Page 22 of Promise of Darkness
An enormous thronelike chair reclines by the fireplace, and thick, woven rugs are scattered across the stone floors. Everything’s been made on a scale to both impress and threaten, though there’s a sense of luxuriousness I hadn’t expected. Silk sheets on the bed. Luscious velvet throws in a dark mulberry color. The silvery ruff of fur just begging me to lie upon it.
A pair of sconces linger by the bed, and a sheer curtain is tied to the wall. Thiago moves to light the candles in the sconces, becoming little more than a shadow behind the gauze, his cloak flaring behind him like a pair of wings. I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself as I examine every inch of the room.
That bed is big enough for ten.
Unfortunately, there’s no sign of another.
“Not what you expected?” The prince blows out the taper he used to light the candles, and a ring of smoke curls toward the ceiling. He watches me through it.
It’s exactly what I expected.
One bed.
The two of us.
“Where are all the skulls?” I joke, instead. “The bodies of your vanquished enemies?”
“Under the bed,” he purrs. “Care to take a closer look?”
There it is. The suggestion we’ve both been dancing around. “And if I don’t care to?” I turn around, steeling my spine. The treaty only requires that I spend the three months in his court. Not that I serve as concubine.
The prince shrugs, slipping the cloak free of his shoulders. It pools around his ankles like a swathe of pure night, then he crosses to the decanter to pour two goblets of wine. “Your loss, Your Highness.”
My loss?
I stare into the wine he gives me. “Let us establish some rules.”
The prince sinks into his thronelike chair, rubbing forefinger and thumb thoughtfully over the base of his goblet. “Rules, Princess?” A wicked smile crosses his mouth. “I don’t play by the rules.”
I ignore him. “What do you want of me?”
It catches him by surprise. “What do you mean?”
I’ve spent years playing word games in my mother’s court. “Come now. Let’s not pretend you made this request because you’re interested in the pleasure of my company—”
“You might be surprised.”
“You want something from me. What?”
“What would you give?”
Nothing.But without anything to offer, I have little to bargain with. “A kiss.”
His eyes darken as he considers his wine. “A high price to pay.” Draining the goblet, he leans forward. “Once a day.”
Once a week would be preferable—or never—but I nod slowly. “Once a day.”
“And given freely.”
“If you keep your hands off me.”
“A kiss once a day, for the next three months. No more, no less, unless you initiate it.” He repeats it twice more. “Spoken thrice, my oath upon it.”
“My oath upon it,” I agree, and feel the magic bind us together. The oath tingles along my skin before slowly evaporating. “And if thus broken, let the bearer’s ass erupt in boils. Painful boils.”
That steals a startled smile from him. He has no need to agree to my additional terms—the oath is spoken. But he does. “So shall it be.” Then he laughs. “Hoping I’ll break it?”
“That wouldn’t be very kind of me, would it?”
