8. Prince Cole
Chapter 8
Prince Cole
“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
— William Shakespeare
“ Y our temper is entertaining as ever, Lorelda.”
She lifts her chin, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I do not tolerate your attempts to mock me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Stop,” she admonishes. “I invited you to dinner, so I expect you to remember your manners and greet me properly.”
I step closer, placing a kiss on her cheek.
She nods in approval before dusting a piece of nonexistent lint off my jacket, her lips curling in disgust. “Now, shall we?”
She turns gracefully, her dark gown rustling like whispers in the night as she leads the way to the dining room.
The dining room, like the rest of the cottage, is cloaked in an almost tangible darkness that clings to every surface. The walls, paneled in deep, rich wood, seem to absorb the light rather than reflect it, creating an ambience that is oppressive. The table is set impeccably with glistening silverware and a centerpiece of black flowers. The only illumination comes from candles placed strategically around the room, their flames casting flickering shadows that dance and sway like restless spirits.
She watches me with those dark piercing eyes, always calculating, always a step ahead. “I trust your journey here was uneventful?” she asks with a hint of wariness in her tone.
“Yes, quite uneventful,” I respond, keeping my tone neutral. “And your hospitality, as always, is unmatched.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, but I do appreciate the effort.” She gestures to her black velvet armchairs. “Take a seat.”
I sit down, observing her as she runs a hand over her gown, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles.
Her long black hair cascades around her pale, hollow cheeks.
“I missed you yesterday,” she says, her tone dripping with irritation. “Where have you been? Did you find something more important than keeping me company?” She pours herself a glass of red wine. “I had to celebrate Davina’s death alone. It is a shame.”
“My apologies,” I drawl. “I had an unexpected visitor.”
She doesn’t look up immediately, swirling the wine in her glass before pressing her lips together in a thin line. “A woman, I assume?”
“Correct.”
“Very well. It was about time.”
“Oh? I thought you preferred I didn’t see anyone.”
“I must admit, I wasn’t pleased with your last choice. You do have a tendency to…disappoint, after all. However,” she adds, “I can tolerate a woman by your side—provided, of course, she is worthy of you.” Her eyes flicker with something unreadable, an emotion I can’t quite place. She leans forward, her fingers tapping idly against the armrest of her chair, the sound a steady, almost taunting rhythm. “I trust this time you’ve chosen more wisely.”
“I—”
“Well,” she cuts me off, “I suppose I could meet her and judge for myself.” Her gaze lingers on me, growing colder with each passing second. There is no kindness in her expression, no genuine curiosity—only judgment.
I know what she is doing. She’s toying with me, drawing out the tension like a predator teasing its prey.
Desperate to regain control of the conversation, I deflect. “So, what caused your resentment?” I ask, referring to the storm she’s responsible for. “Is there something I should be concerned about?”
“I was eager to enjoy watching Nathaniel bury his daughter.” Her knuckles turn white around her glass. “But it seems the king hasn’t left his castle since yesterday. I returned not long before you arrived and vented a bit of frustration,” she adds. “I am also missing six of my Shadows.”
“Quite a shame, really.”
“I wonder?—”
“Is dinner ready yet?” I cut her off abruptly, my voice louder than intended.
“Speaking of dinner. You need to find me a new cook.”
“Why? Does your current cook not appreciate being held captive?”
“She dropped my most expensive knife earlier,” she says with a dramatic sigh. “Unacceptable. I shoved it down her throat.”
“Of course you did.”