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

CHAPTER FIVE

ROZLYN

“Why the fuck am I back in the tower?” Haven growled.

Rozlyn glanced over her shoulder to where the marquis stood pacing near the window, his leather wings tightened at his back, his shadows storming around him like wild flames. He hadn’t made a single peep when he came inside the room—it was as though he’d appeared out of thin air.

She set down the dress she’d been stitching and unstitching for most of the night, unable to concentrate on the fabric nor get a wink of sleep. Not after the Marquis of Shadows hadn’t warned her that his tower would be traveling to the Souldark Court. She’d known Haven could make his home disappear from Dawnbreak and place it in any of the other eleven courts, but she hadn’t thought that he would bring her to the court that was meant for mostly the dead.

“I don’t know. You tell me,” Rozlyn finally said. “And while you’re at it, you could’ve at least informed me that we would be traveling to the Souldark Court. Perhaps I could’ve prepared myself a little more.” At first she’d thought she might be dead, but her heart still beat.

Haven halted his pacing, his hard gaze boring into hers. “It’s none of your concern where we travel. All you have to do is stay put inside the tower.”

“None of my concern?” She blinked, squaring her shoulders. “I could hear the dead moaning and groaning outside all throughout the night!”

Haven rolled his eyes. “Be satisfied they can’t come inside my home, maiden.”

“And you be satisfied that you’re no longer a stone gargoyle since it’s now day and all,” she huffed.

Haven ignored her, then looked out the window, the morning sunlight seeping into the room. His body stilled, and he stood there for what felt like centuries, until she thought he might’ve become a stone gargoyle once more. But then he slammed a fist against the stone wall while bellowing, “Fuck! Fuck, fuck!”

Rozlyn pushed up from her position on the floor and smoothed the creases of her gifted dress. “I do believe if you had a good one of those you might respond to situations in a much calmer manner.”

Haven whirled around, his expression stonier than she’d seen it thus far. “Do you think an orgasm will solve this damn predicament?” he snapped.

Rozlyn covered her mouth to hide her smile. “Are you certain there isn’t at least some stone debris left in your ears? I said a good one. As a courtesan, we don’t generally touch ourselves intimately unless we are learning the way of an orgasm. Sharing pleasure with another is the key to receiving the utmost elation. I might also add, it should be with someone who knows how to perform, not just anyone. A perfect euphoric release can always be taught. I have loosened many men who needed an extra hand.”

Haven’s lips parted briefly before he pursed them into the tightest of lines. He might not want to admit it, but it was quite obvious he desperately needed a woman’s touch.

“If you would like my hand, mouth, or heat around your cock, I’ll willingly oblige.” Rozlyn perked up like a flower under sunlight as a courtesan always did when offering herself, no matter that he’d lied, trapped her into a marriage, and to all the gods, the worst possible thing, regardless that it had grown back … cut a lock of her hair ! But she tamped down her annoyance because, for coin toward her future, she would work her damnedest to awaken all of his inner desires. Ride him until his frown turned in the opposite direction.

“I don’t need a fuck right now,” Haven ground out, prowling toward her until he hovered above her, his warm breath mingling with hers. The pleasant scent of citrus wafted off him. “But if I did, it wouldn’t be with you. I have only one match.”

Realization at his words washed over her. “Ah, I see. You’re wounded by a woman of your past.” Rozlyn nodded, mulling over how his lover had chosen to wed the Lord of Souldark over him. “I’ve seen this time and time again.”

“Shut your mouth, maiden,” he hissed.

“Don’t you mean wife ?” she drawled.

“ Wife ”—sarcasm laced his tone—“why don’t you look out the window and see what you’ve done.”

“Promise not to throw me out, and I’ll peek,” she sang with a smile. When his stony expression didn’t alter in the least, clearly not in the mood for jests, she went to the window and peered out at the lush green foliage, a flock of black doves flying through the bright blue sky.

They were no longer in Souldark but back in Dawnbreak! Thank the gods !

“ I didn’t bring us back here. You or your tower did.” Rozlyn glanced over her shoulder at Haven, who stood directly behind her, his chest nearly brushing her back.

“Step aside.” Haven grasped her arm and drew her away from the window, neither gently nor harshly.

Haven released her and flexed his fingers at his sides. His wings cracked once, creating a gust of wind within the room, her hair fluttering around her. He then tightened them at his back, slipped out the window to the ledge, and leapt off the tower. Another blast of wind, not from Haven, shoved him back inside the room. With a clenched jaw, he pumped his wings, fighting poorly against the wind, and landed on his back, right at Rozlyn’s bare feet.

She tsked, staring down at his pouty lips and miserable face. “Hmm, it looks as though my hair didn’t fully help your curse, did it?”

“That’s quite obvious,” Haven grumbled before getting off the floor and opening his locket. No longer was the tendril a deep shade of blood red but her natural gold. He flung the hair beside her small toe like a petulant child, then held out his hand, a shadow curling out of his palm toward her. “I require another lock of your hair.”

Rozlyn thought about telling him no at first, but she remembered how he’d said the curse could return fully, and she’d be trapped in the tower until she died. No, that would not do . “How many more tendrils are you going to need?”

“That all depends.”

Her chest tightened when she thought about how that depends could add up to endless amounts until she was eventually bald. But if each one grew back as they had before, then she could just forget her hair had been cut at all.

“Fine, but you’ll owe me,” she relented and lifted a small portion of her hair.

He arched a brow at her, and she scooted her fingers back a smidge so the lock would be a little bigger for him. The shadow swirled forward, shaping into scissors, and sliced like knives through butter, the tendril falling into Haven’s awaiting palm. Her hair grew back as he snapped his metal locket shut.

Haven stepped over the calamity of a dress she’d been working on and returned to the ledge outside the window, leaping off it as he’d just done moments ago. A loud gust of wind blew against him, his wings cracking like thunder. Yet his fight wasn’t enough—the wind hurled him back through the window, and like a recurring dream, he was at her feet once more. Or perhaps not a dream but a nightmare for the Marquis of Shadows.

“For your sake,” he said, his pale blue eyes piercing hers, “my tower better not lock me in tonight.”

“Did you even think to go downstairs and try the front entrance?” Rozlyn asked. Though it might make more sense for him to take flight from this height, less work, but if he could simply walk out the front door…

Haven’s shadows swirled around his muscular torso as his wings tucked inside his back. His ivory skin returned to a sun-kissed glow, his nose elongating to perfection, his tail disappearing, until there was no sign of the gargoyle at all.

As he snapped, his shirt and boots returned, and she had to admit, she was a little disappointed by that.

“Follow me,” Haven cooed, and the edges of his lips curled up. He opened the door, his feet already echoing down the staircase.

Rozlyn clutched her skirts and scurried after the marquis. Even when she reached him, he was more trouble to keep up with than Iseult had been. He stayed stoic and silent while growing interest churned within her. Why would she need to come with him? Would he allow her to accompany him out of the tower if he could leave? Perhaps she could sweeten him up so that she could pick up a few fabrics from the nearest shop to keep her occupied.

At the bottom of the stairs, Haven released a shadow, the inky silhouette forming into the shape of the key similar to the one Iseult had used. It curled toward the lock and turned into smoke. More of his shadows seeped out, clawing at the door, another shaping into an axe and slamming down against it—all morphing into smoke.

Not a sound. Not a budge.

As Haven’s shadows slinked back inside him, Rozlyn said, “Iseult used a key to open the door when we first came—you could try that.”

Haven smirked. “My shadows are more precise than any key. Apparently, this part of the curse isn’t lifted, which means the door remains sealed during the day. And while Iseult may have come in through this door, he didn’t go out of it. He dropped from the tower window—sorcery put him back together.”

Nausea bubbled in her stomach as she thought about the sheer drop from that height. Not only the fall, but that this meant she was trapped inside during the day too. Sorcery wouldn’t put her back together if she plummeted to the ground. “Hmm.”

“There is one other way out of the tower, and that is only for my enemies. I wouldn’t suggest becoming one of those—they never quite seem to make it to the exit.” Haven’s gaze lit up with amusement as he studied her just before he stepped toward the open cellar and descended the winding staircase.

Rozlyn had never once had an enemy. Not with her mother, who’d abandoned her, and not with her king father, who hadn’t cared enough to say a simple hello to her when she was younger.

She padded down the second winding staircase and caught up with Haven. This set of stairs was a much shorter distance, the sconces lining the walls holding green flames instead of violet. They entered a large rectangular hallway holding a total of seven doors. Three on her left, three on her right, and one before her, with black cloaking everything except for the flames.

“Since you haven’t been given a proper tour, my bedroom and guest bedrooms.” Haven gestured to the right. Then he waved to the left. “Kitchen, spell room, spare bathing chamber.” He came to a final stop in front of the door at the end of the hallway and rapped the metal lightly with his knuckles. “This room holds an entertaining little labyrinth.”

Rozlyn cocked her head as she observed the closed door. “A deadly maze, I take it?” If it was that easy to bypass, his “enemies” would’ve made it out alive. Unless they were just terrible at labyrinths since their paths could be tricky.

“Very much so.” Haven’s fingers brushed the onyx handle and he drew the door inward, its hinges creaking slightly.

Thick silver and golden smoke weaved in snakelike patterns, casting a beautiful glow into the hallway. She squinted, straining her eyes to see anything past the barrier, but she couldn’t witness a thing. As Rozlyn inched toward the smoke, Haven yanked her by the shoulder, her back smacking into his firm chest.

“Are you a fool?” he asked between gritted teeth.

“I wasn’t going to walk inside,” Rozlyn said. “I only want to have a peek past the smoke is all.”

“Yes, take a peek and become a shriveled husk so you ruin us both,” he ground out, taking his hand from her.

Rozlyn’s eyes widened. She’d been moments from walking through the smoke, and it killing her? She did not want to die today, or any time soon for that matter. “That doesn’t seem like a fair obstacle for your opponents.”

“Do you think I should give a fuck?” Haven folded his arms and tilted his head to the side.

That would all depend on what his enemies did. “Are you able to go through it?” she inquired instead.

“Of course I can, but leaving during daylight hours still isn’t an option for me now. Once night falls, we’ll return to Souldark .” The last word came out desperate. Since he wasn’t a spirit, there was only one reason she could think of as to why he sounded so urgent to go back to such a broken place.

“Is this because of the lord and your old lover? The Lady of Souldark?” Rozlyn kept her voice soft, gentle.

“Do not”—Haven paused, his nostrils flaring—“mention either one of them again, maiden.” He turned his back on her and bounded up the staircase, his heavy footsteps echoing.

Rozlyn believed it was too soon to go after him, and if he’d wanted her to follow, he would’ve told her so. That much about the Marquis of Shadows she could already decipher. Though she’d never been in love, she wondered what she would’ve done if she’d been in his place. A sorcerer could brew a tonic to forget a lover, but that wasn’t a choice Rozlyn would make. Sew an entire wardrobe of new dresses to occupy her mind? That seemed more likely.

The door nearest the labyrinth opened, and Iseult stepped into the hallway. “It’s good to have another in this tower. Marquis needs the company.”

“I’m not sure he wants the company. But what about you? Do you like it here?” Rozlyn yawned, exhaustion sweeping over her after a long night.

“Yes, very much. I would work for no one else other than Marquis. Unless he required it, that is.” Iseult pointed toward the middle bedroom door. “It’s a long walk up the stairs, and you look tired. You may retire in the guest room, and if you want something other than fruit, an abundance of soups and desserts linger in the kitchen due to the Marquis’ spells. Nothing else has a sleeping aid, I vow it.”

“I should hope not.” She winked and entered the guest room since it was much closer. The color theme didn’t surprise her—black with a sprinkle of silver and red here and there. Near the back of the room, across from a vanity, rested a large canopied bed, where furred blankets and a collection of silken pillows decorated it. A massive wardrobe hugged the farthest corner, its handles a glistening ruby.

Rozlyn lifted a pear from a glass bowl atop the night table. She stepped out into the hallway to ask Iseult if she should stay in the room after she awoke or wait for the marquis to retrieve her, but he was no longer there. Lifting her fist, she knocked on his door, yet he didn’t answer.

Taking a bite of the pear, she stared at the smoke of the labyrinth and considered that the marquis might’ve deceived her. Perhaps the smoke wasn’t dangerous at all and he simply didn’t want her to try to escape. Her fingertips squeezed the fruit and she tossed it in.

Sizzling erupted, the smoke’s weaving grew faster, and the pear thumped to the floor near her feet, shriveled and black.

Rozlyn slammed the door shut. “I think I’ll avoid that room forever.”