CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
Not restrained. Not a chuckle. This was genuine and she couldn’t help but stare, feeling it in her chest as if it were her own. Blood trickled from his temples as the laugh died to a deep rumble in his throat. When he finally composed himself enough to speak, he said, “Did you say sex parties?”
Emmery’s face turned about twenty shades of scarlet.
“While that does sound like a splendid time, I can assure you there are none of those here. At least none that I’ve personally attended. Unless Brennen is hiding them under my nose.”
Emmery clutched the blanket so hard her fingers ached. “But the Scarlets. There are so many of them in the castle. And why else—”
“You think they’re all tending to me?” He blinked incredulously. “How much stamina do you think I have? Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but I’m one man.”
Every thread of her existence wanted to disappear, sink through this bed into the floor, and never emerge again. “I—well, I assumed that … and, then why else would they be here?”
Destonne leaned forward again and propped his chin on his fist. “Have you ever thought maybe I was trying to save them from a life of selling their bodies by giving them a safe place to stay? And what better way to do that than to offer them alternative work in my own home.”
“N-no,” Emmery stammered. He had to be manipulating her. Or lying. “Vesper said you did, and that’s something you wouldn’t do.”
“Because Vesper has always had such a keen eye on my life and character, right?” He ran his thumb along his bottom lip. “And why wouldn’t I?”
She stretched for an answer, but couldn’t find one. Because she had assumed these things, or rather Vesper planted them in her head. Her brows pulled together and resigned, she said, “I’m not sure.”
Destonne stood from the chair, the book still in his hand as he strolled to the bed. Emmery’s heart thumped as he set the novel facedown on the nightstand and gestured to the spot beside her. “May I?”
“It’s your bed,” she mumbled. She pressed her hot cheeks into the sheets, more embarrassed than she’d been in her entire life.
The mattress dipped under his weight. Emmery became hyper aware of the little space between them and how little clothing she wore. How buttery the silk felt against her skin.
He searched the room as if it held the answer. “It’s complicated, but I’ll put it simply. Keeping them here is a loophole. So I can order them as I please and pay for their services, whether I use them or not.”
“And you don’t?”
Destonne lifted a brow. “Is that a hint of jealousy I hear?”
“Of course not,” Emmery snapped, but the answer came too quickly and the corners of his mouth twitched in response. “It’s wrong to take advantage of people. To own them. Use their bodies against their will.”
“And you feel strongly about this?”
“Of course I do!” A flush crept up her neck, her ears hot and red, too.
Destonne nodded. “That’s why I don’t use their services and none of my castle staff are permitted to, either.
I have other work for them. More appropriate jobs.
” He was quiet for a beat and drew his bottom lip between his teeth before he spoke.
“And if yesterday was any indication, you should know I’m essentially abstinent. ”
Her brows furrowed. That seemed unnecessary. “Why?”
“That’s an incredibly personal question you casually asked.” He lifted his legs onto the bed and stretched out, then let his head fall back against the wall.
Emmery met him with an even more challenging stare, the same tactic he’d used to get the admission of her inability to swim. “If you’re too scared to tell me, simply say so.”
Destonne narrowed his eyes but the corner of his mouth pulled up. He liked this game, but of course he did. He started it the moment she arrived here. “A few reasons,” he said. “I’ll admit I can’t exactly get close to anyone. You experienced that firsthand. The rest is self-explanatory.”
Emmery’s face burned a deep scarlet, but she stared at his bare chest, recalling the slicing pain of the thorns.
“I’m sure there are other things you could do that don’t involve so much …
contact.” And damn her wandering eyes, they dipped down his torso and she blurted, “How far do the thorns go?” As soon as the question left her mouth, she regretted it.
Destonne huffed a laugh and just said, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Then he reached for her hand and Emmery’s heart stuttered. He didn’t ask this time, and as his fingers brushed her chilled skin, she hadn’t realized how cold she was. He held her loosely enough if she wished to pull away, she could. But she didn’t.
He blinked rapidly while he laid her palm on his chest.
Where his heart should be. Should.
But no glimmer of a heartbeat existed, only the rise and fall of his slightly ragged breath. He released her hand, but she kept it there, and her fingers traced the seams of his shirt like a map to his pulse.
It was impossible. How could someone live like this? Destonne wasn’t heartless, but his heart no longer beat, which she supposed was close enough.
“The thorns enter here,” he started, his voice noticeably hoarse as he tapped a finger to the back of his neck. “And thread down my spine. They fill my chest, wrap around my heart and arms. But they don’t go past my ribs. Only a few strands but they … haven’t spread in some time.”
“How?” she breathed, not sure what else to say.
“It’s all part of the package.” Destonne cleared his throat and folded his hand over hers again. He drummed his fingers against hers thoughtfully, then said, “I hope you enjoy collecting my secrets, angel. They’re yours now.”
The vulnerability beneath his statement struck her. He, too, was slow to trust like her. Afraid of getting burned. She wished he’d keep her inability to swim secret and he had. Destonne was good for his word.
So she promised, “I’ll keep them safe.”
She still didn’t understand why he refused to take audiences with his people.
She assumed he didn’t care about them, but after what he shared about the Scarlets, was that true?
Also the day she’d seen him in Malheim, he’d handed out food and clothing to children.
However far more issues existed he certainly wasn’t blind to.
Emmery took a shaky breath, not sure what to think, but she needed to get back to her room and out of his bed.
As she moved to stand, Destonne shook his head. “Not so fast. A deal is a deal. I told you my dirty little secret and now it’s your turn. The sitting room.”
Her stomach bottomed out. “If you laugh or make a single snide remark, I’ll set your curtains on fire. Got it?”
“As you wish.” His tone was infuriating as always.
Unable to look at him, she stared down at her hands. “It’s the clock.”
“The clock?” He raised a brow as confusion creased his face. “Is that why the clock in your bedroom is dismantled?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “How do you know that?”
“I was there the other night after you snuck out, remember?” He seemed to turn over the information in his mind. “For someone so concerned with my tardiness, you have an ironic distaste for clocks.”
Emmery ran her thumb over the bumpy skin on her palm where he’d plucked the quills free. “It’s the ticking.”
“Ticking?”
She nodded but didn’t elaborate. Destonne’s gaze bore into the side of her face like he could penetrate any barrier she put up, and she hated it. Hated being stripped bare like that, like he picked her apart. Yet he didn’t poke fun or laugh, only stared like he tried to decipher her words.
“I should head back to my room,” Emmery muttered. She slipped from the bed and lay her bare feet on the soft plush rug, appropriate for a King, not someone like her.
Destonne retrieved a loose-fitting shirt from the nightstand and tossed it to her. “You should wear this,” he said. “Yours was destroyed.”
She wrung it in her hands. “Thank you for caring for me while I was unwell.”
He waved her off and plucked his book back up. She swaddled herself in his shirt then shuffled back to her room dazed, confused, and downright undecided on how to feel about everything.
But the biggest shock of all was the next day. As she waited in the sitting room, the clock appeared like it had been bludgeoned by a mallet.
And there was no ticking to be heard again.