Page 65 of Taken By the Lord of the Nocturne Court

Chapter 24

Luke

It’s been over a week since Kyran plucked me out of my life and brought me to the Nightmare Realm, but it feels like at least a month.

He gifts me so many bouquets of midnight blue roses my room overflows with them, and while it felt weird at first to get flowers, I have to admit it’s a lovely gesture. I like flowers, and the roses are exceptionally beautiful, so why would I deny myself the pleasure because of human gender roles?

Every day Kyran treats me to foods I’ve never tasted before, and servants cater to my every whim, as if I’m already a member of the royal family. A painter from another elven realm has been called upon, and we pose for our portrait every morning, so that it’s finished by our wedding day. Kyran decided he wanted our likenesses to be captured in the orangery, with me sitting in the swing where he fucked me silly. It’s a nice little inside joke, but I like that our portrait will feature roses.

But most of the time, I get to do whatever the fuck I want in my opulent room, like reading in an armchair soft as clouds, taking two-hour baths while staring at the moon, or creating art with the new set of paints Kyran provided me with. It features colors in shades that differ from the ones in my world, and I already visited the library to find out more about how they’re made.

Downsides of no internet. I can’t just google this stuff, but it’s not like I’d find information on pigments in the Nightmare Realm online anyway.

At first, when I approached Kyran about leaving my room without him, I worried he’d not allow it, but he’s more than obliging and happy that I want to acquaint myself with the palace. As long as Tristan is with me, I can spend as much time as I want in the library.

It only hit me when I first went there that we speak the same language as the elves. I was so frantic about everything else going on that the topic of linguistics didn’t even occur to me until Sabine pointed it out and then gave me a quick rundown of the history behind it.

There are countless worlds. For hundreds of years, one could easily pass between the one occupied by humans and the Nightmare Realm, but that changed after some drama, or war (or something) two hundred years ago. Since then, magic has become much rarer in my world, but we still share our language due to all the intermingling in the past. Which would explain why the elves sometimes sound so old-timey to me.

At least it also means I can read most of their books unless they’re from some faraway place or were written thousands of years ago.

After I mentioned that I find reading in the dim green light difficult, and that I’m not sure the colors in my painting look right, Kyran brought me glasses made of moonshard. They make everything brighter and pretty much eliminated the strain I’ve been feeling in my eyes. The first thing I was reminded of when I put them on my nose? How handsome Kyran is.

He looks exactly how a prince of elves from a place called the Nightmare Realm should. His eyes have that piercing darkness that takes my breath away, his lips are pale, with the faintest shade of pink, and his cheekbones are the stuff of gothic fantasies.

And yet when he’s with me, I’m starting to see him as a man of flesh and bone. When he laughs at my jokes, he never fails to meet my eyes, as if wishing to connect on a level I’m not ready for. When we fuck, his icy facade is replaced by a flush and lust so raw I don’t feel worthy of it.

But I embrace it and gorge on his attention anyway, because the man fucks like a demon, and the many bites and hickeys on my skin are proof of his need. Who am I to tell him that I’m nothing special if he wants me this much?

To him, I seem to be some sexual sensation, a creature made for pleasure and capable of fulfilling Kyran’s every carnal fantasy. But once he’s gone, busy attending to matters bigger than either of us, uncertainty creeps back in, reminding me of my mother’s scornfulgaze, the fact that my father didn’t bother to meet me, and all the lovers who wouldn’t give me the time of day once they got their rocks off.

I wasn’t a good enough artist to attract thousands of followers. My business sense is so lacking I overinvested in seasonal bath bombs and needed to get an additional credit card to pay off the debt when they didn’t sell. The only people who want me are those I don’t want back.

Well, there’s Kyran, but sex is still a novelty to him. Once he gets his bearings and realizes how much better he could do, I’ll end up being moved around the palace, like an item that is still very much necessary but embarrassing to have around.

Do I even know what he does when he leaves me to my own devices? He could already have other lovers and only act so sweet toward me so I go through with the wedding.

I feel shitty as soon as I think that, but I can’t help it. Suspicion is ingrained in my DNA.

So I decided to take matters into my own hands. The truth is, my life here has been luxurious. I don’t have to go to work, I wear the finest clothes, sleep as long as I want to, soak in a massive bathtub, eat delicious food made for me and served on silver platters.

I feel… pampered.

If I can trust Kyran won’t break his promise after the wedding, maybe I could stay here after all. Would it really be such a strange choice? People move to, like… New Zealand or Japan. People move to places with different foods and social norms, languages they don’t know, and they’re able to make a new home for themselves. Why not me?

But to do that, I need information, so I’m at the library, perusing corridors towering over me like a medieval cathedral. As in the orangery, the roof is made of an arched frame and glass, and the blueish light of the shrinking moon and stars bathes the vast interior in a cool glow. Books are stored on shelves even someone as tall as Kyran couldn’t reach without a ladder, and taxidermied heads of massive animals that are unfamiliar to me yet reminiscent of creatures found in my reality take up the space under the ceiling. I smelled flowers placed on some of the desks from the moment I entered, and as I close my eyes, I can almost imagine I’m walking through a park, with Tristan trailing behind me in complete silence.

He’s not often this quiet. On the contrary, most of the time, he has questions about my world, and since I have them about his, we’ve resorted to trading information instead of a war in which each of us is trying to get more of theirs answered.

I’m also pretty sure he’s been flirty a few times when he got a bit too comfortable, but he respects his crown prince, and I never respond to the compliments. Once, I did tell him his hair looks like waterfalls of fresh blood, and things got so awkward after that, I now make sure to keep such comments at bay.

I believe he’s tired today, since he did mention staying up all night with someone. I still count on his reflexes in case an assassin decided to pounce at me from a top shelf, but the library is his favorite place for naps, so I’m guessing that’s what he’ll do as soon as I choose a book.

I’ve already noticed there are times during the day when the aisles between shelves and reading nooks crowd with courtiers, but since lavish parties, gambling, and nights of debauchery are an integral part of life at the palace, most of those who have time to read don’t bother getting up before lunch. To Tristan’s dismay, that makes mornings my favorite time to be here, but to his credit, he never complains about my habits. Not directly at least.

“Do you not enjoy the dark?” he asks out of nowhere as I walk past a set of daybeds meant for reading. “You go to sleep so awfully early.”

“Unlike you, I don’t see well in the dark. I’m lucky to have these.” I tap the silvery glasses. “Though there’s other reasons to go to bed early,” I add with a smirk.