Clenching her molars, she shook her head. “I will run your gauntlet; and while I do not like you, imp, I feel it only prudent to warn you that I’m not being a silly maiden when I warn you not to touch me. I’ve all the charms of a black widow.”
He licked his lips. “I would never dream of molesting a guest of mine.” And while his words said one thing, the way he ran his finger along the outer rim of his goblet suggested something else entirely.
“I wish to see my room now.”
“As you wish.”
“Dalia,” he whispered.
Shayera narrowed her eyes, wondering what he was about now, but she didn’t have long to wait. A thick, black cloud of smoke that glinted with threads of light manifested before him. It took on a vaguely female shape wearing a maid’s outfit when it spoke to him.
“Massster?” she said in a lovely, smoky voice.
“Take your new mistress to her boudoir; see that she’s well cared for.”
Dalia tipped her head. “As you wish, sssir.” She took a step to the side of his seat.
Rumpel turned back to Shayera and lifted his brow. “Get a good night’s rest.”
Standing, she set her white linen napkin on the table and headed toward the floating female.
“Oh, and just so you know…” Rumpel’s drawl sounded smug. “Your first test begins at sunrise.”
She left him there but couldn’t help peeking back at him one final time. He sat like a lord atop his throne, staring at the space she’d just vacated, a pensive and dark look on his handsome face.
Dalia led Shayera up a long and winding staircase. Even though the castle itself was richly appointed with hand-woven tapestries that hung along the walls and depicted a variety of tableaus: bucolic scenes of nymphs and satyrs frolicking about, moonlit gardens rife with the lights of thousands of dancing fireflies, lovers gazing into one another’s eyes, there was something almost lifeless about it.
The imagery gradually gave way to battles and monsters, vicious creatures straight from the realms of nightmares, full of spit and horns and sickle-shaped fangs, each tapestry becoming slightly more macabre, just a tad more chilling. It all smacked of a man trying too hard to make others believe him to be this horrible fiend.
Not that he wasn’t horrid. He was. He’d ordered the death of her own father if she wouldn’t come with him, for reasons she still couldn’t quite fathom, but she also didn’t think he was the soulless creature he was thought to be.
He laughed and teased too easily for it to be unnatural to him. As gorgeous as he was, his looks were further enhanced by the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. Perhaps he’d developed them from finding delight in cruelty, but something about him, about the way he treated her, didn’t fit.
Dalia held a lantern high above her head as they glided down a long hallway with ceilings that seemed to reach up to the stars and walls lined with thick golden frames that held paintings of yet more haughty but beautiful people gazing down at her. All this was meant to intimidate her, from the grandeur of this place right down to the finery of his furnishings. It was a coordinated, brilliant attack on one’s psyche. It was meant to throw you off balance so you’d be a whimpering, blubbering mess by the end of it.
“Dalia,” she whispered.
The woman stopped and turned. “Yes, misss?”
She blinked brilliant ruby-colored eyes and Shayera was struck that apart from the fact the woman was made of smoke, she was really quite pretty.
As pretty as the rest of the faces staring sightlessly down at her.
Shayera smiled. “I’m not sure what I really mean to say right now.” She laughed self-consciously. “But if you’re not too busy to maybe hang out with me for a little while once you show me to my room, I’d really appreciate that.”
“Oh.” Dalia laid three fingers against her lips. “Okay, if you insissst.”
Her dark red lips stretched into a graceful smile and this time when they began walking, the woman did not walk ahead of Shayera.
They walked on for what seemed an eternity and very likely was. Rumpel had clearly spelled the inside of his castle to sail on into oblivion. Still, it wasn’t a chore. She enjoyed the dark, almost Gothic beauty of her surroundings. The dark tones and rich brocades, all of it was a wild contrast to her simple country home that she loved so much.
“Are you frightened, misss?”
Shayera looked at the servant and, judging by the firmness of her face, guessed the girl to be no older than her own nineteen years. “A little bit. I don’t have a clue what he plans to do with me.”
Dalia revealed even, white teeth. “The master ain’t so bad once ye get to know him. He’s just got a lot on hisss mind.”
Finally they arrived at a large, off-white door.
“My room?” she asked.
Nodding, Dalia turned the antique brass knob, and all Shayera could do was gasp at the beauty within.