Chapter 15
“BELLINOR CLAIMS THIS PLACE is not an underworld,” Isabelle said, dipping her feet into the cool water, as clear as a pane of glass.
They were exploring le Jardin, taking a break in a room that Rul affectionately called the Submerged Hall, a massive space with a pool of water that looked like it was drowning the marble statues within.
She enjoyed this room, an unnatural light shining down from the high ceiling, almost like it was the sun.
They sat on the oversized shoulder of a figure who looked suspiciously like the moon mother, letting the cool water caress their feet.
“Of course it’s not the underworld,” Rul said. “It is le Voile.”
“But… you’re an incubus.”
He shrugged.
“Incubus is just a name. I am my own thing, unlike any other.”
“What does that mean? You’re the only incubus here?”
“As far as I know.”
Isabelle sat with that information, trying to understand what he was saying.
The Veil was supposed to be filled with demons, creatures of nightmares to torment those who had failed the moon mother, those who had lived in sin.
But according to Rul, he was the only one, and other than the servants–who were clearly some sort of automatons rather than sentient beings–she had seen no one else.
“Well, where did you come from?”
He gave her a gleaming smile, with too much teeth.
“Bellinor created me.”
“He created you?”
Shock wound its way through her, like she was taken out of her body for a moment. She’d come to believe that he really did create this space, all the rooms–both intelligible and uncanny–but another living person?
“Yes. After surviving in le Voile for so long on his own, I assume he wanted company.”
Rul said it so casually, like it was the most normal thing in the universe. And she supposed if it was really true, then it was normal for him. His reality.
When he noticed her strange expression, he chuckled.
“Don’t look so horrified. I was an adult when I was born, so to speak. He’s not my parent.”
“He’s your creator. Your God.”
Rul laughed, nudging her with his shoulder.
“He likes to think so. He loves when I worship him on my knees.”
She ignored the lascivious tone, the naughty smile on his face, gazing out into the water and trying to control her racing heart.
“You’re the only one he created?” she asked.
“There are the servants, though I’m sure you’ve noticed they’re not particularly… intelligent. I am more than enough for him, though, of course, we enjoy our sweet companions like you.”
He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her so her head lay on his shoulder.
“It’s really not so strange,” he said quietly.
“How is this anything but strange?”
Rul kissed the top of her head.
“Strange is what we make it, sweetheart. This is my existence, as it always will be. Now, before you let the mysteries of the cosmos worry that little mind of yours, why don’t I show you some more of my favorite spaces?”
Reality was fraying at the edges as he took her hand, leading her down the corridor to another room which defied logic.
Towering columns reached toward a sky that didn’t exist, the infinite ceiling rippling like a pool of water.
The black sand stretched on endlessly in every direction, warm against her bare feet though there was no sun to heat it.
There were statues too, some half buried, some with just their heads poking out of the sand, though they were all faceless.
“What is in this tower?” Rul asked, touching the gray stone with his hand as they walked up to one. “We will never know, as there are no doors, no windows, no entry or exit. It just is.”
They circled the column, and sure enough, he was right; no doors or windows or anything other than stone blocks stretching on and on into the heavens.
Isabelle breathed the dry air, felt the heated stones beneath her fingers.
It felt real, like this could be a building in Marilet if not for the peculiarity, but was it?
Was anything here real? She felt lightheaded, weary from exploring for hours and the new information about Rul’s creation, the wonders of the le Jardin making her head spin.
“I think I need to lie down.”
“As you wish, sweetheart,” Rul said, scooping her up and heading back toward the door.
She circled her arms around his neck as he gave her a big grin, the chill of le Jardin such a stark difference from the heat of the absurd desert. He walked a few doors down, nudging the knob with his side until it opened, revealing an intimate parlor.
With tender care, he set her on a plush couch, sitting next to her and letting her head rest in his lap.
“How do you remember where everything is?” she asked, already feeling better now that she was out of the arid room.
“Like I said, I’ve been here a long time.”
He smirked down at her, brushing her hair out of her eyes.
“How long has Bellinor been here?”
“A very long time.”
“Where did he come from?”
“He lived in Marilet before…”
Rul trailed off like he wasn’t certain he should have said that, a sheepish look on his face.
“He’s from Marilet?” she asked, incredulous.
He cleared his throat, his uncomfortable smile turning into a frown.
“Yes, but long before your time.”
“Did he worship Celeste?”
There was another long pause as he glanced around the room, as if Bellinor would appear from the shadows.
“He did.”
“So why does he hate her so much?”
Rul let out a huff of air, and she already surmised what his answer would be.
“You’ll have to ask him.”
She rolled her eyes, knowing that would lead her exactly nowhere. Bellinor was as forthcoming as a closed book, his loathing of the moon mother palpable. Before she could protest, beg Rul to tell her something, the door opened, Bellinor appearing as if they had beckoned him with their conversation.
They both stared at him wide-eyed, and his wings fluttered as if disconcerted by the strange looks. His light blue skin looked beautiful in the glow of the hearth, and she wondered when she had started preferring his non-human form to the human one.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, ambling gingerly into the room and sitting on the couch opposite them.
Rul shook his head, clearly not wanting her to bring up the questions about Celeste.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” she said, though the air was tense with peculiar energy.
Bellinor crossed his leg over his knee, leaning back and opening the book he’d brought, a small red volume with no title.
“Were you two talking about me?” he asked after a minute of strained silence.
Rul resumed playing with her hair, trying to act casual.
“Of course, we weren’t, Master.”
Bellinor growled, but said no more, his eyes trained on the book.
Strange how he would show up at such a time, especially when he seemed to avoid her at all costs.
“But now that you’re here,” Rul started, trailing a hand up her thigh, the whisper of a touch tingling her nerves as he danced closer to her center. “Perhaps we can try some of those things we talked about?”
She furrowed her brows, trembling under his ministrations. His touches seemed innocent enough, though there was a clear tension seething right under the surface.
Bellinor closed the book, his full attention on her now, that hungry expression on his face that she recalled so well from their morning in the woods.
“We’ve got some ideas for you,” Rul explained, and Bellinor’s lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile. “But Bellinor’s too polite to take you like he wants to.”
“Polite,” she huffed sarcastically, and Rul gripped her chin hard, sending a jolt of arousal through her.
“Don’t be rude, sweetheart. Bellinor’s been letting you get accustomed to le Jardin, but don’t forget why you’re here. You take us whenever we want, however we want. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she rasped, her voice immediately hoarse as her body and mind battled each other.
The way he could pivot from sweet and tender to dominant and commanding was mesmerizing, wetness already slicking her cunt as he slid his grip to her throat.
“What are you?”
“I’m a good girl for my owners,” she said quickly, the words ingrained in her mind after so short a time.
He slapped her cheek lightly, sliding his hand under her dress and teasing his way up her thigh.
“What i-ideas do you have?” she asked, shuddering as he grazed over her entrance, an absolute puddle in his arms.
“What? And ruin the surprise?”
Rul slid a finger in, and she tensed, not ready for his touch.
“You’re already so wet for me, so wet for us.”
His voice was rough with want, one hand petting her hair while the other pet her cunt. Bellinor’s dark eyes were glued to them, examining the spot where Rul was touching her, though the fabric of her dress blocked his view.
“Gentle goddess of mine,
so fair and so sweet.”
Rul pressed another finger in and she groaned, the way he stroked them over her sensitive spot positively sublime.
“Your bountiful fruit,
I can’t wait to eat.”
Isabelle flushed, a smile beaming on her face between his erotic caresses and lewd poem, the blasphemy of being called a goddess thrilling.
When he retracted his fingers, he beckoned Bellinor, and she had to resist a whimper, her body tingling with need. Bellinor set the book down, stalking over and crossing his arms as he towered over them.
“Come. Taste her,” Rul said, offering his glistening fingers with an obscene grin.
After a moment, Bellinor leaned over, taking Rul’s fingers into his mouth, their eyes locked on each other.
Rul bucked up, clearly enjoying the sensation of Bellinor’s tongue, and Isabelle could feel a bulge pressing at the back of her head.
It was intriguing to watch their interactions after what she’d learned today, the natural ease that came from two people who had known each other for a very long time.
They claimed there was no love between them, but she saw the truth in their glimmering eyes.