Chapter 23
Belle
The guards marched me through the grim corridors of the castle. The shadows were a little too deep, and I swore I could feel the walls practically vibrating with a deep, repressed anger that amplified my own.
The bastard had imprisoned me. Chased me. And now he was going to interrogate me.
A cold resolution took root in my heart. The king wanted answers about my magic. Well, I wanted answers too, and I was going to get them.
The portraits of vampire nobles leered at me from their gilded frames, as if in mockery of my intentions.
Here and there, someone had placed vases overflowing with brilliant roses, yet their bright petals only served as a cruel contrast to the tormented statues I passed—eternal reminders that the king reveled in the misery of all who served him.
My teeth ground with unfettered hatred. Somehow, I would find a way to end him and break the curse.
A whisper carried to me on a cold current of air.
…you are too weak…
Pins and needles spread down my spine, and I searched for the source. But the voice hadn’t come from any discernible direction.
…he will destroy you…
I spun around, stumbling over my own feet, certain the voice had come from behind. Only no one was there.
One of the guards grabbed my shoulder and yanked me around. “Keep moving.”
I inhaled slowly, finding only silence where the whispers had been.
It’s just your imagination. Pull yourself together.
The guard shoved me forward, and I continued, willing my nerves to calm and reminding myself why I was here.
I straightened my back and tried to put a certainty into my steps that I didn’t feel. Loreli had dressed me as a noblewoman, and I would act the part.
We turned down a corridor and marched toward an ornate door, flanked by two sentries.
“Lady Marquette to see the king,” my escort said.
The door swung open, and for a moment, all my intentions faltered. The king and the magister were waiting for me like a pair of wolves, their eyes bright with a hungry, almost feral energy.
Locke stood at the threshold, hand on the door. His linen shirt was damp with sweat, and he wore riding boots. With dark hair and a fine jaw, I’d forgotten how handsome he was—though Loreli’s warning wasn’t far from my mind.
He stood aside, and my gaze fell to the king. My mouth went dry. He leaned against a broad oak desk, his arms crossed, legs outstretched, watching me like I was his most captivating prize. He might adorn his castle with roses, but he was like oleander—beautiful and every part lethal.
“Come in, Belle.” His summons drew me into his lair, though everything about him made me want to flee.
I wouldn’t. I needed answers.
I drifted into the large study like a shadow moving under his will.
The room smelled of polished wood and hearth smoke, and dust motes danced in the fading sunset that filtered in through the paned glass windows.
My eyes widened. Bookshelves lined the back wall.
There must have been thirty or forty volumes—a priceless treasure.
I would’ve rushed to touch them, to breathe in their scent and run my fingers over the pages, save for the pair of brooding males glaring at me.
The door slammed shut behind me, and I jumped.
Locke closed in, his expression ruthless, almost eager. “You deceived us, Lady Marquette. It seems you’ve been hiding substantial power.”
“I haven’t. I didn’t know I possessed magic. Until last night, I’d never felt a hint of it.”
“And yet, out of the blue, you hurled an entire wardrobe across the room?” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “I think you’re lying. Your magic awoke long before last night.”
“Or maybe His Highness woke it when he barged into my bedchamber intent on killing me.” I glanced at the king. It was a mistake.
The top button of his shirt was undone, revealing a dusting of soft curls that disappeared beneath the fabric. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to think about something—anything—other than the matching ones that most certainly trailed down his toned belly and slipped under the waist of his pants.
The corner of the king’s mouth twitched, not a smile, but a veiled promise. “If I’d been intent on killing you, princess, you’d have been dead before you’d made it back to your chamber.”
I glared at him. The next thing I threw at him would draw blood.
“Magic often manifests under threat,” Locke continued. “But I’m certain you’ve used your magic before, and not just once. Many times.”
Had I?
Memories danced through my mind.
The barn. The roar of the beast. The paralyzing fear, and then the sensation of ice water draining through me. The thunderous crash as the roof collapsed, boards striking like spears. The chains striking out as if alive, grasping and entangling—
I shook my head. “Nothing I can recall.”
I flicked my eyes toward the king, but he remained statuesque, emotionless, watching me with an expression that sent a cascade of shivers down my spine. He could sense my racing pulse. Would he sense the lie?
The magister raised his eyebrows. “Then how did you break out of your quarters last night? There is only one key, and it was in the king’s possession.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. As I told His Highness, somebody unlocked the door and left.”
“Or you unlocked it,” Locke said. “With your magic.”
I clenched my trembling hands. “You clearly know more about my magic than I do, so why don’t you enlighten me?”
He drew near, watching me through hooded lids. “I suspect you possess the unseen touch—magic that lets you manipulate the objects around you. It would explain the wardrobe and the lock on your door. A telekinetic, by academic standards.”
A telekinetic. I could manipulate objects.
My mind spun, trying to make sense of it all.
“But I didn’t choose to do anything…” I protested. “At least, it didn’t feel like I did anything. It just happened.”
He shrugged. “An unconscious use of power is often how these things manifest at the beginning. You’ve probably used it countless times without realizing it.”
The thrum of my bowstring beside my ear. An impossible shot, with force enough to kill a beast. My gaze shifted to the king. Or an immortal.
I forced my face to be a mask and turned my attention back to the magister. “Then how do I use my powers consciously?”
Locke smirked in a self-satisfied way that made my blood boil. “That’s a rather loaded question. One that will require payment in answers.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Then ask.”
“What did it feel like?” Locke asked, his voice almost thirsty, eager.
I stared straight at the king as I envisioned the wardrobe smashing into him again and again. “Pure fucking joy.”
The king smirked, a strange delight shadowing his expression. He knew I was lying. There hadn’t been room for joy. I’d been out of my mind with terror—but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it.
“I meant physical sensations,” Locke said flatly.
Pointedly ignoring the king’s smug expression, I turned back to the magister. “It was freezing, like having my strength and breath drained from me. I passed out shortly after.”
“You’ve probably never summoned that much energy before. Over time, your strength will grow, and using the power will be less fatiguing—if you cultivate it, that is.”
He drew close, his expression ominous.
“Untrained—you’ll be a danger to yourself and everyone around you. Draw more power than you can control, and you’ll die.”
“Then what am I supposed to do? I don’t know how to draw my magic, let alone wield it.”
Locke looked to the king, who nodded subtly, a fraction of an inch.
“I can show you if you promise to behave.” The magister stepped close, and I jerked back, my suspicion flaring.
Why would they help me? Not because they cared if I accidentally killed myself or hurt someone. It had to be a trap.
Alarms rattled in my mind, but the truth was—whatever Locke could show me would make me stronger. I’d deal with the rest as it came.
“Fine,” I said, keeping my distance. “I won’t attack you, if that’s what you mean by behave.”
The king, on the other hand, I absolutely considered fair game.
Locke grinned. “Close your eyes and tell me if you feel the power within you.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Think of last night. It should be a faint undercurrent beneath the swell of your thoughts, a thread of energy that is different from the rest.”
I closed my eyes, trying to focus, but I felt everything but my magic: the cold seeping through the window glass, the gloom hanging over the castle, the king’s smoky leather scent, and the heat of his gaze drifting down my body.
I closed my eyes tighter, as if that could block the monster out.
“What do you feel?” The closeness of Locke’s voice startled me. He was hovering inches away, his vanilla scent lulling me in an uncomfortable way.
I pulled away. “Nothing other than how creepy this place is.”
Something unreadable danced in his ice-blue eyes. “You hate it here, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“You’re miserable,” Locke said.
“Yes.”
He slapped a book down on the desk beside the king. “Take whatever you’re feeling and focus it on the book—your hate, your anger…your fear. Push it off the table, just as you pushed the wardrobe last night.”
I pictured that moment: the feel of the power inside me, of it flowing out, of the wardrobe slamming into the king. I imagined it over and over…the shock on the king’s face, the rage, and for a fraction of a second, a flicker of respect.
“Concentrate,” the magister said with a hint of irritation.
It would be far easier to concentrate without the looming presence of the king, presiding over my attempts, watching and judging with that cruel, self-certain smile.
Hatred flowed through me, and with it, a subtle current of cold.
“Maybe I feel something,” I whispered.
“Good,” Locke said. “Your power is your hand—push the book off the table.”
I strained, imagining my power driving into the book like a lance, but nothing happened. Sweat formed on my brow, and my heartbeat quickened. “It’s not working.”
Locke stepped behind me, his breath heating the side of my neck. “Magic is about domination. You must exert your will over the book. You are its master. Prove it.”
I clenched my teeth, my eyes boring into the book. Nothing.
The magister’s fingers touched my waist, and I tensed.
“Locke,” the king growled, his chair scraping back. He was standing now, a murderous expression on his face as he glared at the two of us.
I twisted away from them. “I can’t do this.”
“Perhaps Miss Marquette and I should practice alone,” Locke muttered. “You’re interrupting her focus, Your Highness.”
“Yes,” I exhaled. “Great idea.”
The king simply arched one eyebrow at me in challenge. “Resume. Show us there’s something to you, after all.”
My neck heated. I’d show the bloody arrogant bastard. I turned back to the book and extended my hand, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make it move.
“This isn’t working!”
Locke slapped the book off the table, and it landed with a thud, its pages splayed. “That is all I’m asking of you. Last night you moved an entire wardrobe.”
“Because I was scared for my life,” I ground out. “This is different.”
“Then maybe you simply lack the proper motivation,” the king murmured, his voice achingly close.
I pivoted and froze. He was only a foot away, looming over me, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
Then he drew his knife.