Chapter 22 Azalea
Azalea
“This is a terrible idea,” I groan the next day, as Rhoden, and I stare into the pot we just took off the coals. The thick, syrupy liquid inside continues to bubble even after it’s been pulled from the heat.
“It’s a great idea, you hush.” Rhoden swats at me.
“What if he knows I put something into his drink?” I look back down at the practically black liquid, knowing it will be painfully obviously to spot in a drink.
“It cools into a clear color.” Rhoden stirs the mixture before looking down to read the instructions from the book we pulled from the library.
When it comes to making tonics, if you have a magical background, it can boost the effects of whatever concoction you’re brewing. However, not all potions need magic in order to work, which is very lucky for the two of us, seeing as neither of us has a magical bone in our bodies.
Rhoden’s brilliant idea includes me inviting Braxton to have a drink in his study after dinner tonight.
Then, when he isn’t looking, I’m supposed to slip this little concoction into his drink.
When he begins to get drowsy, it means the elixir is taking effect, and I can help him to his room, giving me ample opportunity to snoop both in his room and his study.
While I do feel guilty about more or less drugging Braxton, Rhoden’s already assured me it wouldn’t be necessary if not for his fastidious need to lock both his study and room whenever he’s not occupying them.
“What if he sees me slip it into his drink?” My eyes widen as I watch Rhoden give the mixture another stir and see some of the black fading into a soft gray hue.
“That’s why you have to have some finesse with it.”
“Finesse?” I sit back, my knees beginning to ache from kneeling over the bowl.
We figured hiding ourselves behind the counters in the kitchen would buy us at least a little bit of time if anyone came in and found us, but neither of us factored in that this would leave us kneeling on the stone floor for an extended period of time.
“Finesse,” Rhoden shimmies her shoulders softly this time when she says it.
I keep my perplexed expression firmly in place.
“Use your boobs is what I’m saying,” she clarifies with an eye roll.
I gape at her before covering my chest by crossing my arms over it.
“Rhoden!” I gasp.
“Oh, don’t be so modest. If I had ones like yours, I’d happily show them off every chance I got.”
I slowly blink, at a complete loss for words.
“You don’t have to do anything. Believe me. As long as you let him know they exist, he’ll be distracted. And don’t even pretend like I didn’t catch you in those couple of bustier dresses when we first started this plan. I help you get dressed, remember.”
“Fair.” I shrug, knowing she’s right. “But what if he does try to do something?”
I’m far from being a virgin, but thinking back on the couple of times I’ve let Braxton get too close has my stomach flipping.
I know I would never let him go that far, but that does leave me with the question of how far I would let him go.
I shake the thoughts from my head and think about Phillip, who is waiting for me at home, and I can practically feel my guilt branding me across my skin.
I should be disgusted at the thought of Braxton touching me, and a part of me is. But that part is not nearly as loud as my relentlessly budding curiosity. Try as I might, I can’t deny that there is something that sparks to life inside me whenever I feel Braxton’s fingers brush my skin.
This is ludicrous. I force myself to remember the feel of Phillip. I’m only thinking any of these thoughts about Braxton because I’m locked away with him, but this won’t be forever. I will get myself back home.
I force myself to remember how good Phillip’s hands felt when they would roam my body.
How it felt to have him fill and stretch me to my fullest. My traitorous mind flashes to Braxton pushing his hard length against me last night.
Even through his clothes and the countless layers of my dress, I could tell that he had nothing to be shy about.
My memories with Phillip are filled with worshipping kisses and gentle caresses, mixed with a medley of stolen glances.
Our love is young, brilliant, and beautiful, but something about it feels so out of reach for me now.
Instead, my mind takes an involuntary step further into imagining what it would be like to bed Braxton.
It’s a twisted thought, but one I can’t stop myself from pondering.
Something tells me he wouldn’t be a gentle lover, and that thought sends a thrill shooting to my core.
While I can imagine him worshipping every inch of me with his kisses, much like Phillip has, it would be fervent, desperate even.
His fingers would dig into my flesh as a tormented longing took hold of the two of us.
My cheeks heat at my body’s reaction to my fantasy, and I can’t help but wonder who this castle is turning me into.
Why would I ever want something so gnarled and twisted over the love that I have?
I wouldn’t, yet somehow I feel my thighs growing slick from these thoughts alone.
“Look!” Rhoden’s whispered exclamation pulls me from my thoughts, and I eagerly let it.
Looking down into the pot, I see the liquid has gone completely clear.
“The vile, the vile!” Rhoden slaps at my arm in excitement before holding her hand out, palm up, for me to put the vial for the potion into.
I quickly give her the small glass tube and watch with bated breath as she scoops the liquid into a ladle before carefully pouring it into the vial and placing a cork in the top. She smiles at me triumphantly.
“Phase one complete,” she chimes.
“Yeah, well.” I take the bottle from her. “This was the easy part.”
My palms are sweating as I rub them down the skirt of my dress. I’ve barely touched my dinner, my nerves making me incapable of remembering how to chew and swallow without choking.
I have the sleeping potion Rhoden and I made tucked between my breasts, and I swear I can feel it burning a hole through my skin.
When I first walked into the dining room, Braxton was already sitting at the table.
His eyes skated up and down my figure as if he was searching for something.
His expression was completely unreadable, and for a split-second, I was convinced he figured out my entire plan and was going to strike me down for it.
But instead, he simply said, “You look nice,” before beckoning to have the food brought in.
I hope he didn’t see my shoulders sag with the slightest bit of relief.
Of course he had ogled me when I walked in.
Rhoden and I picked out my dress, knowing it would catch his attention and keep him well distracted.
Unlike some of my fancier gowns, this dress doesn’t billow away from my body like a ball gown, but instead stays hugged to my figure all the way down to the bottom where the skirt grazes the floor.
The rose red color of the dress is equal parts alluring and seductive, and it perfectly matches my lip color and complements my skin tone.
In the flickering candlelight, I can see the tiniest hint of sparkles reflect off the dress.
But, my favorite part of this particular gown is that it isn’t corseted.
The top hugs my body tightly, but there are no bones or ribbing digging into my flesh as I sit down.
Truly, it seems as if the dress was made specifically for me in the way it molds to my body.
I have no idea how Rhoden found it shoved in the depths of my wardrobe, but I’m thrilled it’s serving its purpose perfectly.
As I take my seat, I see Braxton’s eyes flick up to me once more. He drinks me in as if I’m his oasis in the middle of the desert, but in truth I’m only a venom-filled mirage.
“Like it?” My question holds a taunting lilt as I watch him soak in my appearance.
“It’s a lovely dress.” His voice is oddly cold while giving the compliment.
When he finally looks away, I feel like I can breathe again. We’re sitting in the loudest silence I’ve ever been a part of. There’s a tension building between us that I can’t quite place, but it’s causing my skin to slick with sweat.
Calm down Azalea. I scold myself. I’ve imagined slitting this man’s throat a handful of times, but now slipping a little sleeping drought into his drink is too much for me? I internally scoff at how I’m behaving. Giving myself one strong mental shake, I force myself to push this plan forward.
“Do you want to have a drink in your study after dinner?”
Braxton’s head shoots up and his chewing slows. He assesses me with an expression somewhere between confusion, concern, and suspicion. Reaching for his goblet, he washes his food down with a long, slow pull of the water inhabiting it.
“A drink?”
I nod.
“In my study?”
I nod again.
He grazes his tongue over his teeth before releasing the tension on it with an audible click.
I study his nearly black eyes as he looks back at me, trying to get a read on him.
He lifts his hand, and raises it toward his head but stops, as if he was about to run his fingers through the thick, black tresses of his hair before thinking better of it.
“We can have a drink in here,” he counters. Lifting his hand again, he beckons to the servants standing on the outskirts of the room, no doubt cueing them to refill our glasses.
“We could.” I nod my head in agreement. “But your study is a little more… private.” I let my voice drop to a soft whisper and purposefully blink at him through my lashes.
He studies me more heavily. “Finally fulfilling your dream of killing me then?”
My lips turn up involuntarily. “If that were the case, Braxton, I would happily do it very publicly.”
He breathes a laugh through his nose before shaking his head.
Were we joking with each other? The realization strikes me, and I quickly wipe the smile from my face.
After another moment of hesitation, Braxton gives in with a shrug. “Fine.” Without any further invitation, he stands abruptly and exits the dining room.
I quickly shake the shock from my system and bound to my feet, moving as swiftly as my dress will allow to catch up to him. When I pass the threshold of the door, I see him standing next to it, leaning his tall frame against the nearby wall.
“Eager are we?” he teases with a rueful grin.
My nostrils flare, and I scold myself for falling for his stupid trick.
“Perhaps being in your presence simply makes me crave alcohol,” I counter.
“There was wine at dinner,” he volleys.
“To deal with you, I need something stronger.” I smirk as I watch him try to read me and fail miserably. He might know I’m playing at something, but I can tell by the frustrated crinkle of his brow that he has no idea what.
“Then by all means, follow me.” He spins himself around and begins walking toward his study.
His hands casually dip inside the pockets of his black trousers as he walks with his broad shoulders pulled back.
He’s trying to show me that he isn’t concerned with whatever I’m scheming, but he’s making it too obvious.
I feel a slight thrill fill me, knowing I have him on edge.
There’s something intoxicating about this feeling, and I’m smacked with the sudden urge to find other ways to chase this high with him.
My thoughts are brought to an abrupt halt when he smoothly pulls a key from his pocket, slips it into the lock on the door, and pushes it open.
Waving his arm, he gestures for me to help myself inside as he holds the door open, which is unnecessary, seeing as the door is able to stay open on its own just fine.
Feigning as though I’m unfazed, I stroll past him into the room, my mind rapidly taking note of all the places he might be hiding the details of my curse, which, unfortunately for me, is vast.
The walls of his study are lined with a multitude of bookshelves, each stacked with an egregious amount of books.
I mean, honestly, he’s basically hosting his own small library in this room.
On top of that, he has a large oak desk in the corner that has at least eight different drawers for me to rummage through, and who knows how easy those will be to open.
I know I’ll only have a finite amount of time to do all my searching before he wakes from the sleeping drought.
I hear the door click closed behind me and whirl around.
Braxton stands before me, hands still casually in his pockets with a wide grin overtaking his face.
I give him a scrutinizing look only now realizing he might be doing some kind of scheming of his own, and I just willingly locked myself in a room with him.