Chapter 13 Nicole
Nicole
Resisting the Black Joker’s attempts to intimidate me is much easier than resisting his compliments. Because when he offers the latter, my heart races.
It’s a trap—another one of his tricks to manipulate me. Tonight, he couldn’t scare me with his macabre show, not the way he’d hoped, so now he’s switching tactics.
The game he proposes is a trap, too. I can smell it from a mile away. Yet, the prospect of questioning the Black Joker ignites a reckless curiosity in me.
And besides…the Deliborovs’ ball was a disaster, my father lost his temper and took it out on me again, and the Black Joker saw me naked. The night really can’t get any worse, can it?
If Gaetano wants to play a game of questions, then we’ll play.
“Be a gentleman and let me start. Why can’t you be held anywhere?” I ask.
A faint smirk tugs at his lips. “Not so fast, Baroness. The questions are asked during a card game.”
“Card game?” I echo, with a touch of sarcasm.
With a flick of his wrist, he conjures a deck of cards into his hand. His fingers shuffle them with the precision of someone who’s played this game too many times. “Yes. The game’s called Black Joker.”
Of course it is. I roll my eyes. “Oh no, no sign of a god complex there…”
“On the contrary. Though I get the feeling I’m not the only one.” He fans out the deck with a flourish. The cards hover in mid-air between us, as if gravity doesn’t hold them. Their backs are black, and their faces have illustrations I don’t quite understand.
My arms fall to my sides, but I’m already too intrigued. Above us, the cards drift and spin.
“What are the rules?” I ask.
He grins, and a dimple appears on his cheek.
It draws my attention more than it should.
Then, with a casual sweep of his hand, a square table and two chairs materialize between the bed and wardrobe, resting on the chocolate-colored rug carefully chosen in terms of design.
The Black Joker takes a seat. It’s far too small for his size, highlighting how broad he is.
He leans back in the chair, stretches one leg out, and gestures toward the other seat.
With a resigned sigh, I lower myself onto the conjured furniture.
“We take turns drawing a card.” He points a finger at the hovering deck.
The cards drift toward us and settle on the table, face down.
“Drawing a safe card allows you to ask a question. A special card means you’ll need to complete its task before earning the right to ask.
If you draw the Black Joker card, you lose the game. ”
My fingers clutch the arms of the chair. “How can I be sure you’re not rigging the deck?”
He tilts his head, never breaking eye contact with me. “You have my word.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“A wise choice, Baroness. But if you don’t trust my word, you can trust the magic.” With a snap of his fingers, the table trembles. The cards shuffle themselves, guided by an unseen force. “The game is ancient. Once it starts, it can’t be manipulated. The only one in charge of the outcome is luck.”
My gaze darts between the black cards and his face. He’s observing me with the cool stillness of a hunter who’s already caught his prey. What he doesn’t realize? Luck or not, I hate losing. That’s why I never do.
I lean forward and flip a card. The illustration depicts a large mirror, with a black, rune-engraved frame. A shadow moves within it, a distorted face twisting in the glass like smoke, threatening to seep beyond the edges. And at its center: a question mark. “What the hell is that?”
“A safe card. You’ve earned the right to ask,” Gaetano says.
I allow myself the smallest breath of relief. “All right. Why can’t you be held anywhere, even if you want to be? What did you mean by that?”
Gaetano’s expression remains inscrutable. “I’m bound to my castle in a particular way. I can’t remain far from it for long. If I try, it pulls me back. By force.”
I frown. That doesn’t match his all-powerful witcher image. “Why?”
“My turn.”
He flips a card. The picture is different: a skeletal hand clutching a golden chain, a key dangling from it. Above it, in bold black letters, it reads: Il Prigioniero.
“The Prisoner,” Gaetano says. “I’m only allowed to ask you a question if I first accept the card’s condition.”
“What does that mean?”
He lifts his hands and presses his palms together in a mock prayer. “Until the end of the game, I’m your prisoner. I’m forbidden from using magic, except to sustain the game.”
A gold chain appears around his wrists, binding them like cuffs.
I gasp in surprise. “I’m starting to very much enjoy this game!”
My enthusiasm lasts for two seconds—right until the Black Joker cuts in with his question, “Why were there tear tracks on your cheeks?”
I brush my fingers under one eye and inspect it. There’s smudged makeup on the tip. I really had been crying, damn it. With all the chaos of the Joker’s appearance, I’d forgotten about what had happened with my father.
“I watched one of those disgustingly sentimental dog videos,” I mutter with a shrug. “YouTube caught me in a weak moment. I’m not made of stone, after all.”
As the words leave my mouth, the cards on the table tremble.
Gaetano leans forward, and the gold chains clink together. “Baroness,” he says, with a touch of triumph, “I thought we were playing fair.”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay composed. “I am playing fair.”
“Then why did the cards catch a lie?”
“No idea.” I reach for a new card…And then yelp, snatching my hand back. “Ow! That burned!” I shake my fingers, frowning at the faint tingle.
“I told you,” he says. “The cards are lie detectors. Either tell the truth or forfeit the game.”
Damn it. I hate losing.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I lift my chin. “I cried because my father was mean to me. Because you showed up at the ball.”
My stomach knots at the admission. Every time I think there’s nothing left to affect me, my father proves me wrong.
Gaetano doesn’t move, watching me. “What triggered the tears? Sadness? Insult? Perhaps…anger?”
I part my lips to answer—but then I remember the rules of the game. Just as I’m allowed a question per turn, so is he. “My turn.”
He doesn’t protest.
I reach for the next card with caution. This time, it doesn’t burn. Two intertwined snakes coiled around a dagger. Below the image, it reads: Il Tradimento.
“The Betrayal,” Gaetano translates in a velvet tone, and the way he shifts in his seat tells me this card intrigues him more than the others.
My fingers tighten around the card as I try to interpret its meaning. The rest of the deck begins to quiver, releasing a dark mist that spills across the table.
“What’s the condition?” I whisper.
“To ask your question, you must first confess your greatest betrayal.”
My lungs contract. I don’t know what unsettles me more—that this damn game is probing the darkest corners of my mind, or that Gaetano is watching me with such unwavering focus. His pupils dilate slightly, like a predator mid-hunt.
“What is it, Baroness? Did the cards strike a nerve?”
I swallow hard and square my shoulders, forcing myself to appear unbothered. “I have no betrayals weighing on my conscience.”
Gaetano merely arches an eyebrow. The card in my hand begins to heat up. It doesn’t burn, but it makes me clench my jaw. That sinuous mist swirls from its center.
“You can always forfeit the game,” the Black Joker says, as smooth as ever.
Yeah, right. Not happening. I press my lips together, weighing my next move. Well, it’s not like he’s going to go blabbing my secrets to the tabloids…
“Fine.” I sigh. “Daria was my best friend in elementary school. We did everything together, dressed the same, had matching hairstyles, and pretended we were twins separated at birth. She even went along with my ridiculous plan to summon the Black Joker…” I shoot him a pointed glare, which makes him laugh.
“But then, in high school, everything changed…”
He tilts his head toward me, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Let me guess, you fought over a boy?”
“Our friendship wasn’t something a boy could undo,” I grit out. “I just stopped pretending the world was the fairytale she so desperately wanted it to be. Some people live in dreams, but I…”
I pause, my fingers curling into a fist. “I never had the luxury of being that na?ve. At some point, I decided I didn’t need that distraction in my life. I ceased reaching out to Daria. Ignored her calls. Broke the promise we’d made as kids—that we’d always be there for each other.”
A strange, unexpected wave of guilt rises in me. I can’t take the weight of Gaetano’s attention, so I glance away.
“So I can torture her with memories of you?” His dark voice drifts to me.
My head snaps up. “Is that why you suggested we play this game?”
“I offered so you could earn your privacy. You’re the one who brought up the harvest coming up on my list.”
“Harvest.” My jaw clenches. “That’s all we are to you, right? Souls to be harvested?”
His black gaze locks onto mine without a trace of emotion. “Is that your next question for me?”
I fight the fireball swelling in my chest.
“No.” I lean back in my chair and exhale sharply. “What’s the answer to the riddle from my first trial?”
I’m so focused on the faint smile tugging at Gaetano’s lips that the sudden jab into my skin takes me unaware. “What the hell—?” I gasp, dropping the card to the carpet.
Thorns. Thorns had sprouted from the card. That’s where the pricking sensation had come from.
“I thought some boundaries didn’t need spelling out,” Gaetano says.
I glare at him, my pulse thudding in my ears.
“Oh, come on, Baroness,” he drawls. “Don’t sulk over a few restrictions. There are countless questions you could ask. Like…the most depraved thing I’ve ever done. My favorite pose…”
I ignore the heat stirred by his last words. Get it together, Nicole. I’m not going to lose this game.