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“It’s been a long time since I’ve been so worried about anyone,” Aric said. He drew a deep, stabilizing breath. “If you’re sure that the man who abducted you was the Elder Prince, then we need to proceed with caution.”
Her fluttering heart fell promptly back into proper rhythm at his reminder. “I’m sure.” Just as she was sure there was still something very important she needed to say.
Aric inclined his head and stroked his thumb across her knuckles. “The first thing we need to do, then, is verify this theory about your passive abilities. Passive magic is the only kind which can’t be sealed.” His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, the way it did when he was serious. “Would you trust me to test your sight?”
A flicker of nerves doused some of the ill-timed flame his kiss had sparked in her blood, and Rochelle nodded. He’d already proven to be an effective, if not demanding, teacher. “Yes.”
He smiled briefly, then lifted her hand and pressed a kiss the back of it before releasing it altogether. “I have to get a couple of things. Go ahead and get yourself ready, then meet me downstairs. Grab something to eat first if you’re feeling hungry.”
“Okay.” She watched him slide from the bed and step from the room, and only once the door was fully closed again did she let out a heavy breath.
Passive magic. She felt a little dumb for not having thought of such a concept, or at least having wondered at her ability to speak with and understand two vastly different nationalities of people. But in the same moment, that very fact was stupidly thrilling. It was as though she had something else, something else apparently rather rare, in common with Aric. Like she was … special.
Rochelle scoffed at herself and shoved from the bed before her wandering mind could drop into the dwellings of how hard everything would soon become. She was special, all right, but not in any flattering, whimsical way. The real question was, what would become of her once she came clean?
Would what Denham had done to her even still be viewed as wrong?
Focus.All she’d really done was withhold her origin story and nod along when others made assumptions. She hadn’t deliberately, or even willingly, crossed any borders, nor did she have any way to go back.
That in itself begged a question she knew she’d be asked when the truth came to light, particularly if King Jensen learned her story. Did shewantto go back?
She stared at her reflection in the restroom mirror and forced herself to truly consider the option. It had whispered across her mind periodically over the course of her time in Aric’s estate, of course, but she had always quickly distracted herself, always rationalized that there was no point in dwelling on what was out of her control. She couldn’t use that argument any longer, because out of her control or not, it was relevant. She would need to be able to answer.
So, did she want to go back to her old world?
Bridget’s laugh danced up from her memory, spawning a flickering vision of a time they’d gone to a nearby lake to cool off during one of California’s disgustingly hot summers. It had been something of a tradition of theirs to take at least one long weekend to get away, relax, and cool off in the water.
“She’s dead … and it’s your fault.”Graham’s last words to her shattered the happy memory like a punch to the gut.
If she went back to that place, her best friend—her soul sister, her support, her lifeline—would still be gone. There was no force that could bring her back. The bond she’d once had with Bridget’s brother and mother had also been lost, and while it was possible in theory that they’d eventually calm enough to accept that Rochelle’s unavoidable change of plans weren’t to blame, it would never be the same. She doubted she could ever unhear Graham’s hurtful words.
After all the time that had passed, she’d absolutely lost her job, and her miserable apartment. So there was that.Probably no one’s even reported me missing.
Rochelle straightened from where she’d hunched over the countertop. She had no family in that world. Her mother had taken a swan dive off a bridge when she was five. Her father had checked out immediately after but dragged them both through his suffering until she graduated high school. By then her grandfather, the only responsible adult she’d had left, had been long gone as well. If it hadn’t been for Bridget, Rochelle feared she might have turned out so much more like her father … or her mother.
But the woman looking back at her in the mirror in Aric’s guestroom wasn’t the same as that beaten-down, hopeless statistic-waiting-to-happen. The circles that had taken root under her eyes after years of heartache and struggle were almost gone. And she’d stopped hunching in on herself. When had she even done that?
That was her answer, then. If she had any choice at all, she didn’t want to go back. This place was home now. She was so much stronger—on the inside—than she had ever dreamed she could be in that place.
Rochelle released a breath, feeling almost startlingly settled, and exited the restroom. The mansion was quiet as she made her way downstairs, but still Tinsley met her barely two feet from the landing. He held a tray bearing a steaming cup of what smelled like apple tea and a perfectly sliced, delicious-smelling grilled sandwich. She could see melted cheese slowly beginning to drip out the side.
“In case you’ve regained your appetite,” Tinsley said with a patient smile.
Her stomach growled on cue. “I think I have,” she said. “Thank you, Tinsley. I don’t know how you do it.” She sometimes wondered if the man was secretly more powerful than even Aric. She accepted the items, lifting the tea to take a sip and holding the plated sandwich in her other hand. It was conveniently portable food, too. He was a genius. She offered him another smile as the sweet, citric delight of the warm apple tea bloomed on her tongue. “You really do have to let me help sometime.”
He chuckled. “Nonsense,” he said. “I would never consider it. Please let me know if you want anything else.” With an incline of his head, Tinsley turned in place and walked away.
All Rochelle could do was shake her head, and with a touch of magic to help her balance her impromptu meal, she bit into the sandwich as she started toward the door that would take her down into the basement. That was where Aric waited for her. That was where they’d test whatever this passive magic of hers might be. And in turn, where they would determine whether or not she’d been completely hallucinating the identity of the man who’d kidnapped and beaten her.
The thought soured her stomach a little, but Rochelle pushed through it. The grill-seared cheese and turkey sandwich was far too tasty to be ruined by a memory she’d survived.
Something about even just walking into the familiar, darkened stone space of the wide expanse of the basement was bizarrely comforting. As always, the crawling vines with multi-colored, glowing blooms covered the walls and wrapped around the support pillars. As always, Aric waited for her in the center of the space, commanding attention even when he stood still.
Rochelle chased the last bite of her sandwich with a final gulp of the tea, set the plate and cup on a step to keep them out of the way, and licked her lips as she stepped toward the man who’d dominated her thoughts for nearly half a year. “Thank you for giving me a minute. I’m ready.”
He smiled. “Good. I’ll warn you, the test may be upsetting. So I want you to hear me when I say that you are in no danger. And if you need the test to end before it’s over, you can tell me to stop it.”
She blinked at him.Is he talking about a safe-word?She had no idea how to ask that question. Instead of trying, she opted to plow ahead—it was a strategy that had worked during her training several times before. “What do you need me to do?”
