Chapter 16
THE DAYS–OR WHATEVER the equivalent of a day was in le Voile–passed in blissful ignorance, every thought focused on creation… and hedonism.
Rul served her breakfast every morning, café au lait, croissants, fresh fruit, and jam, then presented her with a new dress he wanted her to wear.
They all were far more risqué than what she had back home, but she enjoyed the sensation of the silky fabric on her bare skin, the way he tore them off of her each evening after she’d gotten her share of painting in.
She wasn’t fully happy with how the still life had turned out, but Rul sang her praises, insisting she give it to Bellinor as a gift.
“But he hates me,” she argued, pacing the room in a lavender dress, so sheer it barely covered anything.
She hadn’t even seen him in days, just Rul and the odd servant to keep her company, and it felt like he was purposefully avoiding her.
“That’s not true at all,” he said as he lounged on the bed with a frown. “Why would you think that?”
Isabelle paused, rolling her eyes.
“You were there…”
The memory of the last time she’d been with Bellinor was seared in her mind, though there was no visual to go along with it, just her shameful admittance and his cruel words, the aggressive way he had ended the blissful encounter.
“Give him another chance?” Rul asked, holding his arms out to her.
She stepped up to the bed, letting him pull her into his lap and press kisses to her neck, a sensation that had once seemed so foreign, now familiar.
They hadn’t spoken about all that had happened in the red room, but the emotion was palpable anytime they were together… which was almost all the time.
“He’ll appreciate the gift. I promise.”
“And what happens if you’re wrong?” she asked, cupping his face and running her thumb along his cheek.
Rul made a show of considering it, then smiled deviously.
“I’ll let you tie me down and have your way with me.”
She laughed, then pressed a kiss to his lips, trying to let herself trust him.
Isabelle stood outside Bellinor’s study, knocking tentatively and awaiting a response.
No servant had escorted her this time, and she wondered if that meant she was finally free to roam on her own. At first she had thought that Rul was her overseer, so to speak, keeping an eye on her during the days and nights, but now she realized that he simply enjoyed spending time with her.
“Come,” said a muffled voice from within, and she turned the knob, entering before she could second guess.
Bellinor was at his desk, exactly as he had been the last time she had visited him here.
He was dressed in the same elegant style as always, the silky white shirt complementing the cool blue of his skin.
The eyes on his wings stared at her, though the ones on his face remained glued to the book in his hands.
When he didn’t speak, she ignored her nerves, making her way around the desk and handing the canvas to him.
“Here. You can have it if you want.”
He took the painting and was silent for a long while, dark eyes tracing over every corner of the image. Certainly he would hate it–it was far from perfect–and she’d go back to her room and tell Rul she was right.
Bellinor wore a strange expression, tears glistening in his eyes and his jaw clenched tightly. Did he want to cry? Was her painting that bad?
“It’s lovely,” he said, though his voice was so low it was difficult to hear. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” she said quickly, eager to stifle the strange energy in the room.
He looked exhausted. There were dark bags under his eyes, and his shoulders were slumped, like he hadn’t slept in ages. Did demons require rest? She fell asleep in Rul’s arms each night, but he was always awake when she stirred.
Bellinor stood, walking past her and clearing a spot on one of the shelves, piling books on a table. He placed the painting there, and it looked like it belonged, as amateur as it was. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as he admired it, frozen in her spot by his desk.
“I’ve been absent because I’ve been working on something for you,” he said without looking at her, his wings fluttering behind him. “It will be ready soon.”
Isabelle swallowed the dryness in her throat.
“Oh. You don’t have to do that. I really enjoy the paints and–”
Bellinor cut her off with a glare, though he softened a moment later.
“I should not have… done what I did the last time I saw you. It is my way of apologizing.”
An apology without an apology, though she supposed it was the best she would get. He stepped up to her, towering over her as his wings shrouded them, brushing her skin.
“You will–hm… Can I show you something?” he asked, and she nodded, her mouth as dry as the strange desert worlds within le Jardin.
A request this time, so different from his usual barked orders.
He took her hand, pulling her toward the back wall, tracing his fingers in an arched pathway. Everywhere he touched glowed with dark energy, the wall dissolving in an instant, leaving a doorway in its wake.
Bellinor pulled her along as she felt her anxiety creeping up, not knowing what he was so eager to show her. He seemed remorseful about what had happened, but she didn’t forget the threat he’d hissed at Rul.
There were whispers up ahead as they walked down a dark corridor, a light in the distance guiding their way. Eventually, they passed through another archway and into a spectacular garden frozen in perpetual twilight.
Ivy clung to enigmatic marble statues, like the ones Rul had shown her, their whispering words a constant background hum in her ears.
Soft patches of luminous moss lit their way as Bellinor led her through the dense hedges, flowers both familiar and not providing dazzling pops of color.
There was something peculiar about this place, and soon she realized that everything was in bloom at once, unnatural and bountiful.
Bellinor stopped near a patch of purple foxgloves, cocking his head as if admiring the beauty.
Beauty and danger, just like him, like this place.
“Did you make all of this?” she asked, though she already knew the answer, eyeing him carefully.
He hadn’t dropped her hand, just turned to face her with a grim smile.
“This was the first room I created after I was left here.” Bellinor paused, as if weighing whether to continue. “I was a florist when I lived in Marilet. Foxgloves were one of my favorites to use in arrangements. Their beauty is deadly.”
She could not have been more surprised at the fact that the broody demon standing before her was a florist, of all things.
“I have a difficult time picturing you digging around in the dirt,” she said, and he chuckled.
“Well, believe it.”
“Are they real?” she asked, leaning down and cupping her free hand around the delicate petals, but not touching them.
“Is anything here real?”
She looked up at him, his somber expression knotting emotion in her throat. So many meanings behind his question, but she understood what he wanted to know.
Le Voile was an illusion, but there were people here, living, breathing people. Was he so fearful of rejection that he would push her away so harshly, even when she was begging for him to come back?
“Perhaps it could be,” she said, standing up to her full height again.
Bellinor pulled her into his arms, and she sighed against his chest, relishing the touch.
“I loved someone once,” he said, placing his chin on the top of her head.
The statement shocked her yet again, the candor so unlike what she’d come to expect from him.
“Rul?”
He chuckled, the sound reverberating through her and filling her with lightness.
“I still love him. But there was another. Before Rul, before le Voile.”
The background hum of the whispering statues tingled her ears, the cool air prickling goosebumps along her exposed flesh. She waited for him to continue and spoke when he remained silent.
“What happened?”
Bellinor waited a long while to answer.
“She betrayed me, sent me here.”
So he had been sent here. By someone–a powerful someone–who had taken him to this place that was not an afterlife, but a Hell all the same.
“Why did she do that? What is le Voile?”
“It is evidence of her hubris. And why? I cannot say.”
His voice was low, somber, and her heart felt like it was breaking into pieces.
“And that’s why you created Rul.”
“I needed someone. I was here alone for so many years. This was before I found a way to travel earthbound, so I hadn’t even seen another living being… other than le Voile.”
He squeezed her tighter, like he was afraid to let go. They stayed enwrapped in silence for a long while, before she worked up the courage to speak.
“Just because bad things happened doesn’t mean they will happen again.”
Easy for her to say, of course, when she always felt a cloud of dread hovering over her, like she was a moment away from destruction.
Destruction which, at times, she would have gladly accepted.
But maybe those feelings had passed a bit, the guilt she felt from enjoying her time here lessening with each day.
“Perhaps that’s true,” Bellinor said, placing his hand on her cheek and pulling her up to face him. “Perhaps we can… try again. Try to remember what we both deserve.”
His expression was so sincere she wanted to cry. Not least of all because this was what she had hoped for, even though she was happy spending her days with Rul. The incubus had said once that they were more alike than she’d thought, and she was starting to believe him.
“You should tell him,” she said, and he pulled away, giving her a quizzical look. “Rul. You should tell him you love him.”
Bellinor narrowed his eyes.
“He knows…”
“I’m not sure he does. And he deserves to hear it from you. He wants you to love him.”
“Will it make you happy if I tell him?”
The smirk on his face made her stomach flutter, and she gave him a sweet smile.
“It would make me very happy.”
Bellinor hugged her tighter, and she sighed into the embrace, feeling for once like everything might turn out alright.