Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MORGANA
A ster grabbed hold of my elbow and guided me inside. Not without struggle though, as I yanked free of him and cursed his name.
“Do not touch me.”
Aster beamed down at me, grabbed hold of my elbow, and kept pulling me down the foyer halls. “It is either my hand, or shackles. Which do you have a flavor for, Morgana?”
“At least the shackles free me from your toxic touch.”
Aster halted, twisting to face me without a missed beat. He nodded once, let me go, and flourished his hand that left a dark mist behind. It settled across me, the cold sensation trickling down my arm before forming hollow shackles that were no more physical than smoke but no less difficult to break free from than metal. I nearly screamed in frustration, but Aster turned away from me and guided me without his cold grasp.
I imagined plunging a blade into the back of his neck as I chased after him. He walked fast, turning down the eastward corridor in utter silence. I was forced to practically run after him so as to not lose him, and although I could not see his face, I knew he was smirking. Wickedly so.
I finally groaned and used my shackled hands to hit him in the back, shoving him forward with all the might I could muster. He stumbled, and I immediately gasped as regret seeped through my veins. The mere taste of the rage I saw when I last pushed him flooded to the forefront—only, this time, we were in his territory.
Not trapped in the woods.
I jolted back long before he straightened his posture, his back rising and falling with a deep sigh. I held my hands close to my chest and shuddered, but my fear couldn’t win. I needed to seem unfazed by my hasty actions. As if they were not taken out of raw terror and impatience. Hatred, perhaps. Even so, I feared him.
Aster adjusted his buttoned cuffs and turned to me. Where I expected anger was numb indifference. “Do not push me again, little dove. I’ve had enough of it.”
“Or what?” I hissed and bared my teeth. “Or you’ll throw me in that tower, or worse yet, a dungeon? Is that not where you are taking me?”
Aster’s face softened, even as anger flashed across his eyes. “You are making my decision not to all the more difficult. I could hang you in our dungeon by your shackled wrists, if you so please. It is what Erynna suggested, after all.”
A pang of remorse washed over me. My hesitations on the princess were correct—perhaps not for her treason, but for her ulterior motivation. Our faux-friendship lasted far shorter than I would have hoped though.
So much for a distraction.
“Then do it.”
Aster tutted and closed the distance between us, grabbed hold of the shadow-forged shackles, and bared his teeth back at me. “Tempting. I imagine you’d look divine hanging by your wrists, Morgana, but unfortunately for you, I was trained to defy my temptations.”
The air choked in my throat at the scandal laced behind his words. Gentlemen of both nobility and the working class rarely uttered such words, even behind closed doors. A flush washed across my cheeks, my lips thinning into a subordinate line. Silence.
Aster’s expression softened as the weight of his words settled between us. He let go of my shackles and continued guiding me down the halls. This time, I followed slowly, quietly, and kept my gaze low. He slithered a hand into his pocket, grabbed a key, and stopped outside large double doors. He slipped a key into the slot, the click echoing throughout the halls. He let the door swing open and stepped aside.
I blinked at him in disbelief. He merely gestured through the door. “As a reward for your subordination, Morgana, you have been upgraded from captive to monitored guest. You will be assigned a chamber woman and maid to attend to your day-to-day needs while I am occupied, and a guard who will ensure you do not run off to cause chaos.”
This wasn’t true. It was too sweet to be true, in fact. I’d gone from being locked away in a tower without a mattress to a royal wing to myself? Employees tending to my needs? I couldn’t help but chortle.
“I do not believe you,” I said between breathy laughs.
Aster cocked his head. “If you’d like, the shackles in our dungeon are very much an option.”
A shudder raced down my spine, and I shook my head once. I approached him, the breeze from an open window in the room brushing against my skin as I stood near the entrance. I hadn’t taken my focus off Aster though. I needed to catch his subterfuge.
There was none, though, as his swirling irises danced across my face. A sensation of yearning washed over me—it was this deep desire to fight him, to feel his hands and harsh words against my skin. His warning from the woods was evident in the back of my head, but I ignored it.
“Is there a problem, Miss Kyllingham?”
My proper name snapped me from the reverie. I angled my head toward the bed chambers and cleared my throat. “No. I am just relieved I am free of you for a few hours.”
I walked into the chambers and sucked in a breath, my focus drawn across the plush pillows and soft bed sheets. There was a vanity for me to properly get ready, and a set of doors that led into a bathroom fit for royals.
“Cherish these hours, Morgana. I will find you after my council’s meeting to figure out what sort of magic it is you have swimming in that blood of yours.”
The statement turned me cold, and when he closed the door, I heard the lock click into place. The shadowed cuffs vanished too.
So I was not a prisoner fit for a cell, but I was one fit for a warm bed and servants tending my every need.
I hummed. If getting kidnapped by the royal family was always this pleasant, I’d make it a habit to do it across all known kingdoms. I approached the vanity and rubbed my fingers across the mahogany, feeling the smooth valleys between bumpy ridges against my fingers. Next to the hairbrush, however, was a quill, inkwell, and paper.
I took a seat and blinked, pulling out a parchment square, and felt it between my fingers. I hadn’t yet envisioned a way to break free of this agreement from Aster before he deemed it worthwhile to send me home, but perhaps an outsider could repurpose my apathy and turn it into action.
I set the paper on the table and dipped the quill pen into the raven ink. I wasn’t sure how I could get this out to him, or if I could even manage it in the first place, but I had to try. I wrote a few simple words.
Dearest Siren,
I need your help.