Page 84 of Promise of Darkness
“They would never hurt you.” His voice turns rough. “They would never dare.”
“It’s not as though you’d be there to stop them.”
We stare at each other for long moments. And then I curse and drive the dagger into the wall.
“That’s better,” he whispers.
He’s between me and the exit, so I bolt for the doors leading to the chamber next to his.
“Vi!” he yells, snatching at my wrist.
It’s too late. I’m through the doors, staggering into a world of muted blues clearly lit by the moonlight streaming through the windows. There’s a bed, a massive chest, and a daybed by the windows with a scattering of books upon it.
A female room, judging by the glimpse.
It’s just a glance that undoes me, a swift flash of white catching the corner of my eye as I look for an escape.
But I skid to a halt as if punched directly in the chest, my jaw dropping open as I stare up at the painting that resides over the bed.
The woman in the painting is gowned in pure starlight as she breezes through a forest lit by night-blooming flowers, throwing a flirtatious glance over her shoulder at the man following her. Thick, dark hair ripples down her back, a circlet of golden thorns adorning her throat, and diamonds dripping into her cleavage.
Me.
It’s a painting ofme.
Wearing my starlit gown, my hair bedecked with flowers, and my grandmother’s necklace around my throat.
“What mockery is this?” I can’t catch my breath. It can’t be real. It’s only been weeks since the night of Lammastide. Not even a master could finish such a massive, lifelike portrait in such a short amount of time.
I spin toward the doors, wishing I’d kept the dagger. “What does this mean?”
Limping forward, Thiago presses his good shoulder against the pair of wooden doors. He looks somewhat wary, but hints of frustration and resignation darken his brow. “I didn’t mean for you to find out so soon.”
“Find out what?” The room is starting to spin, my breath coming swiftly. The ache in my temples increases as I glance at the painting again. “What is going on?”
The bedchambers are directly beside his. It’s the position his wife—or mistress—should hold.
He holds up his hands in a placating manner. “Vi, calm down.”
Pain lances through my temples, and I gasp, clutching at my head. It hurts. It hurts so much. The room is spinning now, threatening to bring me to my knees.
“Just breathe,” the prince whispers, sounding dangerously close. His shadow sweeps over me. “It will ease in a moment, Vi.”
“What is going on?” I dart around the bed, desperate to escape now. “Don’t you dare lie to me. Tell me what you mean. Why is there a portrait of me in yourwife’sbedchamber?”
The muscle in his cheek jumps, and for a moment I see a hint of pure fury light through his eyes. Then it flickers and dies as he leans closer, his cruel face showing hints of frustration. “Because, my dearest, youaremy wife.”
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Ican't have heard that correctly.
I spin with a gasp, retreating against the door. "What did you say?"
“You heard me.”
Instantly, it feels like a crown of thorns suddenly tightens around my temples, driving those wicked spikes deep into my skull. A scream escapes me.
I go to my knees, pressing my palm against my eye socket to try and still the pain.Mother of Night. Whiteness obliterates my vision, and I swear someone is driving a blade right through my skull. The world vanishes, leaving nothing but pain.
