CHAPTER TWO
HAVEN
It was about fucking time he’d found a bastard princess.
Two years. Two fucking years Haven had been trapped as a stone gargoyle atop his tower. Day after day, immobile, confined. Even at night when he broke from his stone entrapment, he was a prisoner within the tower’s obsidian walls. No sorcery he’d yet tried could break the curse, but he’d finally found the perfect spell.
All he’d needed was the right girl. The tracking spell he’d cast led them to a brothel of all places, which made acquiring her simple. Iseult had taken Haven’s letter and a hefty bag of coin that would be impossible to refuse. While trapped in his stone body, he’d watched his assistant lumber toward town—knowing Iseult would bring back the key to his freedom made each second seem like ten.
Haven had fucked himself royally when he’d dabbled in a spell to murder Lord Adham of the Souldark Court, but it was a matter of honor. The asshole had slithered his way into Vivienne’s bed. Haven and Vivienne were matched at an early age, and while her sorcery was levels beneath his, she was the only woman who could so easily bring him to his knees.
He loathed her at the moment, but somehow still cared despite the torment he endured because of her. It didn’t matter that she claimed to have fallen madly in love with Adham, once the time came, she would bend to Haven’s will when Souldark became his court. She would crawl on her knees and beg forgiveness for what she’d caused. What she had ruined . And then they would continue their betrothal as if nothing had happened.
Two years as a fucking statue. Vivienne owed him her submission. Not only had it been two years since he’d been bound to this piece of shit tower, but two years since he’d fucked .
Yet now he would have what he needed, thanks to his creation—Iseult. Unable to leave, Haven had been forced to create his assistant from scattered bones of enemies that had died in the labyrinth below his tower. It had taken much longer to bring him to life than it would've before the spell against Adham went awry, weakening him. Even now, Iseult could only travel so far from Haven before his body would break apart.
From his perch, still trapped in stone, Haven had watched as the sun inched lower and lower. And then, having only an hour to spare, Iseult approached with the bastard princess. Once she was led inside the tower’s walls, the countdown for sunset had begun. The birds circled above him, always attracted to his tower.
The sky darkened, the magic from Haven’s onyx thumb ring sending a crackling through him. Finally . A soft popping sensation came in the joints of his hands, then spread further. The ball and sockets of his shoulders and knees gave a sickening squelch inside his stone casing as acidic bile rose up his throat.
Thump. Thump-thump . Haven’s heartbeat. Blood raced through his dry veins, and his muscles spasmed. The stone fractured along his wings, the deep sound piercing the air. It wouldn’t be long now… He tested his limbs, the stone giving slightly. His lungs ached for the breath he’d been denied throughout the day, and he flexed his muscles.
Stone crumbled around him, raining down the side of his dark tower, then vanishing as though it had never existed. A low, satisfied growl rumbled from his chest.
Stretching, Haven broke free from the remaining stone that clung to his alabaster flesh. He shook the dust from his hair, pulling tangled white strands away from his horns, and worked his wings. He wouldn’t need to suffer much longer. Once he bound himself to the pathetic princess who so willingly came to his tower, things would change.
Behind him, his assistant had already opened the window. Haven bent, grabbing the edge of the roof and swung inside in one movement, landing on his bare, clawed feet. Right into the most obnoxious bedchamber he’d ever seen.
Yellow walls, yellow rugs, yellow bedding. His lips curled in distaste. The room was meant to relax the bastard princess when she arrived, morphing into whatever she desired most so she would be more trusting.
Still wearing his cloak and gloves, Iseult waited for Haven beside the window with a silver flask. Haven took the liquor and downed it, relishing the burn.
His gaze snapped to Iseult. “You can remove your hood now.”
Haven’s assistant obeyed and brought the black velvet back to reveal an alabaster skull, dark shadows swirling in the depths of his sockets.
Haven prowled toward the bed where the golden-haired maiden slumbered atop the blankets. Long locks rested beside her in a messy pile. Yellow fabric with hand-embroidered pink flowers covered her curvy form. Her chest rose and fell, giving him a glimpse of her cleavage where the top hung low. His gaze trailed up from her chest to her face. An upturned nose, low cheekbones, long lashes, light pink lips, freckles dusting her cheeks and nose. Decently attractive. But nothing compared to Vivienne.
“I found her at the brothel like you said,” Iseult told him. “She’s a courtesan.”
Furrowing his brow, he slowly turned to face his assistant. When the spell had located her at the brothel, Haven assumed they were simply hiding her. Or making her scrub floors. “A courtesan? Are you sure she’s even a princess?” Bastard or not, princesses weren’t a part of the skin trade. Hot blood churned within his veins, and he swore to the gods that if this was just an ordinary maiden, he would break his assistant apart.
“The magic stone you gave me warmed in my hand when I touched her hair. Unless I imagined it…”
Haven’s nostrils flared. “You better pray you didn’t.”
“She will wake any moment, Marquis.” There wasn’t an ounce of fear in his assistant’s voice, only acceptance. “I put just enough sleep aid in her tea to make certain she didn’t cause any trouble when you came into the room.”
A small, pitiful sigh escaped the girl. Her eyelids fluttered open, her head lolling to the side. As her gaze found Haven’s, an ear-piercing shriek escaped her lips, then rose another octave when she focused on Iseult’s skeletal face.
The maiden snatched a dagger from her waist and leapt into a crouched position on top of the mattress. “Who are you?” she demanded.
Haven caught his gargoyle reflection in the mirror and cursed himself. He hadn’t thought she’d wake quite yet, giving him a few minutes to look more acceptable so she wouldn’t react like … well, this. He rolled his shoulders, pulling in the creature until he appeared human before her. He’d created the shifting ability along with his shadows at four years old, and the spell had drained the color from his black hair and brown eyes. But at least he no longer had horns, wings, and a tail.
He waved a hand in the air and shadows curled out from his body, cocooning him, until a black tunic, trousers, and boots covered his body. Most shifters flaunted their nudity, but he preferred to save that for when he used to fuck Vivienne. Besides, shifters couldn’t spell clothing any time they wanted—he could.
“Apologies, maiden,” he said. “I’m Marquis Haven Darrow. And you’ve already met my assistant Iseult. Forgive the sleep aid —I didn’t want you running off if you saw me come through the window.”
“So, you’re…” The maiden paused, studying him. “I should’ve recognized those horns from the gargoyle outside.” She angled her head, her shoulders relaxing. “He’s a skeleton.”
“You noticed,” Haven mumbled. She didn’t seem to be the brightest, but that didn’t make any difference.
“You’re not only a sorcerer with shadows but a gargoyle shifter?”
“How wonderful that you’ve got a pair of eyes.” It was his best attempt at appearing gentlemanly. “And your name?”
“Rozlyn,” she replied with a bright smile and tucked the dagger back at her waist.
“Rozlyn.” Haven took a deep swallow to force out the next words. “My fair maiden, should we celebrate?”
He backed away from the bed and snapped his fingers. A yellow partition broke through the walls and divided the room into two. Hideous , he growled inside his head.
“Celebrate?” Rozlyn chirped through the partition. “What are we celebrating?”
“That I’m free now. You broke my curse when you came here,” Haven lied, sweetening his tone. “I was foolish and clumsily put the wrong ingredients into a spell which is why no court has seen me in two years, and now I’m free. So pick a gown from your wardrobe, and we’ll have a merry ol’ time.” He rolled his eyes at the nonsense coming from his mouth.
“Oh, how wonderful!” she called, and he could hear her practically beaming with anticipation. “Of course, I’ll pick a dress and prepare myself.”
The swishing of fabrics sounded as she sifted through them just after another door shut, signaling Iseult leaving.
Haven cranked the lever of the stained-glass tub once, triggering the spell, and it filled with scented water. He sniffed the air and frowned . It smelled of dew-covered grass on a crisp spring day. Even the stained-glass tub depicted a garden of white and yellow tulips.
He grunted his displeasure at being in this pitiful room for even a minute. The ceremony would begin soon, and that only made his scowl deepen. This is simply the way to get Vivienne to be mine again , he reminded himself.
As the bath filled, he snapped his fingers and a plate of pork and vegetables appeared from the kitchen below the tower. He wolfed the meal down until his appetite was sated, then he flicked a hand in the air, making his clothing vanish before stepping into the hot water. The tub was one of the daintiest things he’d ever seen, and as he leaned back, Haven half expected the glass to shatter around him.
“Fuck,” Haven ground out as the water soothed his sore muscles. After holding the same position all day while stuck as stone, his body always ached.
A rustling of silks echoed as Rozlyn must’ve slipped a dress on. It only reminded him of how badly he wanted to fuck his match again. While he thought about Vivienne’s lithe body, her perky breasts, the taste of her sweet pussy, his cock stiffened.
The hot water lapped gently up his abdomen, caressing him, intensifying his arousal. Haven couldn’t be patient at the ceremony in this manner, so he called out one of his shadows to grip his hard length, making him groan. He didn’t give a fuck if the maiden was on the other side of the partition and could hear him, as long as he was away from prying eyes.
When the swells of Rozlyn’s large breasts came to mind, he begrudgingly shoved the image from his thoughts and focused again on Vivienne. The way his teeth would graze her pebbled nipple while his fingers circled her swollen clit. How he would taste up her neck, biting into her soft flesh and wrapping a fist around her silky black hair while he buried himself inside her tight cunt.
With one stroke of his shadow, Haven’s body responded eagerly, the tip of his cock rose just above the water. There was no time to waste drawing out the pleasure—he needed to come and get on with the binding. His shadow worked furiously, dragging him swiftly toward climax. Water sloshed up his chest and splashed over the sides of the tub. He squeezed his eyes shut, his shadow moving faster.
Haven imagined Rozlyn’s expression when she discovered what was to come soon enough. Would she be shocked? Scream? Threaten him? Or none of those since she was here for coin?
He wondered how many men she’d fucked at the brothel, how many times she truly had an orgasm, how hard she rode a patron to gratification.
Fuck. Stop thinking about her .
Haven focused on Vivienne’s hand around his cock, then forced himself to just feel . Within moments, warm cum spilled across his abdomen, and his body relaxed into the glass tub, his breath ragged. The climax had been rough and forced, but at least he’d be able to focus on the important part of the evening now.
Once his shadow slipped back inside him, he sunk deeper into the water and rinsed his stomach. Letting the warmth soak into his stiff joints, Haven lingered in the bath for a few moments before he finished cleaning himself.
After drying quickly with a fluffy yellow towel, he snapped his fingers, redressing once more.
“Are you presentable?” Haven asked, squeezing the moisture from his hair.
“Yes!” Rozlyn chirped.
He motioned for the partition to sink back into the wall, and when his gaze met Rozlyn, he stilled.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he asked without ushering an ounce of sweetness into his words. Rozlyn’s wavy golden hair hung to her ankles, and she wore a tulle-infested, poofy yellow dress with far too many sequins. The only thing redeemable about it was the square, low-cut neckline that displayed the swells of her large breasts.
“Should I choose another?” Rozlyn didn’t seem the least bit fazed and glanced toward the open wardrobe, where every gown appeared just as gaudy. And fucking yellow . Ruffles, lace, ribbons. All poofy . Who the hell was this woman?
“No, it’s … perfect.” Haven forced a smile. “Stay here for a moment while I speak with Iseult.”