by T. M. Hart
So I leaned against the headboard, knowing that I would not sleep that night. Knowing that no matter how hard I tried I was not going to relax enough to completely let go.
But I was wrong.
As I sat there, the fire began to whisper to me. Those wispy little tendrils floating around my hair like a crown. Whispering my name over and over again, those far away voices told me to sleep. They told me I was safe. That I could drift and be protected. I was gently lulled and swept away. I had no choice but to believe them . . . and I dreamed.
◆◆◆
Instead of searching the manor the next day, I remained within my room. I spent the day on my satellite laptop, researching private corporations in London. I tried to find anything that might be a potential clue in uncovering the Shadow Court.
I wanted to call Maxim. I thought he could provide some useful information. But I didn't pick up my phone. It was immature, but I didn't want to face him after the way he had chastised me. At least, not just yet.
And I didn't attempt to unveil any more about the manor or the Shadow Prince. I knew that he was there . . . somewhere. And I knew that I could bide my time. I didn't believe he was a threat. I hadn't sensed any great power from him. I could kill him if and when it became necessary.
First, I needed to learn more about the Shadow Court, about those involved with it, and how to gain entry. I needed my new role officially recognized and announced if I was to lead the Dark Nation under Radiant rule after the prince was removed.
Aw, screw it, I told myself. I called Maxim.
Just thinking about him made me recall the dreams I had been having. Every night they were so vivid. They affected me physically. I was waking up writhing and orgasming. It was all so new to me, but I was beginning to understand why people acted so foolishly when it came to sex. I could see how these feelings were addictive.
And having learned that Maxim's appearance was his true form had made me disappointed that I was not experiencing this attraction for him in person. He was tall, muscular, and certainly handsome with his dark features, chiseled jaw, and intense eyes. Learning that he wasn't a cannibal had been a huge plus also. Not to mention he could actually be fun when he loosened up.
I began to feel nervous at the thought of speaking to him, though. I decided to end the call. And that was when Maxim answered.
"Yes, Violet. How may I assist you?"
"Oh, uh . . . wrong number," I blurted before hanging up.
My cheeks became hot. I was certain I could never face him again. But then I remembered why I had called him in the first place.
I needed access to the Shadow Court and Maxim was my best source. My only source. Humiliated, I picked the phone back up.
Maxim answered again. "You have dialed the same number as before. If you require guidance operating your mobile device, I can send Rheneas to assist you. He is quite adept with technology."
"I'm sorry about that," I told Maxim. "I did mean to call you, I had just momentarily forgotten the reason."
"How lucky for me that you have remembered."
By his dry tone, it was clear I was on his shit list. His voice also had a gravel sound to it as though he had been sleeping, which made sense since most Shadows slept during the day. I'm sure other women would find it sexy, but it didn't do anything for me the way the dreams had. I did feel bad, however, for waking him.
"Look, Maxim, about the other night . . . I apologize for losing my composure. I appreciate everything you have done for me, and I want to make that clear. I'm sure it can't be easy to have been pulled from whatever important work you were doing to babysit me. So, thank you for all your help, and I'm sorry."
There was a pause and then Maxim was clearing his throat. He began fumbling around for words and I cut him off. It was clear he was uncomfortable, and I really didn't want to drag this out for any longer than necessary.
"I would like to just move on now if we may," I told him.
He cleared his throat again. "Certainly. What is it that I may help you with?"
I was going to dive right in, prepared to fight the good fight. "I would like to visit the Shadow Court." I braced myself for the rebuttal I was sure to hear.
Maxim's reply was quick and succinct. "I will contact Barrister Corbett and arrange a visit on your behalf. Is there anything else?"
I was taken aback, not expecting him to so readily agree. I was certain I would have to argue my point. I had been prepared to have the door shut in my face.
"Ah, no. That was all." It was ridiculous, but I floundered for something else to talk to him about.
"Oh, and I'm sorry for thinking you were the Shadow Prince. Obviously, you're not. I met him last night, in a way."
There was a pause on Maxim's end of the line. Finally, he responded. He was very quiet as if not wanting to scare away a small animal. "Are you unharmed?"
"Yes, I'm fine," I reassured him.
"I can come by to collect you if you would like to leave the manor. I will be there in twenty minutes." His words were rushed as if he was already grabbing his things to be on his way.
"No," I told him, "That's not necessary." I wasn't going anywhere. Now that I knew the prince was here, I was carrying out my plan.
Maxim's voice dropped. "Is he there with you now?"
"No!" I cried. I was starting to get annoyed. "Maxim, what's going on?"
Maxim seemed to snap out of the fearful concern he had slipped into. "Nothing is going on, Violet. Not everything is a conspiracy. Sometimes one individual simply inquires as to another's well-being. And despite your pigheadedness, you seem like a nice enough young woman. I have been charged with your care. I am taking that responsibility seriously. I have followed my orders to place you within the Dark Manor. However, that does not mean that I agree with your temporary residence. Had it been up to me, you would not be staying there!"
Before I could respond, Maxim took a breath and seemed to calm. "I am glad you are well. Please contact me should you need anything further. I apologize, but if there is nothing more, I will excuse myself from this call."
I was taken aback. I didn't know what to do other than comply. "Sure. No problem, Maxim."
"Violet, wait," he said before I could hang up.
"Yes?"
"Stay to your quarters. And . . . should you like to go out, please call me."
"Okay." He was being so weird, to make up for it I was overly cheery. "Bye!"
"Good night," he murmured before ending the call.
What the hell had that been? Was I the only sane person left these days?
It seemed everyone around me was fucking nuts.
Chapter 12
Hobbling and shuffling, the Crone entered my quarters while carrying the heavy dinner tray. Of course, she wore her ragged brown robe with the cowl drawn. There was nothing to see beneath the hood but blackness. The only part of her body that was visible were her gnarled, arthritic hands.
She wasn't the same as the Shadow Prince had been. I couldn't get a read from her. It was almost as though whatever energy she possessed existed far away. I know that doesn't make much sense, but it's the best way I could describe her. Every once in a while, there would be a flicker from her, but nothing significant, nothing with lasting presence. I had never encountered someone like her before.
If I was being honest, I had been hiding in my bedroom all day. After a certain point, I decided I had to get over myself and get back on track. I was here for a reason after all. I had encountered much more violent and aggressive individuals than the prince and the Crone. I could handle some creepy freaks . . . at least I tried to convince myself I could.
After all, I had thought coming to the Dark Manor meant I was to be thrown into a gruesome, cannibalistic setting with morbid and maniacal animals. Instead I was in a dusty mansion with a little old lady and a weak and skittish prince. If anyone should be afraid, it was them . . . of me.
Although Maxim had admitted he was aware of my fighting capabil
ities, I didn't know if he had shared that information or not. Regardless of what the Dark Prince knew about me, I wanted to try and portray myself in a certain light. I wanted him to think I was sweet, demure, and innocent. I wanted him to see me as nonthreatening.
I was going to continue to dress the part wearing all the flouncy and flowy dresses I had sent over. It didn't matter if I saw him or not. I now knew he lurked about and I would continue to keep in mind that he could be concealed in the very shadows of the same room I occupied.
That included the nightgown I was currently wearing. Normally when I was going to bed, I preferred some basic cotton bikini underwear and a fitted tank. My mother was always slipping stuffy formal nightgowns into my closet, though. Although they sat untouched at home, I had sent them along with my other things to the Dark Manor. They were ideal for the character I was hoping to create. And I wore one this night.
I had been sitting in the anteroom of my quarters reading, hoping that if I made myself available, I might make some progress with my goals. I had opened myself up for another visit from the Dark Prince. Only, his presence was nowhere to be found. In and around my suite, his essence was fading. He had not been back since the previous night.
So when the Crone entered, I was feeling just a tad foolish having dressed in the long gossamer nightgown. It was white vintage chiffon and I felt like I was wearing a costume. But I resented feeling that way, and I ended up overcompensating for it.
I stood but didn't cross to her. "I'm sorry. I still don't know your name," I told her as she made her way to the table.
No reply.
"Thank you ever so much for the meals," I tried.
The dinner tray rattled and thunked as the Crone set it down. She turned and began towards the door.
"Would you care to join me? I would be much obliged for the company."
She made absolutely no acknowledgment of me. I began to get annoyed. I wondered if perhaps she was hard of hearing. Raising my voice my questions took on a frustrated tone. "So, you got a boyfriend?" I asked. "Want me to paint your nails? Maybe we could have a girls' night sometime."
She reached the suite door and began to close it behind her. "We could play scrabble," I called after her. "If you happen to have it handy," I amended. The door seemed to shut a bit harder than the previous nights.
I have never liked a door slammer. It's one of my pet peeves. I decided to have the last word. Marching over and opening the suite door, I stuck my head out to call after her. "Same time tomorrow?"
Of course, she didn't acknowledge my comment, she just shuffled down the dark empty hall. But watching her limp through the dust covered elegance made me wonder . . .
Where is she going?
I decided to follow her. I slipped out of the suite and paused. After the Crone turned the corner for the stairs, I silently began after her. Peeking around the corner, I saw her begin to descend.
It was clear that each step was a monumental hurdle for her to overcome. Grasping the banister, she painstakingly lowered each foot, inch by inch, one at a time.
I pulled back from the corner to wait, pressing myself against the wall there. I couldn't for the life of me understand what she was doing here. Why, of all people, was it her task to tend to the manor?
I waited, glancing around the corner to check on her progress from time to time. When the sounds of her labored descent finally ceased, I waited another moment and then took the stairs myself.
However, when I got to the bottom level the Crone was gone. There was no sign of her anywhere. I couldn't tell which direction she had gone, and the darkness of the manor seemed to sit heaviest on the ground floor.
I didn't dare attempt to light any candles as I did not want to call attention to the fact that I had followed her. But creeping through the dark hall, I began to hear that music again. It was still faint, almost imperceptible, but I was more certain of it down here, and I no longer wondered if it was my imagination.
Inch by inch, I crept down the west wing of the foyer. The music was coming from somewhere down there. And coming from the same direction was a dark energy. A presence I had been exposed to recently. I stopped as a chill passed down my spine. But I did not turn back. I took a deep breath and continued on.
Yet, I had been down this section of the hall before. It did not lead anywhere. The only thing down here was that old rotted section of the wall.
When I finally stood before it though, I realized what a fool I had been. The old rotting wood plank was not a boarded-up section of the wall . . . It was a door.
I only recognized it as such now because I knew something lay beyond it.
I held up my hand to try and push the plank open but immediately withdrew it, clutching my fist to my chest. Just having my skin near the wood had been painful. Instinctually my energy had flared and a glow of warm Light bathed my hand, relieving the pain like a protective balm.
Allowing a small glow of energy to escape my hands, I tried again placing both palms against the door. I could feel cold dark forces within. And the instant my Light made contact with them, it was as though tortured screams that had been buried within the wood were released deep inside. I yanked back my hands as my heart began to pump faster and my breathing deepened.
Summoning more power, more energy, Light burst from my palms as I pressed against the door again. I fought against the cold, the dark, the buried screams that tried to seep into my skin, sending more warm Light coursing through my hands. I gritted my teeth and struggled to budge the door. A crack formed between the wood and the surrounding stone.
I leaned my shoulder into the plank continuing to push. A larger section of the wood separated from the stone, and I stepped back extinguishing my Light. Over my heavy breathing was the faint music. I glanced down the long foyer, making sure I was alone, and then I slipped through the doorway.
I held my palm out in front of me and released a soft glow of Light. I was standing at the top of a narrow, spiraling staircase made completely from old blackened stone.
I began to descend.
It was icy cold. The darkness grew, expanding, becoming heavier, until it pressed down on me like a heavy weight upon my back that I could not carry much longer. And once I reached the bottom of the stairs, I found an abandoned wing of the manor.
The music was coming from somewhere down here—a lonely piano. It called to me. The desolation and abandonment of hope soaked into my bones. Up ahead in the long-forgotten hallway, a dim orange glow of light seeped out from the only door which sat ajar. Despair saturated the damp, dank air of the decrepit corridor. The haunting music ebbed and flowed through the darkness like a desperate beacon.
I knew I should turn away. I knew my presence was an invasion upon some private grief, and I had no right to bear witness to it. But I also knew who I would find. The music he bled was all encompassing. As I neared the room, I felt something drip from my chin and I realized a tear had slid down my cheek.
I reached the door, resting my hand and forehead against the ancient wood, collecting the strength necessary to walk into such sadness. The notes dipped and slowed, and I realized that if I did not move right then, I never would. If I let the melancholy wash over me any longer, it would bury me where I stood. My skin would harden until it became stone and I would forever remain a soul lost to dolor, a forgotten statue.
I pushed the door. It opened without a sound, not daring to disrupt the bleak sonata. And there he sat, at a beautiful piano in a dreary room with nothing but the glow of embers warding off the all-consuming darkness.
His dark head was bowed as strong yet graceful hands moved over the keys. His back was to me, and as a result his mourning went uninterrupted. I stood there watching him as he bled raw emotion with each stroke of the keys and with each pause between notes. The tears I shed would not end. In that moment, I did not think they ever would.
I do not know how long I stood watching him, but eventually the last note was exorcised. I do not know what gav
e me the strength to speak. Perhaps it was that same fear of becoming stuck, but finally I did. "What ghosts haunt you?"
He did not move, other than the slightest cock of his head, bending an ear in my direction. When he finally responded his low voice was hollow. "They are my own."
There was a significant silence between us before he continued, "You found my wing."
"Yes."
"You should not be here."
"No."
"Most would not be strong enough to bear it."
"No."
"Yet you are."
I didn't feel right agreeing to his assessment of me. If he only knew how close I had come to never opening the door, to becoming loss to the despair and icing over, he wouldn't think me so strong. I wrapped my arms around my waist, even now battling the ice of the shadows.
The embers in the sunken fireplace flared to life and a small fire chased away a little of the dark and cold. "Thank you," I whispered.
He bowed his head in acquiescence.
I took a step toward him.
"You can't save me," he said.
"I'm not here to save you," I responded.
"You can't defeat me either." He was not warning me, he was simply stating a fact.
"It seems that someone has already done that," I told him.
He let his head drop and released a breath.
When he said nothing, I took another step towards him. "Don't you think it's about time you met your wife?"
He stood then in a slow and deliberate manner drawing up to his full towering height. "I don't want you here." Whereas his words had been hollow and devoid of emotion before, now they turned cold.
I laughed. "Well I'm here. And I have to say, you've been a rather rude husband. Wouldn't you say, Prince of Shadows?"
He slammed his fists down on the keys and the piano gave an angry shout. "Do not call me that." Each word was carefully spoken in a quite controlled voice, like a knife slice.
