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Darius steps back from me, and I suck in oxygen, attempting to keep my head from spinning more than it already is. “A princess? That can’t be right.”
“It is. I vow it on my life. Come along.”
With his arm securely wrapped along the small of my back, he leads me up the remaining stairs and down a long, carpeted hallway. My time at the mental facility was composed of white walls, Dinah’s office, and the day room, with more white walls and a few windows. This place is a kaleidoscope of color in comparison.
The walls are adorned with ornate paintings with vivid, bright hues. They depict various seasons draped over an idyllic countryside, while others portray a dense forest. There’s a subtle vibration or movement to the colors, like the heat waves found in a desert. It’s fascinating and draws my attention.
I stop short and Darius turns to look at me. “This is beautiful,” I say, running my gaze along the artwork.
“Yes, it is. Most beautiful.”
At the change in his voice, I blink. His eyes are nowhere near the painting, his focus firmly attached to me.
Nerves skitter along my arms. I duck my head to avoid his intense stare. I’m not arrogant enough to assume he was referring to me, and I don’t understand why he would to begin with. My outward appearance is normal and certainly not attractive enough to inspire such passion or devotion.
Darius studies me for a moment longer before pulling me away from the paintings. Once we reach the door at the end of the hall, he opens it and strides right in. His steps are sure and mine are cautious, but we go inside nonetheless.
“Baxter?” Darius calls.
He stops just inside the opulent room, and I take that opportunity to drink in the luxury of it all. The thick curtains have been pulled back to allow the sunlight to pour through the windows, creating a warm glow on the furniture. The floor is covered with a plush carpet, similar to that of the corridor, but the color scheme is different here. This place is a study of scarlet, orange, and gold, the colors of fire. The walls display rich gold-leafing, as does the large four-poster bed in the center of the room. It’s breathtaking.
Darius steps further inside. “Where are you?”
“I’m here.”
A man steps from an adjacent room, his dark hair wet from a recent shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. His facial characteristics are similar to Darius’s: both of them share the proud jaw, sharp cheekbones, and devastatingly handsome features. However, when the stranger looks at me, the warmth I find in Darius’s gaze is missing.
Instead, there’s a hatred that rages, singeing me where I stand.
“Get that whore out of my house, Darius.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Darius’s gaze narrows to little more than slits. “Show some respect.”
Baxter makes a circling motion with his hand and executes a bow worthy of a man presenting himself at court. “Get thatroyalwhore out of my house.”
Darius goes taut beside me, his arm like stone around my waist. I turn in his embrace and rest my palm against his torso. Underneath my hand, his heart races wildly, the blood pumping through the organ at an alarming rate.
Instinct takes over.
My need to reassure him surges. I press my fingers against his waistcoat, willing him to calm. Immediately, his heartbeat slows to an even cadence, and the crimson in his veins quiets to a steady flow.
I snatch my hand away at the same time Darius’s gaze snaps to mine. “I—” The explanation that coats my tongue turns sour as I consider the impossibility of my thoughts. There’s no way I’m responsible for the immediate biological changes in him.
“What did you do?” he whispers.
My lungs collapse. Does he suspect I’m the cause? And was it actually me?
“What’s wrong?” Baxter takes a step toward us. “What’s going on?”
Darius waves his brother off and takes my chin in hand. “I know it was you,” he whispers.
I bite the inside of my cheek, struggling to come up with a response. “How would I—”
Baxter coming to stand beside us has me clamping my lips together. He looks from me to his brother and back again, a vein on the side of his neck pulsing violently, snagging my attention. With him this close, I’m able to make out the leafy green of his eyes and the copper streaks in his dark hair. As well as the deep lines of his scowl.
“’Tis nothing,” Darius murmurs.
He pulls me flush to his side, and I melt into him, relief coating me like a dense fog. This man might be a stranger, but while in a strange world, I’d rather have an ally than not. He tightens his arm around me, as if acknowledging my reliance on him.
