It would have to do.
She eased herself into the tub. There wasn’t enough room to stretch her legs all the way out, so she awkwardly crossed them. To her relief, her breasts sank below the waterline; even so, she shimmied around the curve of the tub so that her back was to him.
The vampire whistled to himself, shoulders perfectly square as he sat. Ironically, he was the perfect picture of relaxation—except for one jiggling leg, tip-tapping up and down upon the wood floor.
“I’m at least glad this was the room they assigned us,” he commented lightly, observing the brick wall he was facing. “No windows. You know, for the sunlight.”
“How will we be able to tell when it’s time to get going?”
“I’ll hear the robins sing. They have a dusk song, you see. Usually to warn each other about the foxes, ermines, and other vermin who take it upon themselves to make their lives a living hell.”
Another of the many things about the outside world she wouldn’t have known, had she not left the castle. Lilac dunked the bath bucket underwater, filling it before leaning forward and slowly pouring the water over her hair. The sound of the trickling water was a surprisingly soothing reminder of the soft rippling Argent over timeworn river stones.
“So,” she said, trying to keep the tone conversational as she rubbed the soap over her skin. “Were you here quite often, then? To visit Adelaide, I mean.” Though an enchanting name, it left a bitter aftertaste on her tongue.
Lilac could almost hear his frown as he responded. “As you can imagine, I wouldn’t have been very welcome in the home of witches.”
“You knew your way around the kitchen and garden well. And upstairs.” She spoke as she massaged the suds into her scalp.
There was a thud and a squeak. When Lilac curiously peeked, he’d laid down on his back so that all she saw now was the top of his head.
He chuckled in sudden understanding. “You caught that, did you? I thought I might have moved about a bit too quickly, although I didn’t think any of you’d notice… Especially you, through your hunger.”
If only he knew, Lilac thought stubbornly while rinsing the ends of her hair, just how difficult she found it to concentrate on anything else since he’d come around.
“The truth is… regardless of what I felt for Adelaide, I never once entered the home to visit her. Societal rules were even stricter back then; I’d wanted to respect our boundaries, and her family. Also, being what I am, her parents would have thrown an utter fit.”
Lilac bit her lip. If he was hiding something before, now he was purposefully lying to her. She swiveled to face him, arm hanging over the side of the tub. “I hate that you think it is necessary to lie to me,” she said softly.
“I’m not lying, princess. Not in the slightest.”
Annoyance trickled into her voice as she persisted. “How else were you able to cross the house threshold like that? And how do you know the building so well?”
He ran a palm over his face and groaned exasperatedly at the wall. He hunched over, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “If you absolutely must know. I was able to enter because this was my parents’ original property, princess. My home.”
She sat up too quickly and swore under her breath—a few handfuls of water sloshed onto the floor in her surprise. “Your house?”
“I am well aware that it is no Chateau de Trécesson,” Garin snapped, his voice grating in an exaggerated French accent. “But indeed, it is my home. Well, it is, and it isn’t.” He shrugged. “I have no intention of displacing or getting rid of the elderly couple. At least any time soon .”
But it wasn’t what she had meant at all. The home was beautiful and old, crafted once upon a time according to family requirement and climate, instead of luxury. The thought of a younger Garin—and his mother and father—made her a little dizzy.
Lilac tried to remember how to breathe properly. “Was this before…”
She couldn’t speak the words, as obvious as they were.
“No vampire would comfortably live in a home with that many downstairs windows, I’m afraid.”
“Garin,” she said softly.
“Yes, princess?”
“Would you pass me the towel, please?” When he hesitantly stood, not quite glancing over his shoulder while shuffling backward, she laughed. “I’m decent, it’s all right.”
Still, Garin abruptly kept his gaze to the floor on his way to the table. When he extended his arm to hand
the towel to her, his fingers brushed hers.
Lilac found herself almost wishing he stole a glance, but even he was too courteous for that.
“I’m at least glad I won’t have to reveal my life story with my interrogator lounging in a tub.”
Garin moved out of her way, facing the bed while she emerged. She hastily wrung out her sopping hair in the cloth before wrapping it securely around her bosom. Sidestepping the vampire, she went to the table and reached into her sack. Her heart sank. While packing for her quest, there was a moment or two she’d considered adding a nightgown. It hadn’t been an issue before because she’d always had something clean to change into. The remainder of her clothes were filthy—all of them, and she was carrying one less dress, she realized sourly, kicking the ruined brocade on the floor.
“Something the matter?”
“I’ve run out of clean clothes,” she replied through her chattering teeth and inching near the fire.
“Here.” Almost hesitantly, as if in warning, Garin undid the strings at his neck and slowly pulled the black tunic over his head.
Words evaded her as she bashfully regarded his rippled back and wide shoulders that Enzo’s larger garment had hidden previously. He held his black tunic shirt over his shoulder, offering it. She grabbed it carefully, almost as if she were afraid to touch him. Completely aware that he could hear every beat and hiccup passing through her body, she slipped it on. The hem fell a few centimeters above her knees.
“Are you decent?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He turned around then.
A strong concoction of embarrassment and wonder stirred up inside her chest. It was the first time since meeting him that looking him in the eye was the easier option.
The Darkling’s body was nearly as perfect as his face. Despite his slight build, his baggy white linen shirt at the inn and the tunic he’d stolen from Sinclair’s burly guard hadn’t done his outline any justice. His toned torso and arms were easily those of a farmer’s son—or perhaps, a trained soldier, as Kestrel had said. Whether his god-like exquisiteness was a familial trait or had stemmed from his Darkling transformation, Lilac wasn’t sure.
Simply, Garin was devastating.
“The tunic’s probably not clean as you’d like, but at least we don’t perspire like humans do.” Snowflakes did pirouettes across his unnatural eyes, but he withheld his grin.
“I don’t need it to sleep or stay warm. I mean,” he added, “if you are comfortable with that. I figured you would sleep better this way while your dresses dried.”
Absently, she hugged her body underneath the fabric. The earthy-ethereal aromas of the vampire intertwined once again within her lungs, this time enveloping her whole. She let the towel drop to the ground from under the tunic, then held his shirt to her chest to keep from gaping as she bent over to retrieve it.
“Bed’s yours.” He scooted past her to get to her sack and proceeded to retrieve the bundle of wet clothes. As he flicked each of the dresses out to dust them, a small box clattered out of the second one, flipping several rotations midair before bouncing across the floor and landing right beside the bed.
To her surprise, Garin didn’t race her for the box when she walked over to grab it. His nostrils merely flared, eyes narrowing. “Gunpowder?”
“Matches,” Lilac replied, swallowing her surprise.
“Yet, you didn’t bother to bring a torch. Nor, a candle.” He grinned teasingly. “Just how did you expected that to work
?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, blushing and looking away to formulate her answer. “Thinking back, the moonlight did the trick just fine—but initially, I chose not to bring a lantern because I didn’t want it to become some beacon for Darklings to find me.”
“Well, you certainly didn’t need a torch to attract us.”
Rolling her eyes, Lilac shoved the vampire aside gently with her hip, along with his strange inquiry. She nestled the small box back into her sack, suddenly wondering if he’d brought it up to make her less uncomfortable.
“I don’t know, I… I like fire. Not for its destructive nature, of course,” she quickly added at Garin’s look of alarm. “It emits this remarkable display of ever-changing light. It chases the shadows away. Sometimes I feel like, in a way, it’s what my kingdom expects of me. And I can’t very well do that while I am part of the darkness they fear, now can I?”
She stopped talking, face flushed. It all sounded so trite now that she had said it out loud. The heat from the fireplace seemed to be sucked into the frigid night before it could reach her; she shivered involuntarily, wrapping her arms around her chest.
She sucked in a breath and finally looked back up at Garin.
His eyebrow arched expectantly. “Well then. While I am not sure my lowly Darkling opinion matters to you in the slightest, Your Highness,” he said matter-of-factly. “Most rulers care only about their own riches, and political advance for selfish gain. The townsfolk would be foolish to overlook this zealous determination you wield… to overlook your resolve to lead them well. You are half inferno and half storm. The kingdom should consider itself fortunate to have you.”
Quick as it arrived, all mirth in his eyes disappeared, only to be replaced by a smoldering darkness. Garin hooked a finger under her chin, urging her to match his gaze. “And, as for attempting to avoid Darklings, not even a woman of royalty can skirt fate. Regardless of how hard she tries.”
No force on earth could have slowed the princess’s pulse. Her instincts should have urged her to run from him. This time, his aroma was overwhelming. Welcoming. Eyes fixed on his mouth, she tilted her head up to press her lips against his—
And just like that, Garin was on the opposite side of the tub, clutching her bundle of dresses to his chest. “I’d best get to cleaning these off for you,” he said breathlessly. Jaw clenched, he methodically set the ball of material into the sudsy water, folding them beneath the surface and moving closer only to grab the washboard before retreating hastily again.
She could only watch in mute horror as he began cleaning her white and maroon shift. At one point, much to her chagrin, Garin bent over to sniff at the water; her face paled when he nearly gagged.
“Excuse me—”
“Ogre.” His glare was brief but terrifying. Silently, he returned his attention back to the tub.
Taking that as her queue to retreat to the bed, Lilac pulled the top corner of the sheets down and slid in. Sighing in contentment, she wondered if her bed at home was as comfortable as this. She couldn’t quite remember.
“Was this your bed?” she asked, suddenly wondering if his memories of humanity were gratifying or painful.
An awkward silence fell between them, filled only by the trickling of water. The very magic of him still pulled at her like a foreboding thread, but it was the thought of a human Garin, years ago, that made her head spin.
“They may have changed the bedding in the century or so since I slept in it, but the wooden frame is the same. This, in fact, was my bedroom.”
Her eyes drifted from the gray mortar walls, up to the arch of the gabled wooden roof above them. The stairs had led straight into the room they were in, but the west and east wings must have expanded the home decently on the ground floor. “Here? In the attic?”
Garin spoke while moving on to the forest green dress. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Well, why not in any of the wings? There seems to be plenty of room.”
“Those timber extensions, you mean?”
Lilac nodded.
“Those didn’t exist when I lived here. Adelaide’s father built them.” He sat there a moment, a profound sadness painted upon his features. His eyebrows furrowed as he squeezed the water out of the green dress, twisting it this way and that while taking care not to damage the garment.
“So much material,” he muttered, spreading it out evenly. “I swear you could clothe an entire village with this much fabric. You women and your couture.”
She watched as he wrung out both dresses and spread them on a chair to dry. “You and your… English masculinity.”
His smile was soul-shattering. The firelight danced upon his profile, and Lilac’s breath caught in her throat.
How could a creature be so terrible, yet so magnificent all at once?
“Back in my childhood, there were other things the townsfolk here feared.” When he took a seat at the far end of the bed, her legs curled under the blanket—up and instinctively away from him. “During the War of Succession, French soldiers constantly stormed the outskirts of Paimpont in search of traitors—those who they believed actively supported England’s King Edward III. As you know, the war began when French royalty enlisted the aid of the Counts of Blois to attempt to take reign of Brittany.
“My parents left Cornwall in the summer of 1331, when the whisperings of a treacherous malady had begun to spread around London. Driven by fear, they managed to escape before the Black Death took ahold of England. They sailed here with one of the smaller migrant waves and chose Paimpont for its blossoming agriculture. I was born here some years later.
“When I was a young boy, the war was still in its early phase and hadn’t yet reached the forested parts of central Brittany. But that didn’t stop the French Cavalry from traipsing through our towns in a non-violent show of force.”
When he finished spreading her dresses neatly upon the chair backs, Garin ran a hand through his hair. “When Charles of Blois’ sentries began to swarm our area more heavily, my father burned all proof of their allegiance to King Edward. Cornish cookbooks, nearly every letter or parcel in English. He built that bed and ordered me to sleep up here instead of downstairs with them. I protested, but I think my father feared that one day, the French would find them out and come for us. He felt no one would think to check the attic.”
“I take it your family backed England.” Lilac gazed at her long fingers as they grazed the coarse linen blanket over her knees. Her own pedigree, like that of most Bretons, was equally complicated, muddled through a messy history of conquest and defeat. She was a descendant of the Celts and the Normans.
The image of French knights parading the narrow streets of Paimpont flashed vividly through her imagination—along with that of a cherub-faced Garin shrouded in fear, huddled within the arms of his mother perhaps in this very bed.
“It wasn’t their first choice, of course,” he laughed bitterly. “But they were loyal to their homeland, yes. Reluctant patriots, mum and dad were.” He ran his hands over his face. “And mystics, especially my mother. Where other newcomers were repulsed, the ominous, magical rumors of Brocéliande drew them in. Back then, Paimpont was a relatively new town settled mainly by migrants from up north. It was easy enough for simple farmers like my parents to blend in, when everyone counted as a newcomer. It was perfect for them—plenty of business at the weekend market, certainly plenty of the destitute and ill to sell herbal cures to, and occasional Darkling sightings here and there at the edge of the town. Never once did they suspect that I would one day become one of them,” he added sourly.
Tucking her feet in, Lilac shifted and hugged her knees. “Then, how did Adelaide’s family acquire this house?”
“I’m unearthing details of my life that not even Bastion has had the privilege of knowing. Yet you have the gall to focus on her,” said Garin ruefully.
“I-I only meant to ask about your parents.” She stumbled over words that she knew were only partially tru
e. Finding out about Adelaide also mattered to her—mattered more than she cared to admit, even to herself.
Despite his annoyed countenance, the vampire strode over to pat her foot, jolting her from her thoughts. “Pass me a pillow, would you? You don’t expect me to curl up on my own floor like some mutt.”
He took the faded canary cushion that Lilac handed him and placed it to the right of the bed, then slid down to rest his back against it just as he had back in his chamber at the Mine. Sighing, he looked down at his hands, turning them this way and that in the orange glow. “It wasn’t winter illness that killed my mother and father, as I told you before. They were in charge of overseeing the health of those who were plagued. During the outbreak of war, my mother forbade my father to fight like he’d wanted to, so they compromised and served in their own way, as healers. Medics, if you will. One morning after a particularly bloody battle just outside Concoret, they both left to assist English troops on the field. There, the recovering troops—my parents included—were ambushed by Charles’ men. My parents were among those killed.”
Just when Lilac opened her mouth to offer something consoling, he continued. She let him, wondering just how long it had been since he’d told anyone. Memories, especially the bad ones, grew heavy over time. Even for the future queen. Even for the prince of night.
“I had turned fourteen or fifteen the summer before they died, and I had no other family here. I couldn’t support the farm myself, so I was evicted from my own home. I’d had the beginnings of a fine beard—” he grinned to himself, absently stroking his now-naked jawline.
“Had you shaved, the morning of…?” What Lilac had meant to come out as a joke sounded wrong as soon as the words escaped her lips, but Garin surprised her by laughing.
“I’d shaved my face the morning before my transformation, yes. But I used my beard to lie about my age, and joined the war efforts.”
Disenchanted Page 27
