Chapter 2 #2
“I may have entered into a bargain with you of some kind.” I shrug one shoulder, and then immediately still, all too aware of the way his gaze is hot as it travels across my skin to where my bosom has risen and fallen.
I take a deep breath and restart. “But I did not know the terms of this agreement, nor the reason for it, or even the history behind it.”
Aha! Yes. That’s what I wanted to say. I curb a triumphant smile.
“You do not deny that you have entered the bargain, though,” he questions, tilting his head slightly the other direction.
Well. He’s not wrong there.
My eyes narrow, and I purse my lips. Then, instead of answering, I hold the goblet out, and the silver pitcher, unbidden, refills it.
The crisp, musical splash of clear water filling the glass echoes off the vaulted ceiling, a silent hospitable offering from an empty room.
I let him steep in the silence as I take another long drink.
“Until I know the full terms of the agreement that my ancestors apparently entered into with you, I feel that I cannot answer that question appropriately.” I settle back into the chair, and I beam at him, giving him my best vapid duchess smile—the one that drove my stepfather insane.
Something flickers in his eyes, and I’m not na?ve enough to think that it’s respect. No. He wants something from me, and earning his respect, I imagine, is not at all part of this bargain.
“The treaty is simple,” Malakai replies. “You are to be my mate, the witch queen of my domain, of day. As I am the Shadow King, it’s simple.”
“Does mate mean something that I am not aware of in this circumstance?” I ask, slowly trying to dance around the delicate nature of the topic as best I can.
I set the goblet of water back on the end table, only to disguise the fact that my hands are shaking, and I steeple them on my lap, forcing myself to be as calm as possible.
“It means that you are mine and I am yours… for all eternity.”
Malakai is speaking just as slowly as I am, though something like rage is a light in his eyes now. I’m not sure what I liked better—the fire I see in him now, or the cold, detached shadow god of only a few seconds ago. Neither are great, I decide, and I let loose a long sigh.
“An eternity is a very long time,” I venture. He’s out of his mind, I decide. “I will absolutely not be spending an eternity with you, nor could I if I wanted to. I have maybe forty more years if I’m lucky.”
He simply regards me as if I’m a particularly amusing piece of lint.
I resist the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I hate to disappoint you,” I tell him, finally leaning back in the chair, taking a deep breath, “but I am not a witch and I am not a queen, so I’m afraid that this bargain cannot be met.”
Before I have a chance to even see him move, he’s kneeling in front of me, his face inches from my own, his hands bracketing the arms of the chair. And the smell of a rainy autumn night, the damp chill of it, fills the room.
“You were sworn to be mine before you even existed,” he says, and there’s no denying the animalistic edge to his voice, the possessiveness in it.
I don’t shrink back. I refuse to, regardless of how shadows around him are alive, climbing up my arms, feathering across my neck, my collarbone, a caress of darkness against my cheek.
“You may not be a queen yet,” he says. “But you have the soul I need, and mating with me will make you a queen. Your argument is moot. Admit you belong to me, and claim your throne by my side.”
His words aren’t an offer, they’re a demand, and I am sick to death to my bones of being demanded to be something, to do something. Heat rises in me, rage fueled by some source I wasn’t sure I even possessed.
“I’m not a witch,” I tell him, hiding the way my hands shake by pressing them into my thighs. “Your contract is null.”
A laugh tears out of his throat, the sound rusty as though with disuse, and he leans even closer forward, teeth bared. “Just because you know not what you are does not mean that the contract is void.”
Anger rises in me, a hot rage I’ve felt many, many times and pushed down and swallowed before.
Made myself smaller. Made myself palatable.
Pretty. Made myself safe. And look where it got me—in some sort of magical castle, a prisoner to an Elder God, in a world I know nothing about, as payment for a contract I had nothing to do with.
“I do not fulfill your requirements,” I snarl, and light bursts from my skin, so bright that I raise a hand to block my eyes, but not before I watch all the shadows writhing around me dissipate, and the Shadow King himself is sent backwards, the burst of light skidding across the floor.
He stands slowly, elegantly, and completely unearthly. My chest tightens with fear, but he just stares at me, then brushes off his knees.
“For someone who claims not to be a witch, there certainly is the largest well of power there that I’ve ever experienced from one.
”… “Dinner is at eight,” he says. “We can discuss this more then. But for the record—” he tilts his head, one side of his mouth jerking up in a sly grin “—you’ve proven more with your contradictions and arguments than I could have without them. I think you’ll do quite nicely.”
“You can’t make me come to dinner,” I say, standing, sending the chair flying backwards.
“I can make you do whatever I want,” he says, a black eyebrow arching as he stares down at me with a smug expression that sets my teeth on edge.
“You’re mine, and your little tantrum just now proves it.
I’ll see you for dinner, and I expect you to be…
” his gaze drags across my body “more appropriately dressed for the occasion. Or do mortals no longer believe in decorum?”
With that, Malakai disappears into shadow and darkness, leaving me alone in a giant entryway of a castle in the middle of nowhere, staring at skin that had light pouring from it just moments ago—skin I’ve had my entire life.
It doesn’t look any different than it ever did, innocuous and freckled…
but it’s shifted my entire world on its axis.
“Dressed for the occasion?” I finally repeat, my brain catching up to what he’s said.
I stare down at my dirt-stained hem. “Dress for the occasion. When he’s shirtless with just some…
” I gesture at my shoulders wildly, no idea what name for what he’s…
accessorized with is. “Right. Because I am the problem here. Because he so thoughtfully brought my trunks with him. I have so many appropriate dresses to choose from. Maybe I should just traipse around shirtless with a bit of leather around my shoulders, see how he likes that.”
I grit my teeth, annoyed beyond reason at the demand I be dressed for dinner when the bastard’s hauled me here by some magic, made me light up like a glowworm with the same magic, all in an attempt to get me to admit I’m bound by some blood contract I had nothing to do with it.
Truly, it’s outrageous.
“Outrageous behavior,” I say aloud, absolutely miffed. “Of all the things, to demand I appear at dinner then to cast aspersions on my sense of style when I am only dirty because he dragged me through the damned forest—”
A strange creaking noise interrupts my tirade, and I pause, a tidal wave of goosebumps rising across my skin.
This castle feels… alive. There are no footmen or servants waiting in the wings, yet every domestic comfort seems to materialize the exact second my mind registers the need.
Whether or not that’s better than the tired air of the estate I grew up in or not remains to be seen.
Doesn’t mean it’s not unsettling.
“No one can make the Duchess of Stormspire do anything, not even a so-called Elder God.” I stomp my foot and gather my skirts in hand. If my voice shakes slightly, I don’t care.
As long as I try not to think too hard about the fact that me being here means that very sentence is a lie, I can pretend I’m here because I wanted to be.
I was forged in the fires of petty court drama. If he wants a formal, perfect little duchess, he’ll get her.
And then some.
In the meantime, I might as well explore while I’m being threatened with formal dining events.