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She didn't know where to begin to feel about the kiss, which she should have hated with every fiber of her being. Yet somehow, the honey and sugar taste of his mouth reminded her of sweeter days, her and Castor kissing by the pond behind his palace.
Indecision warred in Ianora's mind. On the one hand, she didn't want to give Castor the satisfaction of seeing her fear. On the other, if she stayed too calm, he might catch on to the confusion raging inside of her.
She was supposed to hate Castor. And in a way, she did.
But being here, being with him, despite the change to his heart and person, she was reminded more every second of what ithadbeen like. What it could have been like.
Ianora met his eyes and saw only cold calculation.
"You're going to pay for everything you've done Ianora. It’s only a matter of time," he said calmly. He untied his cape and let the burned fabric waft to the floor. "Soon, you will come to terms with it."
"I'm going to make your life a living hell for this. Whatever you think I did to you, there is no excuse."
The anger fizzled out his eyes then, gone, like a blown-out candle. “My life has already been a living hell, don’t you see? Thirty-four years, eight months, and twelve days of torture without you. Nothing you can do will make it any worse than the relief I find from having you here with me again."
"What are you talking about?" Ianora asked.
"If your plan is to irritate me so much that I call off the wedding, you are the one who will be disappointed, my dear."
He adjusted his sleeves, which were dangling by only a few connected pieces of fabric. The skin underneath was charred and covered in angry red skin from the flames, some of it cracked and bleeding. Yet the pain seemed like nothing to him.
"Now, since you don't seem too interested in continuing the tour ..." He snapped his fingers. "Guards, take her to her rooms. She will be staying there and not allowed to leave until the night of the wedding. Understood?"
The guards who had been trailing them from the throne room took Ianora by the arms. She struggled against them, but they didn't budge. "W-wait a second! You're going to lock me away?"
"I see no point in continuing this quarrel, do you? I had hoped for some time to get to know each other again, but neither of us seem capable of putting aside our differences to make that happen. And so, it will have to wait until we have a clean slate."
The guards dragged her away, back toward the staircase. Her heels scraped against the ground, so much so that she lost one of her shoes in her attempt to break free.
"Oh, and when you're done with that, be sure to burn the belongings she brought with her," Castor said from the end of the hall, a wicked smile on his face. "We can't leave her with any mementos to remind her of her former home. This is her home now, and she best learn that very quickly."
Chapter 4 - Castor
Glowing, crystalline water pooled in the glass bowl, a steady stream falling from a crevasse in the ceiling of the viewing room. Everything was dark save the white light coming from the continuous movement of the water.
Castor approached the pool of magical water for the third time that evening, a command in his throat, but this time, the water sensed his desires and showed him Ianora before he could ask.
There she was. Her beautiful, flush cheeks coming into focus. Alone, they seemed to gain a pretty pink hue, whereas, with him, she was all cold and pale, simmering with barely controlled anger. While he had some sympathies for her situation and could have perhaps softened the blow, the end result would have been the same regardless.
She despised him. That was fine. Hewantedher to feel the depth of the anger and hate she had forced him to feel. Hate so consuming and raw it had driven him to become a war-hungry animal, prepared to burn down every house and farm between his lands and Rainada, claiming it all for himself if that was what it took to get her back in his arms.
His whole plan had been shaped around the possibility of that happening. But instead, he, and Elysium, had gotten lucky by securing a deal with Kel Eroch, Ianora's father.
The shift from the woman Castor had been faced with in his throne room earlier, to the woman locked away in her princess suite in the depths of the castle, was vast. Here, where she believed that no one could see her, she looked like a caged bird with a broken wing—trapped on the edge of despair, with a predator lurking beneath her.
She was right where he wanted her.
A few days locked in there, and she would have no choice but to learn to appreciate him and the luxuries out here. And if not, he had other tricks up his sleeves to make her more malleable.
The image in the pool zoomed out, giving a better picture of Ianora's whole body. She was sitting on her bed, neck craned as she inspected every detail of the room from afar. What was she looking for? Castor snorted. A way out? He had personally tested the room himself, spending days in there trying to break free, and there was no way out unless she had considerable magic she'd been hiding. Which he seriously doubted.
After a while, Ianora got up again, running her hands along the walls and trying the door again. Her image was silent through the pool, but when she slammed her fists in frustration at the door, he conjured the sound of her cries. He chuckled as he sipped a glass of sweet blood, finding far too much entertainment in watching her squirm.
Before long, however, Ianora did give up, and she finally laid down to rest. Castor watched her for a while longer, wondering what it would be like to sleep beside her. He imagined tucking himself behind her, holding her smooth body against his firm one. She would sigh and nuzzle closer to him, and he would bury his face in her hair, breathing in the sweet rose petals, jasmine, and feminine scents she favored.
She slept peacefully in bed, and his head reeled with thoughts of her. Castor left her in peace to get some rest of his own. He pushed the doors open to his main chambers, a long and narrow room furnished with red velvet cushions, gigantic oaken tables, and chairs he seldom sat in. The walls were covered with expensive paintings and tapestries depicting Pheazar landscapes and Castor in heroic poses.
This room was, by some miracle, one of the few left untouched by the curse that befell him and the castle. It was a remnant of what had been long ago, absent of the thorned vines creeping through the castle and bleeding flowers.
