So, Ian and I likely had different parents, either one or both. Because he had to have been turned. He’d been writing me letters, and Casteel claimed that Ian had only been seen at night. Unless—
Unless Casteel’s contacts had seen someone else, and it hadn’t been Ian sending those letters at all.
The pressure inside me increased, shifting to my stomach as I swallowed thickly. I couldn’t even consider any of that right now while I was so far from Ian. The questions and the doubts would crush me.
And I already felt crushed.
I knew what they’d planned for me before, but to fully understand why they’d waited, why they did everything they had done, it sickened me to the point where I feared I might actually become physically ill.
“They were only keeping me alive until they…” I choked on my words as the weight of them threatened to crush me.
Casteel said nothing as he sat there, though that was probably for the best at the moment. I felt like a powder keg that had been lit. Inside me, disbelief and anger sparked. I’d been kept sheltered and virtually caged, cared for like some prized cattle until my blood had aged. Until it was useful—either to make more vamprys or to keep another alive to continue making more.
“I’m not a bottle of wine,” I whispered.
“No,” he said quietly. “You are not a bottle of wine, Poppy.”
My head jerked up. “And you didn’t know this when you came for me? You swear? You swear right here and now that you didn’t know I was part Atlantian. That this is why they made me the Maiden. That I was being kept alive and sheltered from everything until I was…useful?”
His gaze met mine. “I swear to you, Poppy. I had no idea that you were Atlantian until I tasted your blood. I didn’t even expect that was what you were when I learned of your gift. Maybe I should have.” A shadow crossed his features, gone so quickly I wasn’t even sure I had seen it. “But no Atlantian has been capable of such a thing for, well, for hundreds of years. I didn’t know.”
My senses were still open, and it took several moments to filter through what I felt to even make sense of his emotions. There was still the acidic taste of anger, the tart flavor that I associated with uncertainty, and the sadness that always lingered within him.
My gift wasn’t a lie detector by any means, but I didn’t think he was lying. Pulling my gift back was the hardest part because that didn’t feel natural. What did was going to him and taking away the sadness, giving some temporary peace. My skin tingled with the desire to do just that, and it wasn’t necessarily because it was him. The gift demanded to be used, to heal. I wrestled it back, exhaling raggedly as I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Now that you fully understand why they’ve done what they have to you and what they plan,” Casteel said, his voice hardening in a way I rarely heard when he spoke with me. “Why in the hell would you run back to them, Poppy? Marriage to me or not.”
I stared at Casteel, the meat knife loose in my hands. “I told you earlier, I wasn’t running back to them.”
“Then where were you running to? With no supplies, might I add.”
“You don’t need to add that. I’m well aware of what I left here with.”
“If you weren’t going back to the Ascended, where did you think to go? You were heading toward Whitebridge—to the south.” His eyes were like shards of amber. “You weren’t going back to Masadonia. I figure you were going to the capital. Why? Even knowing what you did then, why would you do that?”
“Why?” Anger flashed through me, hot and bright like the flames. “Are you seriously asking that question again?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” he asked.
I was stunned into silence, but only for a moment. “Why would I stay here and let you turn me over to them? To the people you told me wanted to use me—to the people who abused and tortured you? Who are doing that to your brother? How does that make you any better? Safer? You’re doing the same thing they did to me!” The back of my throat burned as a knot of ugly, painful emotion lodged there. “You’re keeping me safe, well-fed, and caged until you can use me!”
A muscle flexed in his jaw.
“And then you announce that you’re going to marry me.” I shook my head, trembling. “What in the world would make you even say such an offensive thing?”
“Offensive? Come now, Poppy, I know deep down that you must be excited. Not everyone gets to become an actual Princess.”
“I am not remotely—” I snapped my mouth shut, realizing he was actually teasing me. Was this all some grand joke to him?
“It’s considered a great honor in Atlantia to be welcomed into the bosom of the noble, ruling family,” he went on. “I think my mother is going to like you.”
I shot to my feet. “We are not getting married!” Slamming the knife down, it scored deep into the wood of the table by the bed, the handle vibrating from the impact.
“On second thought, my mother is definitely going to like you,” Hawke murmured, and right then, he was Hawke.
That was the bemused tone I was all too familiar with, and it threw me enough that it took a few moments to recover, to remember that it was simply another mask. “Why? Because I didn’t throw it at your face this time?”
“She’ll most likely be amused to hear that you have done exactly that,” he said, and my brows knitted. “And she will be happy to know that you are capable of showing restraint.”
“Now, I wish I hadn’t shown restraint.”
Casteel chuckled, and that too sounded so familiar, but it was Casteel’s laugh that faded. It was his golden eyes that held an intense look of fascination. He was both Hawke and Casteel, but it was the latter that I now dealt with. He leaned forward in his chair, lowering both bare feet to the floor. “You are so incredibly beautiful when you’re angry.”
I refused to be flattered by that somewhat weird compliment. “And you’re so incredibly disturbed.”
“Been called worse.”
“I’m sure you have.” I folded my arms across my chest.
He rose from the chair, and for a moment, I got a little lost in all the bronze skin on display. “We’ll talk tomorrow about our future—”
“There is no future to talk about. We’re not marrying,” I cut in.
“I think you’ll find my reasonings impossible to refuse.”
“Nothing is impossible.”
“We’ll see.”
“No, we—what are you doing?” I demanded as he walked to the other side of the bed. “What are you doing?”
“Getting into bed.”
“Why?” My voice pitched high.
He arched a brow as he pulled the blanket aside. “To go to sleep.”
“I figured that out, thanks. But why do you think you get to sleep in the same bedchamber, let alone the same bed with me?”
“Because, as I explained earlier, this is my bedchamber.”
“Then I will find another room.”
“There are no other rooms available, Princess.”
My hands dug into the blanket as my mind raced. “This isn’t appropriate. I’m the Maiden. Or was. Whatever. I’m the definition of appropriate.”
He stared at me. “Besides the fact that you are not the definition of appropriate, everyone in this keep knows that we’ve already shared a bed, Poppy.”
“Well, that’s just…” My face burned. “That’s just great.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
“I’m not going to try to escape! I promise.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m foolish enough to trust your vow.” Casteel picked up a rather flat pillow and fluffed it. “So, either it’s me in here, or it’s Kieran. Would you rather it be him? If so, I will summon him for you.” He tossed the pillow toward the head of the bed. “But just so you know, he often slips into his wolven form and has a habit of kicking in his sleep.”
My lips slowly parted. “What? Wait. I don’t need an explanation of that. I don’t want Kier
an.”
The hint of a smile was pure wickedness. “You want me.”
“That is not what I said. You can sleep on the floor.”
“I am not sleeping on the floor. And before you say it, neither are you.” He slipped into bed with enviable grace. “No matter what you think you know of me, I hope you realize that I would never force myself on you, nor would I compel you to do something like that. I won’t ever do something you don’t want from me, and that’s not just because I know what that feels like,” he said flatly, and my heart squeezed. “It’s because I’ve never been that kind of person.”
“I don’t think you would do something like that,” I said quickly. And I didn’t want to know. I…needed to know. “What did they do to you?”
“That’s not something I really want to get into, Poppy.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it. I could understand that. Respect it.
And as I remained where I was, I thought about what Kieran had said earlier about me being safe with the Prince. Unfortunately, I also remembered the effects of his blood, and how I all but begged him to touch me.
Not one of my finer moments.
Casteel had refused, though. He could’ve easily taken advantage of the situation, but what had he said? That he wasn’t a good man, but that he was trying to be one. I thought of the shame I had felt inside him. He was both the villain and the hero, the monster and the monster-slayer.
But I wasn’t afraid of him trying something with me. I was more afraid of myself—scared of how much my heart was pounding. The night we had been together, falling asleep in his arms had been…it had been just as beautiful as what we’d shared before that.
Only it hadn’t been real.
The problem was that my heart didn’t seem to understand that, at least not all the time. That was why it was pumping so fast now. To some—probably to most in the kingdom—sleeping beside someone didn’t mean much of anything. But to me? It was as life-altering as holding hands, being able to openly touch another, or sharing dinner with someone—things other people often took for granted.
That was why sharing a bed with Casteel was dangerous.
I watched him let the blanket fall to his waist and then fold his hands under his head. Once he appeared comfortable, he said, “But, just so you know, if you want my lips on any piece of you, I’m more than willing to appease you.”
My mouth dropped open.
“And my willingness to comply extends to my hands, my fingers, and my cock—”
“Oh, my gods,” I cut him off. “You don’t have to worry about that. I will never request your…your services.”
“Services?” He tipped his head toward me. “That sounds so dirty.”
I ignored that comment. “You and I are never going to do anything like what we did before.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Would you say it would be…impossible?”
“Yes. It’s definitely impossible.”
Hawke smiled then, and it was Hawke’s smile. Dimples appeared in both cheeks, and I hated the catch I felt in my chest upon seeing them. Loathed that it made me see him as Hawke. “But didn’t you just say nothing was impossible?” he all but purred.
I stared down at him, at an absolute loss for words. “I want to stab you in the heart right now.”
“I’m sure you do,” he replied, closing his eyes.
“Whatever,” I muttered, accepting that I would have to deal with him. At least for the night or until I figured out how to escape. I scooted back, shoving my legs under the blanket. I threw myself down with enough force that it shook the bed.
“You okay over there? Sounds like you could’ve hurt yourself.”
“Shut up.”
He laughed.
With my back to him, I stared at the knife. The blade was bent. I sighed. A moment later, there was a click, and the room darkened. He’d turned off the oil lamp by his side of the bed.
His side of the bed?
We didn’t have sides.
I tugged the blanket to my chin as I shifted my focus to the fireplace. My mind wandered back to something that shouldn’t matter but did.
“Why did you tell me?” I whispered, not even sure if he was still awake or why I was asking. He’d already answered. “Why did you have to tell me that Hawke was your middle name?”
The fire crackled, spitting sparks, and I closed my eyes.
Seconds, maybe minutes later, Casteel said, “Because you needed to know that not everything was a lie.”
Chapter 7
With all the stress and trauma of the last several days, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the past found me in my sleep. Still, it was a shock to the senses.
Blood was everywhere. Splattered against the walls, running down them in thin rivulets, and pooling along the dusty wooden floor—under the lumps on the floor, misshapen and not right. The air was thick with the scent of metal. A smear of blue in the lamplight caught my gaze. A shirt. Hadn’t the funny man who’d served our food that evening been wearing a blue shirt? Mr. La…Lacost? He told us stories about the family of mice that lived in the barn out back, who’d made friends with the kitties. I’d wanted to see them, but Papa had taken us back to our rooms. He hadn’t been smiling or laughing at dinner. He hadn’t since we left. He’d sat at the table, his gaze darting to the window in between every quick bite of food.
But Mr. Lacost’s chest and stomach looked strange to me as I stood there, trembling. No longer round, it was sunken, jagged—
“Don’t look, Poppy. Don’t look over there,” came Momma’s hushed voice as she pulled on my hand. “We must hide. Hurry.”
She pulled me down the narrow hallway, her hand wet against mine. “I want Papa—”
“Shh. We must be quiet.” Her voice shook, sounding too thin. The arms of her dress were torn, the pale pink streaked with crimson. Momma was hurt, and I didn’t know what to do. “We must be quiet so Papa can come and find us.”
I didn’t understand how being quiet would help Papa come to us. It was dark in the room we entered, and the sounds, the ragged breaths and moans, the continuous shouts and cries were loud. Papa had gone outside when they came, went out there with the strange man who’d seemed to know him. I wanted my papa. I wanted Ian, but he had left with the woman who smelled like sugar and vanilla—
A shrill sound pierced the darkness. Momma tugged hard on my hand, yanking me down to where she crouched. She opened a large cupboard behind me as someone screamed. Pots clattered off the floor as Momma tore them from inside the closet.
“Get in, Poppy. I need you to get in and be very quiet, okay? I need you to be as silent as a mouse, no matter what. Do you understand?”
Looking behind me at the small hole of darkness, I shook my head. Momma wouldn’t fit in there. “I wanna stay with you.”
“I’ll be right here.” Her hands touched my cheek. Her skin was damp as she turned my head towards her. “I need you to be a big girl and listen to me. You have to hide—”
The high-pitched howl came again, and I clamored for her, clutching at her sides. My fingers dug into the sticky waist of her dress. “You have to let go, baby. You need to hide, Poppy.”
I held tighter, feeling wet warmth coursing down the sides of my face.
Momma jerked at the sound of something—a voice. Someone spoke, but my heart pounded too loudly in my ears for me to hear. It sounded like a rushing fall of water, and the nightmare sounds were louder, closer. Then, there was a voice again. And Momma, her hands were wetter, stickier…
Someone knocked a lamp over somewhere. Glass shattered. Momma yelled as her arms folded around me, the words mushed together, making little sense except for one—
Screams. Someone was shrieking. Momma? She was torn from me, her hands sliding down my arms, her fingers catching mine and then slipping. A body crashed into us—me—and I tottered to the side, losing my hold of Momma. Fiery pain sliced across my face, stunning me.
I fell back. Hands grabbed at me. Hands that were too heavy. Hands that hurt. I screamed—
There was a voice again, somewhere in the darkness, living under the screams.
What a pretty little flower.
What a pretty poppy.
Pick it and watch it bleed.
Not so pretty any longer…
Poppy.
I jerked awake, a scream ringing in my ears, burning my throat as I gasped for air, struggling to move but unable. My arms were trapped against my sides, my legs tangled in thick warmth. My eyes peeled open, and it took a moment for my surroundings to make sense. I focused on the steady thumping under my cheek as I slowly dug out the thorns of panic and fear.
Faint gray light seeped in through the narrow window across from the bed. I wasn’t at the inn, being ripped and torn into. I was in the keep, in bed, with a warm, hard chest against my cheek, a hand that continuously smoothed over my hair, a voice that whispered my name over and over, telling me it was okay, promising me that it was safe. I was nestled in his lap, held tightly to his chest as if he tried to keep the tremors at bay with his hold alone.
Casteel.
Reality came back to me in pieces as the disorientation from the nightmare eased, and I began to realize that he was slowly rocking us.
I knew I needed to pull away, should put some distance between us, but something about his embrace was grounding. Something that felt inexplicably right in the aftermath of the blood and terror. Maybe it was because I often woke alone after the nightmares, shaken and terrified, especially after Ian left for the capital. And even with my screams often waking Tawny, I never allowed such…comfort. I’d always been too embarrassed to seek it from my lady’s maid. But there wasn’t another option now, and it was the first time I’d ever been relieved to have the choice taken from me. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of Casteel’s body soak into mine.
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