selfish as he. Her situation
did not look good. She was again dressed as a bride, unable to escape. Her will
was all she had left and she clung to it with frantic desperation.
“You will speak your vows to me, Tessa, or pain will be all
you know.”
His words clarified something she’d wondered about, but now
knew for certain. Apparently he could not force the words from her lips with
magic. The major details of her life remained in a fog, right along with many
fey powers she might have had. And what she did recall, she could not touch
because of the spell writhing upon the walls. But his threats no longer
mattered for she knew her life was forfeit whether she became his wife or not,
so why give him the satisfaction of gaining her inheritance too? She shook her
head.
“Contessa, you have no choice.”
“I do, and I will not do it.”
“You put Christian’s life at risk with this.”
“You’ll hurt him anyway, right after you’re done with me.”
Something flickered within his gaze, and she knew he was lying
with his next words, “I won’t hurt him or your parents if only you’ll consent.”
“No!” And she slapped him.
If the twisting of his features were any indication, she
could safely assume he was enraged now. Dominic seized her jaw and slammed her
against the tall bedpost at the end of the canopy. The intricate carvings upon
the surface bit into the back of her skull and shoulders. She gasped.
Holding her in place with one forearm held against her
collarbone he said, “If you do not marry me, Tessa, let me tell you this....”
His lips moved against her cheek, his breath feathered against the fine hairs
growing on her skin as words spewed from his mouth. In the gentle resonating
tones of a lover, Dominic promised to inflict intense pain to her body, deep
humiliation to her soul, and then ending it all with a long torturous death.