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I don’t know how long I sit in the bathtub for, staring at the stone walls, wondering how long they’ve been here, where I am exactly, what kind of stone they have in this world. If I’ll ever get back. If Solon is still okay. If there’s any way I’ll get out of this alive. I have a feeling that Natalia dying wasn’t part of Kaleid’s plan, that he needed her, no matter how callous he seems, and with her gone, how does this fare for us? It’s just him and me now. Do we have the combined power to do anything to Skarde? I mean, I just saw what could be a minor display of his power, and if that’s the case, neither of us stand a chance, no matter how we pool our resources together. There’s just two of us. Vampire prince and a half-breed.
You could always call on Jeremias, I tell myself. If he can travel like the Lapp Witches travel, he could be here. He could help you.
Of course, I know that help might come with a price. Magic comes with a price. I know the first time he helped me, he was really trying to win me over. He was trying to impress me. The second time, I called on him and that didn’t go as smoothly. The minute I said I didn’t want to indulge the dark side was the minute he lost interest in me.
But…what if I indulged it now? Maybe not this second, but when I had to. If I had to. Would it be so bad to go inward, open that locked box and tap into that power I have available? Fuck, there’s a chance I could easily destroy Skarde if I did that. I could destroy his whole ugly bleeding world.
And then what? Lose yourself to it? What if you never come back?
I need to ignore those thoughts for now. That’s the risk, but I’m starting to realize that there’s always a risk in life.
The door opens and Kaleid steps in. He doesn’t avert his eyes, doesn’t attempt to look bashful as he stares at me naked in the tub. But there is sorrow in his gaze that wasn’t there before. Perhaps the golden child feels remorse.
Then my gaze goes to his hands. He’s holding a flimsy piece of red fabric, all thin gauze, and on top of it is a headpiece. Red metal. There’s a crown, then strands of red beads cascading from underneath that would crisscross across someone’s face like a mask.
“Get out of the tub,” he says to me in a flat voice.
I stare at him for a moment, then decide I have no choice. If he’s seen me fucking Solon, then he’s seen me at my most vulnerable already.
I get up, naked, head held high, and step out of the tub, walking toward him.
His nose flares as he fights to keep his eyes focused on mine. I know that he’s hard, I can smell his arousal already, but I have zero interest in appeasing him.
I stop in front of him and take the crown and fabric from his hands. “What is this?”
He swallows audibly, licking his lips. “It’s what he wants you to wear.”
“For what?”
His jaw tightens. “You’re to be his bride, Lenore.”
“Already?”
He swallows again, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m sorry.”
“So, your plan was, what? This?”
But he doesn’t say anything to that. Perhaps he can’t. His father can probably hear us and he’s trying to save his own ass at this point.
“Put it on,” he says. “Please.”
He doesn’t say please the same way that his brother does. Solon rarely says please, but when he does I pay attention, because I would do anything for him, just as he would do anything for me. Kaleid doesn’t have the same finesse.
“Perhaps one day,” Kaleid says under his breath.
“What?” I ask, grasping the headpiece in one hand while trying to unravel the fabric with the other.
“What you were thinking,” he says, without an ounce of shame. Oh, and when I look up, he’s staring at my breasts too, also without shame.
“That you don’t have finesse?” I ask. “Well, your father did mention your lack of luck with the ladies. In some other world, in some other time, in some other life, I would probably take you under my wing as Solon’s baby brother and I would help you with that. But I think you’re a lying, duplicitous asshole who would trade in whatever he could to get ahead. So, I guess what I’m saying is, fuck you, Kaleid.”
Kaleid flinches, just a millimetre, enough to know that he cares somewhere, that he’s not as far gone as his father. That, or his ego is beyond manageable.
I sigh, feeling momentarily sorry for him, then try to put the fabric on. But to my surprise, it seems to take on a life of its own. The red gauze moves around and contorts on its own accord, fitting to my curves until it looks like I’m wearing an elegant designer gown of the lightest see-through fabric. At any other time I would feel both beautiful and on-display, but right now I feel like a piece of meat being wrapped up at the butcher.
