Rumpel's Prize (13 page)

“Oh gods,” she breathed as she tried to do a quick count of the pages inside, losing count after two hundred or so. “Nothing for it, I guess.” Placing her chin on her fist, she began at the beginning.

Hours later, back screaming from sitting in one position for too long, she blinked, only to realize how dim the room was now. She’d not noticed the torch that now glowed as if by magic from the center of the table, as she’d been completely engrossed in the war between the demone, which seemed to stem from the avarice and vice of King Dionysis and his lords. Dionysis desired a totalitarian rule. There’d been rumor and innuendo for years that the king’s blood was tainted, that he wasn’t well. Not until he’d declared war on his own people did the lords realize the rumors were true. But only one lord, Prince Rumpelstiltskin, had power enough to challenge the king’s authority.

The history of a land and peoples she didn’t know fascinated her, but exhaustion laid claim to her mind. Clearly the sandman wouldn’t leave her in peace this night, the evidence of his being here stared her boldly in the face. Brushing at the granules of sand, she yawned. After reading the same line six times, it was time to admit defeat.

She’d not even gotten a quarter of the way through the first mammoth tome. Sighing, she closed it and smiled with delight when, once she’d retied the laces, the book again shrank back down to a small size.

“Useful after all.”

Picking up her new treasures, she called for Dalia. But it wasn’t her maid that returned to her.

Gleaming amber eyes glanced at the books she held clasped in her hands. She was still angry with him, and clutching them even tighter to her breasts, she notched her chin and dared him to take them away.

Quicker than she could cry “no,” he’d plucked a book from her and flipped it from side to side before glancing back at her. “This is not light reading.”

He’d clearly been drinking again; she heard the smooth grit of whiskey in his voice. She hated that the sound of it should affect her as it did, should make her stomach take a dive and her legs feel shaky, that her breathing hitched an infinitesimal bit, that her heart banged against her ribs.

Good looks that masked the devil beneath. But body and mind were two separate things inside her, because while she could appreciate the outer, so far she loathed the inner.

“Where is Dalia?” she snapped.

Brow twitching, he flipped the book back to her. She nearly lost the others in her haste to snatch it out of the air.

“Where she should be. I can lead you to your room.”

“Why? So you can snap at me again? Or make me feel like an idiot for opening myself up to you?” Thinning her lips, realizing what she was saying to him and how that must make her look, she sailed past him for the door. “I can find my own way.”

“No, you can’t. The castle shifts at my whim. I wish to walk with you—if you leave, you’ll be walking for hours.”

Hand on the knob, realizing he was probably telling the truth, she rounded on him. “Why are you doing this to me? Hmm? Why can’t you just leave me alone? You do not really wish my company, that much is obvious—”

“Is it really?”

“Well, isn’t it?”

Eyes thin slits, he moved into her sphere of space, his body so close that his heat wrapped with her own. He smelled of fire and whiskey and cloves. She wet her lips.

“You unnerve me, siren, and I find I don’t much care for that feeling. Why are you reading up on me?” His gaze flicked momentarily off her face and back to the books.

Able to take in a deep breath, body jittery as if she’d downed ten cups of her father’s coffee, she shook her head, hating that she’d felt even the tiniest bit flattered at the idea that she disturbed him.

“It’s always good to study your enemies.”

His smile was slow and sensual and she felt the movement of it like a caress on her flesh, heating her blood and forcing her to close her eyes. Sirens affected males, the more exposure the more need, but she could swear he was turning her own charms on her because as much as she detested him, she craved him.

Gripping the books tight when he leaned over her, careful not to touch him, an agony all its own, she waited until he opened the door.

“I’m not your enemy.” His sweet breath fanned her cheek.

Slipping out the door and planting a hand on the wall, she shook her head. The truth of the matter was she had no idea what Rumpel meant to do with her. Was this really just a game? The little bit she’d read of the demone led her to believe that perhaps it could be just that.

They were keenly intelligent, prone to bouts of rage, but they also desired to be surrounded by the finer things in life.

“Excuse me if I don’t believe you.” She finally found her tongue.

The castle echoed with a quiet like she’d not known since arriving. And only in this stillness did she realize she’d not really been alone, because the presence of others had always been about. She sensed no life here at all.

“Why did you challenge your father?” If he sent her back to her room for impertinence then so be it, it wasn’t as though she wished his company.

But instead of driving her away as he had earlier in the gardens, he nodded. “Read the book—you can see he was mad.”

“But don’t all demone wish to enslave and rule? Isn’t that the way of your kind?”

His lip curled. “Don’t all succubus wish to rape?”

She gasped as if slapped.

“Do not be so quick to make snap judgments, Carrot, the action does not become you.”

Shame crept up her neck with hot fingers. “Touché,” she reluctantly drawled. Whether she’d meant to or not, she’d offended him. “Then let me ask a different way. From what I’ve read, you, more than any of your brothers, seem different. Why?”

His grin was conceited and alluring at the same time. She coughed, making a pretense of patting a flyaway curl that did not exist.

“Because I am an abomination to my kind.”

“No. Dalia and Giles both speak very highly of you. I doubt that—”

Lip raised, he snarled, and fangs exposed, he set her heart racing . “Do not listen to the prattle of servants!”

And just as she thought he meant to banish her as he had this morning, he took two steady breaths and then a giant step back from her. She stood with her back pressed to a door, staring at him wide-eyed.

“Forgive me again. I fear you bring out the worst in me. Good night.”

And then he was gone and when she turned, she realized she was back at her room. This time she wasn’t angry or annoyed. It was sympathy and tinge of sadness for a man she feared she’d never understand that laced her bones.

Rumpel roared as he stomped down to Euralis’ dungeon. Fire leapt to life and the black crow cocked its head.

“Do not look at me.” He pointed at it, pacing back and forth. “I will not have your judgment.”

Beady eyes blinked.

“I can do this. And I will. I vow it.” With those final words, he traced from that room. Because it wasn’t the boy he wished to see.

He’d gone there to reinforce his will, but seeing the eyes and knowing the child looked at him as little more than a stranger hadn’t strengthened him at all.

Back at the room he’d found her in last night, her scent of nightshade still lingered faintly. He’d designed this room to
her
specifications.

Not the siren’s, but his wife’s. He’d fashioned a room of wood, of soft roses and creams, everything as she’d loved it. But now all he could see, all he could remember, wasn’t glowing ruby eyes that glimmered with love but crystal-blue ones that lit a fire in his dark, shriveled heart.

“Damn it all to hell!” he roared, and where the furnishings were once gone, now they were back.

Caratina had picked each piece out so lovingly, from the bone-china vases on pedestals to the pale blue and-mauve chaises. Returning to his true form, that of
Demone Prince
, he went crazy.

Blinded with fury, with desire so sharp it bordered on madness, he slashed and tore the chairs into strips of fabric and piles of fluff. Then when that wasn’t enough, he picked up the vases and tossed them into the fire, into the walls, hearing them break into a thousand tiny pieces.

“Sir!” Giles’s voice boomed.

Whirling, still manic with rage, he snarled. “Get out of here, Giles.” His voice thundered with the roll of power. “Unless you wish to spar with me, then go!”

His manservant never took his eyes off him as he methodically shrugged out of his tailcoat.

“Giles.” He growled a warning because with the mood he was in, he felt ready to kill something.

“Sir, you loved and lost. It is not wrong to find something again.”

He snarled again, curling his fingers into fists. “Do not speak to me of such matters.”

Ignoring his master’s obvious threat, Giles took his time rolling the dark sleeves of his shirt up his elbows. “Mistress Caratina would never have wanted this for you.”

In a flash, Rumpel was upon Giles. The first crack of his fist into the man’s face felt satisfying, but not nearly as satisfying as hearing the bone crunch and seeing the blood spurt from his nose. “Never speak to me of her!”

In an instant Giles was not his manservant but the captain of the royal guard, the man of legend and fury, a seasoned warrior. Rumpel’s blood hummed because this was exactly what he’d needed.

With a growl, Giles shot to his feet and landed a blow to Rumpel’s gut that took the breath from him. Smearing the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, he sneered down at his prince. “Do not tell me you’ve grown soft in your old age,
Prince
.”

With a laugh, Rumpel rolled to the side and hopped to his feet, and the two were upon each other. Evenly matched, they traded blow after blow. An arcing fist smashed into Rumpel’s temple, knocking him senseless for a moment. Stumbling, seeing stars, he dropped his head and charged into Giles like a stampeding rhino, dragging his servant to the ground.

The rush of air expelling from Giles’s lips told Rumpel he’d landed a solid blow. But he was too dizzy to stand, and draping a hand over his eyes, he laughed, a great, booming sound that quickly turned to a groan as he grabbed his ribs.

“You’ve the devil about you still, Giles,” he quipped.

Obedient servant once more, his man sat up and rubbed his sternum. “You hit like a gnat.” He spat out a glob of blood.

And then they were both laughing. After a minute, feeling immensely better and not quite so dizzy, Rumpel sat up and looked around at the chaos he’d caused.

When it dawned on him what he’d done, what he’d destroyed, his laughter turned to a sigh. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re desperate, sir, there’s a difference.”

Riffling his fingers through his hair and feeling a knot beginning to swell on the back of his skull, he shook his head. “She would be ashamed.”

“I doubt that, sir.”

Momentary insanity fled, Rumpel made his way to his knees. Giles was already shrugging on his coat and brushing his mussed hair back.

“Shall I call the maids?”

“Aye.” He glanced at the shattered evidence of a life he’d one lived and loved and lost, then turned on his heel and walked away. Caratina was gone, never to return, but he still had a job to do.

The problem was, he was letting the siren affect him. He couldn’t have that. If she failed, she’d be gone. Period.

Wiping at the blood on his swollen lip, he made plans for her second test.

“Master, have you considered that perhaps the girl is not here for Euralis at all?”

Clenching his jaw, Rumpel said, “You are a friend, Giles. I will accord you mercy where I wouldn’t with anyone else. Do not ever speak such blasphemy to me again.”

Bowing low, Giles nodded. “Sir.”

Days rolled into a week, a week into two, and now here she was the day before the next test. Shayera paced the length of the room that now felt so much like home to her. Ever since that night in the library, things had settled down into something more comfortable.

Rumpel no longer made passes at her; in fact, he was extremely formal. He kept his distance, not cold, but no longer teasing and tempting her.

Stopping before the large bay window, she stared out at the brilliant sunrise. Now that she knew how to control the landscape she saw around the castle, she’d settled on a scene of rolling green hills and swaying purple heather.

It reminded her a little of home.

Touching the cool pane of glass, she rested her forehead against it and sighed. She was restless and twitchy. It would be a terrible lie to say she didn’t miss his teasing even a little, the way he’d make her feel breathless and twitchy.

It was nice not to feel the pain of unfulfilled desire, but the emptiness of nothing might even be worse. Most of her nights were spent reading the tomes, and apart from learning, in great detail, about the rise of the great demone war, she’d learned nothing really new of the man.

But the history was fascinating, so she continued. She neared the end of the second tome and hoped that maybe somewhere in the next three she’d learn something of the man himself.

To say her fascination with him only grew as the days moved on would be a terrible understatement. Anytime Dalia was near, she was tempted to grill the poor maid about what her master liked, who he’d been when he lived in Delerium, was he always like this or had coming to Kingdom changed him somehow… There were so many questions that constantly burned at her.