“No.” Rumpel spun on his heel, staring down at his man with all the disdain and princely power he could muster. He’d come to a conclusion. All night he’d wrestled with what to do and now he knew.
One look at her this morning and it’d been obvious she’d finished the books. He vacillated between wishing he’d never given her the damn things to feeling relief that she now knew. But would she understand?
“I will enter the game this time, Giles.”
“Sir?” He sounded astonished, brows dipping. “But it is improper for royalty to—”
“To what?” He glowered, thrusting out his hand at her. She was huddled into herself, obviously trying not to cry.
Once a game was begun there was no power in the above or below that could stop it. But he could change it. He’d left Delerium because he’d understood then how wrong it was, and here he was doing the very same.
“To befoul my hands with a game of my own creation? Hmm.” He scrubbed his jaw, then tossed his hands up. “I messed everything up. Everything.”
“You could not know what she would mean to you, sir.”
“What does it matter? You warned me, you all warned me. Told me over and over to not do it, and for centuries I’ve refused to listen. So obsessed with finding the impossible cure, and what have I done?” He roared.
“There is much a father would do for his child, sir. I do not envy your decision.”
“There is no alternative, and no excuse. I must rectify this. There is no choice, and if she never forgives me then it’s the price I must pay, but I will not let her die. She will fail this test.”
“But, sir, she’s already failed two of the three, has she not? The babe died, her father was not avenged… She cannot pass the game.”
“She’s not failed, Giles, not a single test. Not a one, but I will be damned if she passes this one. You are to leave.” He began shrugging out of his T-shirt. “Let no one pass down these halls, no one can see what will happen. Do you hear me? Guard this place, Black Death, and your reward will be great.”
Tossing the shirt to the ground, he jerked at the buttons of his jeans. Giles stood staring at him with a dumbstruck expression.
“Go!” he snapped, pointing at the door. “Now.”
The moment his man was gone, Rumpel dropped his pants. Letting his hair go free, he stood nude and turned to her. “You will go home, my little siren,” he whispered. “Trust in me now, and all will be well.”
The room shifted into a blinding blur of colors: smoky-pearl fabric hanging from rafters, magenta-hued walls, bronze chandeliers, thick rugs spun from the finest spider silk glinting like a thousand prisms of rainbow light with each step she took. The room smelled of sandalwood and myrrh, practically dripped luxury and sex.
Shayera twirled as the sound of a lute played a hypnotic, lulling song.
And this time Rumpel was there. He lay on a pile of pillows, nude, his long hair down and staring at her with the same burning intensity that raced through her soul.
“What is this?” Somehow she found her voice.
Stretching an arm above his head, he did not answer her. But the move was a call to act, to look upon him and marvel at the beauty of something so perfect.
He was all sloping grace and tight muscles. His arms, his legs, his stomach, all perfect, all symmetrical. But hard. Man. Wild.
Her fingers clenched as the charms she tried so hard to control began to buzz inside her with the chaotic knowledge that before her lay a feast. She wet her lips, and because she was so weak, she looked between his legs, and her breath caught on a hitch.
Her body tingled at the sight of his thick shaft and how it jutted out from between his thighs. His hand crept low on his belly.
Rumpel wasn’t furry, but he wasn’t smooth either. His fingers followed the dark trail that led straight to his cock. The very one she’d had in her mouth, the one she dreamed of every night, wondering what other glories could be had from it.
Nipples going hard and tight, her hand itched to touch the wetness between her legs.
“Where is my game? You should go.” She tried again, but her voice was too breathy, too kittenish to be believed as any sort of threat. A whimper escaped her tight lips and she hated herself, hated that he could still affect her this way, that her siren parts could still want, still ache for something that wasn’t even real.
He touched himself, rubbing his hand up and down, so very, very slowly. Lids half-closed, he gazed at her. His desire that she join him was so evident it felt inevitable to her.
“Come. Here.” His voice wasn’t soft or cajoling, this was lust. Raw and primal and explosive.
She bit down on her lip, refusing to rise to the bait. The corset pinning her breasts felt too constrictive, she could hardly breathe, and the room was definitely spinning.
“No.”
She smiled because she’d been able to resist.
“Then if you won’t come to me…”