Page 22 of His Dark Delights

Lilly

Rhydan paid me a favor by avoiding the busier halls of the palace. He’d seen me at one of my lowest points and hadn’t judged me for it. Simply held out a hand and offered assistance. He knew his friend was in the wrong and showed me the empathy I hadn’t realized how badly I needed.

As we traversed the corridors, I kept track of every statue and every tapestry we passed. There might come a time when I needed to know my way around. Admittedly, the sapphire hued stone of the castle walls and the wondrous views through the windows were lovely. Almost annoyingly so.

The castle of Elleslan was resplendent and grand.

Beyond anything I had the experience to imagine.

The shimmer of the stone walls and the art carefully spaced across every surface stole my breath.

And gods, the views from the balconies and sky bridges from one tower to the next might have entertained me for days.

I wanted to hate being there with every fiber of my being. It was beautiful beyond what a lonely girl from an isolated farm could conceive of. The size of my world reached exponentially farther; too large, too bustling, too burdened by the will of another.

Doubt coiled through my mind, whispering that I was a perpetual outsider.

I didn’t belong, and I never would. My every dirt-smudged step stained the otherwise pristine marble floors, sinking home the fact I sullied the palace with my presence.

Even the servants we passed glanced sideways with judgment in their eyes.

Thank the gods, and Rhydan, for saving me from humiliation.

Without him, I’d still have the king’s cum smeared in obscene streaks across my face.

Though his support didn’t reveal his intentions.

Was Rhydan an ally? Or was he another player in the game of the royal court, eager to manipulate the new pawn?

“Here we are. This’ll be the room for you then.” Rhydan gestured to the second to last door at the end of a long hall. It had blue painted wood with glittering gold embellishments that likely cost more than my entire cottage.

“And what are those other rooms?” I pointed along the corridor to the widely spaced doors lining that wing of the palace.

“Rooms for the royal family.” He gestured at the door beside mine. “That’ll be the king’s room.”

A surge of unease rolled through me. The force of it was almost enough to send me to my knees, collapsing on the floor once again. My empty stomach heaved, and shock reeled through my throbbing head.

Rhydan and I locked eyes. Concern washed away the hopefulness in his gaze. Hope for what I couldn’t say, and I didn’t care. But he opened the door, nodding for me to enter. “I’ll send word to the kitchen for you. Someone will attend to you soon.”

More than anything, I needed to be alone. I whisked past the knight into the pleasant warmth of the chambers. “Thank you,” I said over my shoulder, unable to meet his stare a second longer.

The door shut with a soft click and my eyes fluttered shut to block the well of tears swelling to the surface. I stumbled into the door as the world shifted beneath my feet. I slid down the cool wood to the floor and hugged my knees to my chest.

Two weeks. For two weeks I’d agonized over the tangled knots in my chest, fighting to cleave their possession of my heart. The gods would be so cruel to snap the threads back into place the moment I breathed on my own again. Like a cruel ribbon of fate weaving through my ribs.

Beams of sunlight streaming through the glass windows glinted on the strange, glittering stone walls.

Tapestries and paintings decorated the walls that lacked a massive window draped with heavy velvet curtains.

Taking in the room helped me collect myself, to self-soothe the panic clawing up through my chest and scratching the back of my throat.

Plush rugs kissed my feet like clouds as I explored.

The luxury of the spacious chamber sat bittersweet on my tongue, like trying to eat gold and finding that it wasn’t nourishing after all .

A four-poster bed sat between two towering windows.

Flames danced in the fireplace across the room and a gentle warmth cascaded through the air.

Shelves built into one corner boasted an impressive collection of books alongside a plush armchair of blue stained velour leather.

A gold painted wardrobe in the adjacent corner cast shadows on a narrow door leading to a private bathing chamber.

The fire crackled as a log split, and the sound startled me away from the books.

When I turned around, a tapestry on the opposite wall fluttered as if moved by a breeze.

Curiosity tugged me across the room, not to the intricate lines woven into the picture of a knight hunting a unicorn, but by the subtle whistling behind the fabric.

I pushed the tapestry aside, and my jaw dropped open.

A door hidden in the wall?

I grasped the handle and twisted, but it remained in place. Locked from the other side. Breathing faster, I glanced at the door and over the wall, calculating the corridor outside.

The king’s room.

Not only did Soren expect me to stay in the palace, sleeping in the room beside mine, but he likely had access to slip through the door as he pleased.

My emotions betrayed me, volleying between fury, displeasure, and a traitorous hum of wanton excitement. Each breath sawed through me as my heart juggled blinding rage and a quivering anticipation that threatened to suffocate me.

When would I see Soren again? Would he sneak through that door and crawl into the bed when night fell?

And why didn’t I hate the thought as much as I should have?

What would my life become here? How were my animals without me?

When would I get the chance to return home—to find solace and safety once again?

I didn’t foresee a way out.

The main door swinging open knocked a yelp from me. A servant with a large tray bustled in. She set it on the low table in front of the hearth and bowed out of the room before I managed a sputtered “thank you”.

Uncertain and unmoored in a treacherous land, but moved by hunger, I sidestepped the lavish twin chairs by the fire and sank onto the rug.

Swirling herbs and spices enticed me, and I dug into the most lavish meal of my life.

Warmed by the meal and exhausted, I curled into myself on the rug and succumbed to the ache in my head.

I dozed for hours until a voice clucked in my ears, and urgent hands rattled my shoulders. My breath hitched, but wheezed out when I noticed the voice was firm but matronly.

“Come on, girl, get up. You’ve slept nearly the entire day!” She had a crooning voice, her tongue curling the edges of her words in an accent I didn’t recognize.

“I’m sorry.” I blinked rapidly, shoving up from the ground. The sleep cleared from my eyes, and an older woman with graying blonde curls slipping free from her cap stared down at me.

“It’s half-past six in the afternoon, dearie,” she chided. Her scrutinizing, pale eyes were curious yet kind as she dragged me off the floor.

“Oh. Am—Am I needed?”

She appraised me with one sweep of her eyes before clucking her tongue like a disapproving hen. “Dear, the king has summoned you to dine with him. But you can’t go looking like this, ye ken?”

“Dinner with the king?” I gasped, the grogginess ripping from my bones. Her words stunned me past the point of fighting when she maneuvered me to the bathroom.

“Aye. His Majesty demands your presence, but you look as if they dragged you off the streets.” She stuck me near the edge of the clawfoot tub before snatching a washcloth from a cupboard. “You look pretty enough, but let’s see if we can make you shine.”

“I’m sorry, Miss—”

“I’m Mrs. Gibbons, dearie. Now let’s get you out of those dirty clothes.” She moved in an expert flurry, tugging off my simple dress and underthings.

“Mrs. Gibbons, I can wash and dress myself. Please—”

“None of that. It’s my job to see to you now, and I’m going to do so. I won’t be the one to disappoint His Majesty. Not today.”

The commanding older woman didn’t give me the opportunity to reply.

She stripped me of my clothes and promptly dunked me into a tub of steaming water.

With a washcloth lathered in citrus and floral scented soap, she scrubbed my skin nearly raw.

Then she dried me off before applying lotions to my skin I didn’t want to consider the cost of.

“Mrs. Gibbons?” I began.

“Yes, dearie?” she replied, half paying attention while pulling fabric from the wardrobe.

“Why is this room connected to Ren—uh—His Majesty’s room? ”

Her cheeks flushed red as she faltered. Collecting herself, she stuttered out, “Well, historically, this room is the Queen’s chambers. If His Majesty has a king’s appetite as his father did, then I suppose he wanted easy access.”

My brows arched as I blinked owlishly at her. “A king’s appetite?”

“Forgive my saying it, dearie. I don’t know why you’re here, and it’s not my place to speculate. Now let’s get you dressed.”

Mrs. Gibbons maneuvered me like a doll, and she was playing dress up.

She didn’t even give me the chance to pick my dress for the evening.

Instead, she stood me upright and tied a gown of white and blue onto my frame; a heavy garment of finer quality than anything I’d ever worn before.

She slipped stockings onto my legs and tied them with ribbons above the knee.

Then shoes—gods, above—I hated the confining contraptions they called heels.

I wouldn’t be able to feel the earth beneath my toes if they were cramped together.

“Oh, you’re quite a lovely thing now, aren’t you?” Mrs. Gibbons said as she tightened the laces down my spine. “Now we’ve got to do something about your hair, dearie. Such a gorgeous color, and these curls… I could pin it up.”

“No,” I blurted. Catching her stunned reflection in the mirror “I prefer wearing it down is all.”

“Aye, dearie. Perhaps just a few pins to keep the stray bits out of your face at dinner?” She caught a curl at my temple and pulled it back.

“Yes, that’s alright.”

I’d feel a great deal more comfortable if my hair hid my ears.

I needed to remain prepared and on guard without knowing what I might walk into.

Even a private dinner with the king would be a battle, and I wasn’t on my home field.

Soren had the upper hand here. He’d already won a battle that morning and was well on his way to winning the war.

I leashed those thoughts and stomped them down.

The only war Soren wanted to win was his feud against the fae. He would murder every one of them if he had his way. I refused to be one of his victories. I refused to be another butchered head trailing after the king on his bloody battlefield.

Soren Carnifex claimed to want my heart. Well, I wanted him to end the war.

An idea sparked, bright and explosive, in my head.

A dangerous, foolish idea from the mind of a farm girl.

But perhaps one I was the only person capable of attempting.

Maybe I could do something about the state of the kingdom entrenched in war, do something about the bloodshed between mortal and fae—my two halves.

That sparked an idea. A dangerous, hair brained, stupid idea that a farm girl shouldn’t take on alone. But perhaps I was the only person able to do something about the state of the kingdom and the savagery between man and fae.

As conflicted as my emotions were, it wouldn’t be difficult to let him into my bed again. Convincing the king to turn from his hatred might be the hardest part of my scheme.

If I leaned into Soren’s touch, pressed myself into his heart, could I alter his feelings on magical beings? Would the Butcher listen if I whispered in his ear? Could I sway his mind from beneath the sheets? And could I live with myself if I willingly gave him my flesh in exchange?

I lacked a courtesans training in seduction and the elegance of a noblewoman. Women in the capital played by different rules than simple village girls. But I’d have to learn the game and become a player.

Could someone so inexperienced seduce a butcher into putting down his blade?

“There we are,” Mrs. Gibbons trilled, snatching me out of my convoluted musing. “You look like a proper lady now. Absolutely stunning you are. Perfect to dine with His Majesty and the Grand Duchess tonight.”

“Oh, gods,” I croaked. The king was one thing, but a Grand Duchess was another obstacle.

With Soren, I didn’t need to pretend to be anything other than a farm girl. But now I’d have to wear a mask poorly stretched over my frame. One that could cost my life with a single misstep.