Tower of Shadows (Once Upon A Wicked Villain #2)

CHAPTER THREE

ROZLYN

Rozlyn glided her hands down the front of her gorgeous gown, the sequins and tulle tickling her palms. Wondrous dresses filled the wardrobe, ones more elegant than anything she could’ve imagined owning. Silk. Chiffon. Gossamer. Wool. Velvet. She could still feel their lush and pleasing materials against her fingertips.

Haven had brought Iseult back into the room before speaking to his assistant in a shadowed corner, their voices remaining low. The marquis had attempted to hide his broody demeanor to make her feel at home, but once the celebration ended, she would bed him if he wished and she would make certain he relaxed. She’d heard him pleasure himself through the partition, yet even as he orgasmed, it wasn’t a fulfilling sound, not in the least. Maybe he didn’t know how to pleasure himself thoroughly?

After it was revealed he’d been under a wretched curse of his own making, she understood his gloomy mood. No one deserved to remain a stone gargoyle trapped outside a tower where birds could leave droppings on them each day. Or perhaps some did, depending on their crime.

Still glowering, Haven glanced in her direction and rolled a shirt sleeve to his elbow. As she stepped toward him, he resumed his secret conversation with Iseult, and she moved back into her previous position. A courtesan would remain in place until she was called upon. She hadn’t been to many court celebrations, only if a patron paid for her to accompany him, otherwise she’d been busy performing her pleasurable duties at the brothel.

Never had she seen a gargoyle shifter before, nor a walking skeleton—both had to have been created by Haven’s sorcery. At first when she’d awoken, she believed she’d died, unknowing if she’d become a spirit and was in the darkened pits of the Souldark Court or in the gods’ otherworldly embrace. Once she had gotten a better look at Iseult, she’d found him rather adorable with an oblong skull and a snaggle tooth. He no longer wore his gloves, revealing his thin alabaster bone fingers. However, she was still not happy about him slipping a sleep aid into her tea, but she supposed she understood the reasoning.

When standing in all his bare gargoyle glory, Haven’s flesh had remained white. His fangs sharper, coming to fine points and beautifully monstrous, and his shadows were purely ethereal.

As she studied the marquis’ human form now, he looked as though he was sculpted by an artist. Pristine nose, lovely jaw, and she would swear it true to the grave, like a perfect dress, his face was impeccably symmetrical. His brows held a black hue, his hair white and hanging down his back, while dark kohl rimmed his pale blue eyes. He was much taller than her, and he wore his clothing flawlessly tailored around taut muscles. She’d only caught a glimpse of his manhood as the gargoyle—it was a gift that wouldn’t make pleasing a woman difficult. Madam could only dream of having a man like him working in her brothel. At least if his cock remained the same in his human form.

“Maiden,” Haven said, drawing Rozlyn out of her musings. “It’s time for the celebration.”

“Will there not be music?” she asked. Violins were always at the village dances while harps and pianos accompanied them at lavish parties or fancy balls.

Haven scowled. “No music.”

The type to prefer silence then, and since he was her patron, he would get what he wished. Once she received payment, she would purchase her shop and cling onto these charming memories that got her there.

“Hold out your hand,” he continued. “I have a gift for you.” Smile widening, Rozlyn lifted her arm, and a bouquet of black roses magically appeared in her grasp. What a dreary man, yet it was the thought that counted and a gift nonetheless. She lifted the bouquet to her nose and inhaled the divine floral scent.

The marquis sauntered toward her until only a small gap was left between them. He hovered above her—an alluring scent of citrus, bolder than the tower, wafted off him. She craned her neck to get a better look at him, and her breath caught at how exquisite his face truly was.

“Iseult wants to say a few words.” Haven took the flowers from her and tossed them onto the bed, then clutched both her hands. He held them loosely as if he were shy of a woman’s touch. Two years alone in a tower with only a skeleton for a confidant could easily alter a person.

Rozlyn glanced at Iseult as shadows swirled within his sockets, and his jaw parted into what she imagined to be a welcoming smile.

“Close your eyes,” Haven instructed. “You’ll like the next surprise.”

Oh ! Rozlyn hurried to shut her eyes, and two warm hands skimmed up her arms before a finger lightly traced her lips. She cracked open an eye to find it wasn’t Haven’s touch but his shadows’. So he wanted that sort of surprise. And with his shadows . A pool of heat stirred low in her belly at the thought of how the silhouettes could be used to his advantage if he willed it.

When the shadows slipped beneath her flesh, she gasped as they tickled her insides, caressing her muscles, nerves, and bones.

And then the sensations ceased.

Iseult cleared his voice and spoke softly, “On this day, Rozlyn and Haven, you are now bound as one.”

Rozlyn stilled, her eyes widening. What did he just say ? “Excuse me,” she hissed. “What do you mean bound as one?” That was a term used typically at weddings. This was a celebration of his freedom.

“It had to be done, maiden,” Haven said, a deceitful smile in his tone. “We had to be wed and bound for the curse to fade completely.”

“ Married ?” she hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest. “No, no, no, I’m not married to you.”

As Rozlyn peered at her surroundings, the room tilted sideways. She was no longer in a yellow sunshine dream, but, instead, a damp, blackened husk of a room.

“You will give me a lock of your hair.” Haven lifted his hand, and a shadow curled out from his palm.

Rozlyn leapt backward as the shadow reached for her hair. “No, sir. I won’t allow it. Now undo the marriage bond!” Her hair was sacred—all the courtesans’ hair was. And even though she was planning to one day own a dress shop, she would always be a courtesan at heart.

As the shadow slinked toward her again, she dodged the devious thing and wound her hair around her arm. Deep red hair .

“What did you do to me?” Rozlyn shrieked while staring in horror at her locks that were no longer golden, but the shade of blood . On her opposite wrist, an obsidian marble cuff circled her flesh, and the dress she wore was now a dark gothic frock with black lace, sheer sleeves, and a silken skirt. The only familiar thing that remained was the square neckline.

“It’s an improvement,” Haven grunted. “The marriage won’t last forever, but I do require a lock of hair. Now.”

Her stare flicked to an ornate oval mirror, and she nearly fainted at her reflection. Black rouge stained her lips, dark powders circled her eyes, and glittering gray shadow highlighted her pale cheekbones. She could’ve been the twin sister of a corpse.

“If this is how you want me to dress as your courtesan, then I will. But my hair is off the table.” Her tone vowed no room for argument.

Haven’s gaze turned slitted. “I know you will, princess , but you’re no longer a courtesan. You’re my wife.” He lifted his arm where a matching cuff wrapped around his left wrist.

Rozlyn’s heart thundered, and she felt the blood drain from her face. “Why would you call me a princess? I’m nothing of the sort.”

He tsked. “My apologies. Does bastard princess suit you better? And before you deny it, the binding spell wouldn’t have worked if it weren’t true.”

How did the marquis know about her true parentage? It was a secret only she and Madam knew. Rozlyn held her tongue, otherwise she would spew the foulest of language that she’d only used for patrons who paid her for it.

“No retorts?” Haven asked. “Brilliant. Don’t worry, you’ll be paid handsomely for the length of time you’re here.”

She pursed her lips. Payment for how long though? The bag of coins Iseult gave Madam wasn’t nearly enough for something like this.

“Leave, Iseult,” Haven continued. Once his assistant slipped from the room, he focused on Rozlyn, his voice curious. “Why are you working in a brothel when you’re an heir to the Dawnbreak throne?”

She knew that the king of her court had daughters younger than her, which didn’t make Rozlyn just an heir, but the heir. Not once had she ever met the princesses, but it didn’t matter —from what she’d heard, the eldest daughter would one day make a wonderful queen, and the youngest was just as kind as her older sister. There was no need for Rozlyn to intervene—she wanted to choose her own path, not have it predestined for her.

Coming forward for the crown now would only start a war. Rozlyn’s mother had abandoned her years ago and Madam found her and took her in. She’d left it up to Rozlyn to decide whether she wanted to stay at the brothel or be taken to the king. Rozlyn had chosen to remain with Madam and never once regretted the decision.

“I don’t consider myself a princess in the least. I’m a courtesan. A seamstress. A woman of the Dawnbreak Court. That’s what I am.” Rozlyn pulled back her shoulders and stood proudly.

He arched a brow. “You lack any real ambition.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “You shouldn’t have lied to me. If you’d only told me that you needed to wed to break the curse, I—”

“Would’ve left,” he cut her off. “Even if you had stayed to hear me out, I have no real time frame for how long I’ll need you. Don’t pretend you would’ve agreed.”

That part was probably true, if it was years and years. But she wouldn’t have just allowed him to suffer through a curse—she would’ve tried to seek aid for the marquis.

“And what about this new jewelry I have?” Rozlyn tapped at her wrist cuff. “Does it need to remain on me this unknown length of time too?” When Haven only studied her with a neutral expression, she waved her hand in front of his face. “Hello, can you hear me? Or are you a statue again? Perhaps there is stone blocking your ears?”

“At the moment I wish there was,” he mumbled. “Once the curse fades completely, the cuff will disappear. Until then, you’ll remain here as my wife . Now, give me a lock of hair or the curse will return. Then you’ll be trapped in this tower until the day you die.”

Rozlyn’s heart lodged in her throat. Forever . She squeezed her hair as a life living in the tower flashed before her eyes. Her, withered and gray, peering out the window of this room and on the brink of death without ever opening her dress shop.

She finally relented after that horrific thought. “Fine. One tiny lock.”

His shadow weaved toward her, two blades like scissors shaping, and sliced through the ends she held up. The small tendril fell into Haven’s awaiting palm. “There, that wasn’t so bad,” he said as he tucked the hair into a sable hexagonal locket around his neck.

No matter the length, Rozlyn mourned the loss of her hair, but not for long. Her eyes widened in disbelief as the tiny portion grew back, and a sigh of relief escaped her.

If it were to be a proper marriage with the Marquis of Shadows, she knew what came after a wedding. Pulling back her shoulders, she straightened her spine as she’d been taught to do in this circumstance. “A wife pleasures a husband—a courtesan satisfies her patron.”

“What are you talking about, maiden?” Haven asked.

Rozlyn’s fingers brushed the velvet buttons lining the front of her frock and loosened the first two. As she reached the third one to reveal her breasts, Haven snatched her hands away from the fabric. His face turned stony, his expression hard.

“We’re not fucking,” he ground out. “Occupy yourself with something else.”

Hmm . Rozlyn stared wide-eyed, baffled by his response. Yet, to receive payment for not having to pleasure someone for once? It was an interesting turn of events.

“Of course,” Rozlyn said. While taking in the room, the only colorful items remaining were her satchel and the dress and cloak she’d worn earlier that were now pooled beside the wardrobe. “I’ll redesign my dress unless you change your mind.” She collected the fabric and sat on the floor. As she fished out sewing supplies from her satchel, Haven’s shadow fell over her.

“Did you”—the marquis motioned at the fabric with a finger—“make that?”

“Yes.” She sighed blissfully, running her hands down the front of her flowered dress.

“Mmm, that’s rather unfortunate.”

Rozlyn blinked at him several times. “Well, it’s rather unfortunate you believe that.” She shrugged, then unraveled her spool of thread.

Without another word, Haven’s body writhed, his tunic and boots vanishing, leaving only his trousers behind. Wings emerged from the marquis’ back and a tail pierced through his trousers. Haven’s skin lightened to stark white, his facial features changing shape until he took the form of his gargoyle.

“This better fucking work,” he growled, then slipped out the window and leapt off the edge.

Rozlyn squeaked and rushed to the open space to find the gargoyle safely flying into the night. He’d escaped the tower, so perhaps she wouldn’t be here too long after all. But here wasn’t what she expected at all.

The tower was no longer in Dawnbreak.

A light mist swayed against a desolate landscape, the surrounding trees gray in color—not a single leaf on any of their limbs. The stars and moon were the only pleasant things out there, but even their shine appeared dimmer than usual.

In the distance, soft and deep moans drifted through the air. Besides the dead, only ones who held sorcery could enter this grim court, and she had nothing of that sort. She was nothing but a bastard princess and a courtesan.

Rozlyn peered down at the marble cuff ensnaring her wrist, reminding her that she was bound to the Marquis of Shadows, the one sorcerer who could find a way to alter rules.

And so, she’d entered the Souldark Court .