Chapter Fifteen #4
As soon as the door shut behind them, the noises from the piano room ceased to exist. It was as if he’d pulled her into their own private little world.
At that moment, she became very aware of his hold on her arm.
The deliciously beautiful lord was willingly touching her, and she couldn’t help the little bubble she felt inside herself that wasn’t from the sparkling wine.
Did that mean he wanted her…as his Favour?
If he asked, she’d be his. She’d gladly give up her freedom to be in his presence.
That dangerous idea should have terrified her.
For some lightheaded reason, she couldn’t find it in herself to care, and she didn’t want him to touch her just on her arm.
Some semblance of her sanity must have been clinging to her self-preservation as Eleanor pulled harder against him, which made him come to a stop in the darkened corridor.
The passage’s lack of shining gold indicated they were in a servant access.
“Imma…immaa…”
No, that didn’t sound right.
Eleanor licked her lips as she tried to work them around the words she wanted to say, but what did words matter when she had his whole attention.
In this small dark space, they were the only ones present where she could put her lips to better use than speaking.
What she’d give to see how he’d throw his long, dark hair back in ecstasy.
It’d be such a simple thing to drop to her knees and wrap her lips around him.
She was sure he wouldn’t mind…just a taste…
Eleanor’s head felt light, lighter than it should be, and a small part of her registered that something was amiss.
She’d lost count of however many glasses of sparkling wine she’d drunk, but she’d been sober coming to the party palace.
It didn’t make any sense. A few glasses of wine wouldn’t get her drunk.
Stars, a few bottles wouldn’t get her drunk, that’s why there were so many under her floorboards.
It took many rapidly drunk bottles of wine to inebriate her and, even then, she’d never be drunk for long before her magic burned her sober.
The only wine strong enough to get witches drunk was fae wine and the fair folk had long fled this land, long before the Witch Wars.
With that thought, one of her few fond memories surfaced from the last time she’d been drunk on fae wine.
A heavily and well-stocked wine cellar and…
her smiling and laughing, Eleanor never let herself think about this person, who had been much more like a sister to her than any blood relation she’d had.
They weren’t sisters by blood, but by bond.
And Mother Below did she miss her sister, every day she felt her loss.
“Imma…” she tried again but the words eluded her.
Focus on the language.
Weakness.
Do not fucking slip up here.
Her inebriated state and the dimly lit serving access had to be played tricks on her eyes, as she thought she saw the Dark Star grimace.
As Eleanor tried again, she recognised being drunk in the party palace was not ideal, not at all.
It wasn't ideal, to say the least, to be alone with the Dark Star within the confines of this limited serving access.
Despite his noble title and immense wealth, a fortune beyond her wildest dreams, she strangely, and perhaps stupidly, felt no fear towards him.
Unable to resist his allure, she found herself irresistibly drawn to the captivating and ominous presence that loomed before her, her resolve weakening and her focus drifting.
As she was about to lean in and do…something, she had no idea what, the Dark Star abruptly instructed, “Come,” with a tone that allowed no room for debate, and pulled her down the dimly lit corridor, his rings biting into her skin.
Oh, she’d like to come alright.
That was the only word he’d said to her and it hung in the air between them. She didn’t try to speak again, concerned that she’d say something she shouldn’t.
It took more concentration than she’d like to admit to keep her feet under her as, with his fast long strides and the punishing grip on her arm, he took her along corridors that he seemed intimately acquainted with.
Eleanor tried to remember how many turns and corridors they went down. But after too many spiralled steps that left her head spinning, she lost her way.
The fresh night air hit her as they emerged through a door that had somehow led them outside, as if it was… magic .
A frown creased her brow as the soft giggle echoed once more, only for her to belatedly realize that the sound was emanating from her own lips.
His solid grasp didn’t waver as he marched along a gravel path between tall bushes.
Her legs felt softer outside, and she had more difficulty keeping up with him, so Eleanor concentrated on her steps, not wanting to fall onto chipped stones.
Ouch. That would hurt .
As they rounded a sharp corner, a striking line of carriages suddenly appeared before their eyes, a magnificent sight that made her want to stop in awe.
A firm tug on her arm jerked her attention back to the man next to her, who had all but dragged her along with him.
As they walked away, she quickly glanced back at the pale palace, her eyes searching for the door through which they had just passed.
Although it wouldn’t make a difference if she knew where it was.
She did not know how they’d ended up here, the twists and turns of the palace bewildering her.
When they drew closer to where the carriages were waiting, it became apparent that there were far more carriages and horses than she was accustomed to seeing there.
Strange.
Have more courtesans been invited?
The coachmen scrabbled to the first carriage where the serious man was marching her with a determined gait. They all bowed deeply to the lord who had been pulling her along. She was under no illusion that their genuflection was solely for the man holding her arm and him alone.
A glint in the sky above caught her eye. She sighed, seeing the brightest star was out tonight. It looked pretty, so pretty .
Eleanor wanted to reach up and touch it, but the lord grabbed her rising arm and pinned it to her side.
Rude.
The coachman’s sudden movement to open the carriage door caused her head to jerk swiftly from the sky to the scene before her, filled with sounds of horses snorting into the cold night and their hooves shifting against the gravel.
She was unceremoniously pulled forward by the Dark Star, who all but pushed her into the carriage.
Eleanor successfully stopped her fall to the carriage floor by regaining her footing, but this caused her to stumble and fall against the seats.
With a surge of righteous anger, she started to go after the arsehole who manhandled her, however, upon seeing his aristocratic face looking back at her, she immediately halted.
Illuminated by the torchlight emanating from the alabaster palace, his face, brutally beautiful in its harsh angles and striking features, glowed with an ethereal light.
The last thing she saw was stormy eyes as the door slammed shut in her face.
The carriage lurched suddenly, its movement propelling her gently into the plush seating, and it rumbled out of the courtyard, moving farther and farther away from the palace and, more significantly, away from him.