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

CHAPTER SIX

HAVEN

Haven tapped his fingers against the window ledge as he peered out at the Dawnbreak Court. Never had he wished to see a bleak landscape over such lush foliage as he did right then. He needed to see spirits milling about through mist, not crows cawing as they soared past him across the clear sky.

Fuck .

The lord’s castle was too far of a journey for him to make after night fell, and while his tower could travel from court to court, there was only one part of Souldark where it appeared—just over the border from Dawnbreak. There was little life in the barren court for his magic to latch onto.

How inconvenient .

His fingers thrummed against the dark stone faster, his nostrils flaring, when the doorknob to the room turned, and he whirled around to tell Rozlyn to leave him alone. But she wasn’t the one who’d come after him. Iseult padded in with a tray of sugary pastries, fruits, and a meat pie.

Haven’s shoulders fell a fraction. Was that disappointment he felt? Over a woman he was praying hadn’t come to apologize for bringing up Adham and Vivienne? No , it wasn’t. The bastard princess was foolish and grated on his nerves.

“The girl is taking rest in the guest room downstairs,” Iseult said, setting the tray on the night table. “I do believe you should eat and do the same. This was your first flight in quite some time. You need your strength, Marquis.”

Haven hadn’t eaten since before the wedding ceremony, and the savory scent curling up from the meat pie made his stomach growl. He wouldn’t admit it, but his assistant had a point. Sinking down on the mattress, he bit into a lush strawberry. “I did everything right with the spell when I bound myself to her. I can feel it,” he muttered, the cuff squeezing his wrist, even though Rozlyn was only further down in the tower.

“Perhaps there’s more to it,” Iseult suggested. “A spell can have many layers. You might need to pull back a few of them first.”

Haven shot him a glare. The skeleton had been built from different bones of the marquis’ enemies, and just because some of them had belonged to sorcerers, it didn’t make him as knowledgeable as Haven. He could send his assistant out of the tower during the day as he had when he’d collected Rozlyn, but it wouldn’t matter unless his home was in Souldark. Even then, the spell would only last for so long once Iseult breached the reach of Haven’s sorcery and his bones fell apart. He had no true heart or other organs. And besides that, Haven wanted to be the one who slaughtered the bastard Lord of Souldark.

“Go to the sorcery room and thicken the contents in the large cauldron,” he said and motioned Iseult away.

“Yes, Marquis.” Iseult bowed his head and softly shut the door behind him.

Haven polished off his meal, the rich lamb inside the meat pie perfectly tender. It tasted just as it would’ve if he’d gotten meat at the market and cooked it himself. With spells, a good sorcerer could make food appear out of thin air, but a great sorcerer could make it taste finer than any royal meal. Albeit, a great sorcerer would never have gotten himself trapped in a fucking curse to begin with.

One damn step at a time.

He would unravel himself from his binds, and his shadows would pave the way.

In the meantime, at least he wasn’t a fucking stone gargoyle, forced to endure the birds shitting on him all day. Haven sighed, snapping his fingers for his clothing to vanish so he could bathe before sleeping.

No longer was the tub dainty, nor did the water smell of dew-covered grass on a spring day. Black crystal held the water with a raised swirling design, and evergreen wafted from the liquid. Perfect . And yet, as he slipped into the bath, the evergreen didn’t soothe him as it usually did… Did he want Rozlyn’s chosen scent to return? No .

After a quick scrub, Haven relaxed in the water, letting the warmth seep into him. His muscles ached from the long flight that he normally would’ve had no issue completing, but it had been too long since he’d journeyed that far. Still, it had felt good to release all the pent-up energy that he couldn’t get rid of while trapped in the tower.

After he dried himself, simply walking back down the staircase to his bedroom seemed an impossible feat, so he remained where he was. Haven spelled himself a loose pair of trousers and drew back the silk blankets of the bed. He laid down, pressed his head to a feather-soft pillow, and inhaled a welcoming, sunshine scent.

Haven’s eyes snapped open and he gazed at the blankets. They were the same as always, a dark shade of midnight and not the bright yellow Rozlyn had slept on, but her scent lingered. A pleasant scent that he would never admit he relished. His shadows knew he liked it, but they would keep his secret or fuck off.

With a grunt, he closed his eyes again and drifted further away, collapsing into the same dream he’d witnessed every day for two fucking years.

“I’m sorry, Haven, I can’t marry you,” Vivienne said, tears beading her long lashes.

“Why?” he asked, his fists shaking. Ever since they were matched by a sorceress matchmaker, he’d wanted no other. She had all the qualities that aligned with his sorcery and made him stronger.

“I never meant for it to happen … to fall in love with Adham,” she sobbed, her lower lip wobbling. “I do care about you. So much, Haven, but I’m not in love with you. I know you’re not in love with me either. It’s the idea of what we could achieve together with sorcery that you truly care about.”

“We’ve been matched since we were children. You couldn’t have realized that you didn’t love me sooner?” he hissed.

“It’s my fault, I know. I’m sorry. I kept trying to love you, I really did. Please forgive me.” She reached for him and he pulled away from her touch.

“Leave,” Haven said softly. When she didn’t move, his shadows slipped from him and he shouted, “Leave me!”

With a hesitant glance back at him, Vivienne shifted into her raven form and flew out his tower window toward the Souldark castle.

Where Adham would soothe her, then fuck her.

It was Haven’s fault for introducing Vivienne to the lord, for bringing her to this abysmal court at all, but he’d trusted her, trusted that their matching was unbreakable. If she’d truly cared about Haven, she wouldn’t have flown back to the lord so soon, wouldn’t have fucked him before calling off their betrothal.

One thing was clear—Adham would die, and Vivienne would be Haven’s once more.

He threw open the door, then pounded down the staircase to the spell room. Death had numerous qualities and could be given in an influx of ways. And Haven knew exactly how he wanted the lord to die. Make Adham’s body as still as a statue, unable to move at all. Then he’d send birds to peck his eyes out—black birds with emerald irises so they resembled Vivienne’s shifter form. Finally, he would use his shadows to remove Adham’s heart while Vivienne watched. She would see that Haven was indeed the most powerful sorcerer, and that he could also break hearts.

Hovering over one of his cauldrons, he hurled in ingredients. “Fuck Adham,” he seethed. Haven worked throughout the night until a thin layer of dark smoke curled up from the concoction, tiny birds shaping and unraveling. He couldn’t stop, even though he was overworking himself and needed a break, but he was so close.

He rolled his sleeves up and grabbed an empty jar from a shelf. As he moved the glass into the smoke to catch the spell, the emerald-eyed birds spread throughout the room, filling the air, flapping their wings. Haven’s shadows clamped down on his shoulders, rooting him firmly in place. A numbness spread up his legs to his torso.

He bellowed an incantation before the smoky birds could turn on him further, pecking out his eyes, just as two of them neared his face. A shadow squeezed his heart, the world stilled, and he froze.

Haven was no longer inside the tower but perched on the roof outside, trapped within stone.

Haven clutched something soft and nuzzled into it, the alluring scent of sunshine calming the angry roar in his veins. “Mmm,” he groaned. Such a fucking horrible dream.

“If I knew how nice you could be with a pillow, I would’ve given you one earlier,” a sweet voice interrupted his thoughts.

Haven opened his eyes to find Rozlyn standing before him with a silver flask in her hand. She looked to be freshly clean, her long blood-red hair plaited and damp, a silken black dress hugging her curves flawlessly. The black rouge accentuated her mouth, showing off the perfect bow of her upper lip.

He shoved the pillow to the floor and sat up, running a hand through his mussed hair. “What are you doing here, maiden?”

“Well, the sun is setting soon, so I figured you might want to see if you can get some fresh air again.”

The sun was already setting? Haven shot his gaze toward the dark gossamer curtains where barely a sliver of light poured in. He’d slept longer than he’d have liked. Fuck. He leapt off the bed and yanked the window open, making sure his sorcery returned the tower to Souldark.

As the sun finally disappeared, the green foliage outside became a blur, then when the image relaxed, it revealed a barren landscape. Haven sighed in relief while he watched flickering souls in the distance sway across the ground, the mist lighter than the night before. He opened the locket and the tendril remained red.

“Here. Iseult told me this is your favorite. Figured it might lighten your mood.” Rozlyn smiled and handed him the flask. When he didn’t take it, she added, “There isn’t poison in it. But if you really want me to, I could always add a bit of belladonna. Or hemlock might be a better choice.”

“I only have oleander in the tower at the moment,” Haven grumbled. He took the flask and drank several swigs of liquor. Another tray of food sat at his bedside, this one a plate of salmon and steamed vegetables.

His shirt and boots reappeared with a simple snap of his fingers, his pants changing into a more formal style, and he slid the flask into his pocket. Then he slipped out the window onto the ledge. No wind fought him as he cracked his wings and lifted upward—the night was the same as before. It was possible that being transported back to the tower had been a fluke, but he would see if the following morning would be different. He wouldn’t waste energy traveling to the lord’s castle tonight for no gods damn reason, so he would wait through the short night. Either the hair would be enough to let him be free, or the magic would snatch him back inside again.

Haven returned inside to find Rozlyn on the floor, cutting into the fabric of her old dress. He lingered on the edge of the bed to eat his meal while watching her moisten thread between her plump lips and feed it through the eye of a needle.

The marquis chewed his fish, wondering how well she sucked cock, how slow or fast her tongue would lick up his shaft. Not his . Nightshade was right about Haven needing to be pleasured … but not by Rozlyn. Vivienne would be the one to give him orgasms.

An idea crossed his mind as he studied Rozlyn’s deft movements. “You can sew.” A statement, not a question.

“The courtesans say I’m one of the best dressmakers.” She beamed and set down her needle.

“People lie all the time.” He shoved a few slices of carrots into his mouth and continued to observe the embroidered flower pattern of her dress. Although he would still consider the design unfortunate, it was clear she had real talent.

Rozlyn pursed her lips. “And people lie about you being the greatest sorcerer in Grimm. Considering you managed to trap yourself in your own tower and need my assistance to help reverse it, I might be inclined to disagree.”

The edges of his lips tilted up at her boldness. She didn’t have a single magical object on her—he could easily squeeze her throat with his shadows, make her beg for mercy. But he needed her.

“Still a spell no others could make.” He smirked.

She blinked, her doe eyes latched onto his. He studied her freckles, not noticing before how they were like constellations sprinkled across her cheeks and nose. The courtesan wasn’t as tall and lithe as Vivienne, but he couldn’t deny she had the breasts of a goddess—at least from the cleavage he could see. He and Vivienne had both been innocent when they’d first went to bed together, and his temporary wife must’ve fucked countless men, extensively trained in the art of pleasure. The bargain between the marquis and Nightshade had been perfect—the ferryman would be pleased with her.

But … maybe Haven could have a small taste of her first. Just to be sure she was any good, and it would make him and Vivienne even before they reunited. Their gazes still locked on one another, tension filled the air, and he cursed himself for even thinking about being carnal with a courtesan. He stormed out of the room.

“Wait, you seemed like you wanted my assistance!” Rozlyn shouted, her feet pitter-pattering behind him halfway down the staircase.

“I told you we’re not fucking,” he muttered. It came out more as though he were telling himself instead of the bastard princess.

“No, you made it seem like you wanted me to sew something for you!” she exclaimed.

Haven didn’t utter a word until they reached the entrance at the bottom of the tower. That aggravatingly pleasant sunshiny scent of hers washed over him when he turned to face her.

“I want you to make a doll,” he said as he thought about reworking the spell that had gone awry. The entertainment would begin before his shadows went in for the kill. He could spell the doll to mirror Adham so that whatever happened to it also occurred to the Lord of Souldark. A concoction would need to be added, and a small incantation spoken to make it effective, but that was easily done.

“A doll?” Rozlyn wrinkled her nose. “I mostly make clothing.”

“It’s a simple task. Just a vague fabric one. No face or hair. But give him a pompous little suit.” One fit for an asshole lord.

“Oh!” She clasped her hands together and smiled. “I can easily do that.”

“Wonderful. Go get started.” He didn’t wait for Rozlyn to scurry away, somehow knowing she would follow him into the spell room instead. Iseult stood at the furthest cauldron in the corner, churning the liquid, the metallic smell clinging to the air.

With eyes like saucers, Rozlyn peered inside the cauldron and tilted her head. “What kind of blood is that?”

“A combination of human and animal.” Haven shrugged. “It’s how most powerful spells begin. No matter how much you scoop out, this particular cauldron never empties.” He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to get to work when he noticed Rozlyn’s gaze trained on his arms. “Yes?” he drawled.

She cleared her throat. “What fabric am I supposed to use?”

“The cabinets behind you should have everything you need.” He held up a finger. “Oh, and make the doll small enough to fit in my pocket.”

“Of course.” She smiled brightly and approached a row of onyx cabinets as if she’d just been given a queen’s crown.

His attention focused on Iseult, who continued to stir. “You can leave. Wake me before the sun descends tomorrow.”

“Yes, Marquis.” Iseult placed the ladle on the hook before leaving Haven and Rozlyn alone.

Throughout the rest of the night, Haven worked on his original spell for Adham while tweaking a few of the ingredients, adding bay leaves, birds’ eyes, and virgin hair. He was more efficient this time instead of fueled by blinding rage and a newly broken heart. Dark birds flew out from the black smoke and seeped into his vial, ready to bend to his will when freed. Every so often, he cast a glance at Rozlyn, who took it upon herself to not make one doll but five .

“Marquis, the sun has risen,” Iseult announced from the doorway. “And we have returned to the Dawnbreak Court.”

Fuck !

Haven gripped the corked vial on the shelf and brushed past his assistant to the front entrance of the tower. He released his shadows, but the door didn’t budge against their rough attempts to open it. Hot blood pulsing within his veins, he raced up the staircase to the top of the tower.

His magic stripped him of his shirt and boots as he entered the room. He went out to the window ledge, freed his gargoyle, then barreled forward with a hard snap of his wings. A gust of wind struck him like a wall, boomeranging him back into the room.

The binding hadn’t altered this part at all.

Haven growled to himself as Rozlyn stepped through the doorway.

Jaw clenched, he released a shadow that curled toward her. “I need two tendrils of hair this time.”