Rumpel's Prize Page 10

  Yanking at a blue velvet pillow, she crushed it to her chest to still the deep, lingering sadness welling in the pit of her stomach, a mix of loneliness and a quiet yearning to see her parents again. She’d thought there could be nothing worse than living in that hamlet, but if she had to put up with Rumpel’s constant mercurial moods for the next three months, there was a good possibility she’d go insane.

  Her mother’s words of the grass not always being greener suddenly made so much more sense to her.

  Fingers toying with the hem of her dress, Dalia shrugged. “There are children in fact, but master—”

  Shayera’s elation turned to disgust in a flash. “Of course. They cannot come out to play unless he gives the orders, have I got it about right?”

  Dalia’s face scrunched up. “I reckon so, miss.”

  Tossing the pillow, Shayera jumped from the bed and began pacing. “Dalia, I’m going to go insane trapped in my room. It’s not as though I require much, but I at least had Briley before, and my parents. Here, I feel completely isolated.” She nibbled on her lip, damning the lump in her throat that was trying to work its way free.

  Shayera wasn’t one who often gave into sentiment and emotion, life was what it was, but she’d never really understood the strength she’d derived from her family unit until it was no longer available to her. Clenching her fists by her sides, she whirled on the girl.

  “What is there to do here that is fun? That I can do by myself?”

  “Well…” Dalia licked her lips. “There are the gardens.”

  Shayera snorted and Dalia frowned.

  “You don’t need him around to shape them, miss. You only saw the thunder and lightning because that’s what you assumed should be, though why you should is a mystery to me.” She grinned. “Think of whatever you want and make it very clear, and the garden can be the most beautiful place in the castle.”

  She’d thought it because on so many levels Rumpelstiltskin reminded her of a devil, it’d seemed appropriate.

  “I’ll trust your word on that, but I don’t think I’m up for going out there again.” She had zero desire to bump into the imp again. Not after opening up again—it was too humiliating.

  “I suppose… the library?” Left corner of her lip tilting up, Dalia said it as a question.

  “Yes!” Shayera jumped on it. Not that she was much of a reader. Mother had tried to instill a love for the written word in her, but the idea of reading for entertainment baffled her. But learning? Now that she enjoyed. And surely in a library there’d be books about Delerium, something she could study and hopefully learn something about him.

  She still had no desire to hang out with Rumpelstiltskin, but the need to figure him out hadn’t waned one bit.

  “Good.” Dalia stood. “Good.” Her red eyes twinkled. “Then it’s the library. Would you like to walk, or?” She held out her hand.

  Chuckling and grabbing onto her stomach, Shayera shook her head. “I don’t think I’m quite over the last jump. Let’s just walk.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Dalia left her in the library with the promise that she’d return the moment Shayera called for her.

  Once the door closed behind the maid, she turned on her heel and gaped at the mind-boggling dimensions of the room. The ceiling seemed to scrape into eternity, and there had to be a mile, at least, separating each wall. There were large white columns spaced evenly and gleaming white marble cases with gold-trimmed shelves were lined all in a row. Way to the back there was even a spiraling staircase that led to a second floor.

  In short, Mother would have peed herself to see this place. The thought made her chuckle.

  “Goodness,” she breathed. Yet more evidence that Rumpel had a serious hoarding problem. “You are indeed a magpie, imp.”

  Because Mother had tried so dutifully to brainwash Shayera into enjoying the library as much as she, she’d taught her daughter that the first place to look—especially in a room of this size—was the catalog shelf.

  It stood tall and proud in the very center of the room. The clack of her shoes echoed hollowly through the place and made her shiver.

  Running her fingers along the letters until she got to D, she opened the drawer and began riffling through the cards until she found Delerium. There were exactly five books on the subject.

  Plucking the cards out so that she wouldn’t have to memorize the long digit, she walked up the staircase to the second level.

  The room was well lit, but not by any light source she could actually see. There were no windows, so therefore no sun peeked through. It was more like the stones themselves cast a radiant glow—it made everything have a dreamlike quality to it.

  One thing she could say for Rumpel: what he lacked in good manners, he more than made up for in the beauty he surrounded himself with.

  Pulling out the first card, she studied the numbers and then looked at the placard hanging from the bookshelf; it was a match. But, the books were on the uppermost shelf and she was way too short to reach. Looking around, she spied a sliding ladder and jogged over so that she could push it into place.

  Climbing up, she easily found the books and suffered yet another pang of disappointment. Her hopes for massive tomes detailing his rise and fall, just what Delerium was and why he’d run away, those were quickly dashed. The books, if they could even be called that, were no thicker than pamphlets. And though they were leather bound and clearly very old, she doubted she’d learn much, if anything.

  But she’d come all this way. Sighing, she pulled the books out. At least it wouldn’t be hard to carry them all at once.

  Back down the ladder, she hurriedly returned the cards to the catalog and then took a seat at one of several long wooden tables. The books were laced up.

  Picking one at random, she undid the knot and gasped the moment she opened it, jumping in alarm because the book grew into a large volume. Its weathered pages looked as though they’d not seen the light of day for years, let alone centuries. Easily the size of her entire chest and just as heavy, she moaned when she realized this would definitely not be light reading.

  “Oh gods,” she breathed as she tried to do a quick count of the pages inside, losing count after two hundred or so. “Nothing for it, I guess.” Placing her chin on her fist, she began at the beginning.

  Hours later, back screaming from sitting in one position for too long, she blinked, only to realize how dim the room was now. She’d not noticed the torch that now glowed as if by magic from the center of the table, as she’d been completely engrossed in the war between the demone, which seemed to stem from the avarice and vice of King Dionysis and his lords. Dionysis desired a totalitarian rule. There’d been rumor and innuendo for years that the king’s blood was tainted, that he wasn’t well. Not until he’d declared war on his own people did the lords realize the rumors were true. But only one lord, Prince Rumpelstiltskin, had power enough to challenge the king’s authority.

  The history of a land and peoples she didn’t know fascinated her, but exhaustion laid claim to her mind. Clearly the sandman wouldn’t leave her in peace this night, the evidence of his being here stared her boldly in the face. Brushing at the granules of sand, she yawned. After reading the same line six times, it was time to admit defeat.

  She’d not even gotten a quarter of the way through the first mammoth tome. Sighing, she closed it and smiled with delight when, once she’d retied the laces, the book again shrank back down to a small size.

  “Useful after all.”

  Picking up her new treasures, she called for Dalia. But it wasn’t her maid that returned to her.

  Gleaming amber eyes glanced at the books she held clasped in her hands. She was still angry with him, and clutching them even tighter to her breasts, she notched her chin and dared him to take them away.

  Quicker than she could cry “no,” he’d plucked a book from her and flipped it from side to side before glancing back at her. “This is not light reading.”

  He’d clear
ly been drinking again; she heard the smooth grit of whiskey in his voice. She hated that the sound of it should affect her as it did, should make her stomach take a dive and her legs feel shaky, that her breathing hitched an infinitesimal bit, that her heart banged against her ribs.

  Good looks that masked the devil beneath. But body and mind were two separate things inside her, because while she could appreciate the outer, so far she loathed the inner.

  “Where is Dalia?” she snapped.

  Brow twitching, he flipped the book back to her. She nearly lost the others in her haste to snatch it out of the air.

  “Where she should be. I can lead you to your room.”

  “Why? So you can snap at me again? Or make me feel like an idiot for opening myself up to you?” Thinning her lips, realizing what she was saying to him and how that must make her look, she sailed past him for the door. “I can find my own way.”

  “No, you can’t. The castle shifts at my whim. I wish to walk with you—if you leave, you’ll be walking for hours.”

  Hand on the knob, realizing he was probably telling the truth, she rounded on him. “Why are you doing this to me? Hmm? Why can’t you just leave me alone? You do not really wish my company, that much is obvious—”

  “Is it really?”

  “Well, isn’t it?”

  Eyes thin slits, he moved into her sphere of space, his body so close that his heat wrapped with her own. He smelled of fire and whiskey and cloves. She wet her lips.

  “You unnerve me, siren, and I find I don’t much care for that feeling. Why are you reading up on me?” His gaze flicked momentarily off her face and back to the books.

  Able to take in a deep breath, body jittery as if she’d downed ten cups of her father’s coffee, she shook her head, hating that she’d felt even the tiniest bit flattered at the idea that she disturbed him.

  “It’s always good to study your enemies.”

  His smile was slow and sensual and she felt the movement of it like a caress on her flesh, heating her blood and forcing her to close her eyes. Sirens affected males, the more exposure the more need, but she could swear he was turning her own charms on her because as much as she detested him, she craved him.

  Gripping the books tight when he leaned over her, careful not to touch him, an agony all its own, she waited until he opened the door.

  “I’m not your enemy.” His sweet breath fanned her cheek.

  Slipping out the door and planting a hand on the wall, she shook her head. The truth of the matter was she had no idea what Rumpel meant to do with her. Was this really just a game? The little bit she’d read of the demone led her to believe that perhaps it could be just that.

  They were keenly intelligent, prone to bouts of rage, but they also desired to be surrounded by the finer things in life.

  “Excuse me if I don’t believe you.” She finally found her tongue.

  The castle echoed with a quiet like she’d not known since arriving. And only in this stillness did she realize she’d not really been alone, because the presence of others had always been about. She sensed no life here at all.

  “Why did you challenge your father?” If he sent her back to her room for impertinence then so be it, it wasn’t as though she wished his company.

  But instead of driving her away as he had earlier in the gardens, he nodded. “Read the book—you can see he was mad.”

  “But don’t all demone wish to enslave and rule? Isn’t that the way of your kind?”

  His lip curled. “Don’t all succubus wish to rape?”

  She gasped as if slapped.

  “Do not be so quick to make snap judgments, Carrot, the action does not become you.”

  Shame crept up her neck with hot fingers. “Touché,” she reluctantly drawled. Whether she’d meant to or not, she’d offended him. “Then let me ask a different way. From what I’ve read, you, more than any of your brothers, seem different. Why?”

  His grin was conceited and alluring at the same time. She coughed, making a pretense of patting a flyaway curl that did not exist.

  “Because I am an abomination to my kind.”

  “No. Dalia and Giles both speak very highly of you. I doubt that—”

  Lip raised, he snarled, and fangs exposed, he set her heart racing . “Do not listen to the prattle of servants!”

  And just as she thought he meant to banish her as he had this morning, he took two steady breaths and then a giant step back from her. She stood with her back pressed to a door, staring at him wide-eyed.

  “Forgive me again. I fear you bring out the worst in me. Good night.”

  And then he was gone and when she turned, she realized she was back at her room. This time she wasn’t angry or annoyed. It was sympathy and tinge of sadness for a man she feared she’d never understand that laced her bones.

  Rumpel roared as he stomped down to Euralis’ dungeon. Fire leapt to life and the black crow cocked its head.

  “Do not look at me.” He pointed at it, pacing back and forth. “I will not have your judgment.”

  Beady eyes blinked.

  “I can do this. And I will. I vow it.” With those final words, he traced from that room. Because it wasn’t the boy he wished to see.

  He’d gone there to reinforce his will, but seeing the eyes and knowing the child looked at him as little more than a stranger hadn’t strengthened him at all.

  Back at the room he’d found her in last night, her scent of nightshade still lingered faintly. He’d designed this room to her specifications.

  Not the siren’s, but his wife’s. He’d fashioned a room of wood, of soft roses and creams, everything as she’d loved it. But now all he could see, all he could remember, wasn’t glowing ruby eyes that glimmered with love but crystal-blue ones that lit a fire in his dark, shriveled heart.

  “Damn it all to hell!” he roared, and where the furnishings were once gone, now they were back.

  Caratina had picked each piece out so lovingly, from the bone-china vases on pedestals to the pale blue and-mauve chaises. Returning to his true form, that of Demone Prince, he went crazy.

  Blinded with fury, with desire so sharp it bordered on madness, he slashed and tore the chairs into strips of fabric and piles of fluff. Then when that wasn’t enough, he picked up the vases and tossed them into the fire, into the walls, hearing them break into a thousand tiny pieces.

  “Sir!” Giles’s voice boomed.

  Whirling, still manic with rage, he snarled. “Get out of here, Giles.” His voice thundered with the roll of power. “Unless you wish to spar with me, then go!”

  His manservant never took his eyes off him as he methodically shrugged out of his tailcoat.

  “Giles.” He growled a warning because with the mood he was in, he felt ready to kill something.

  “Sir, you loved and lost. It is not wrong to find something again.”

  He snarled again, curling his fingers into fists. “Do not speak to me of such matters.”

  Ignoring his master’s obvious threat, Giles took his time rolling the dark sleeves of his shirt up his elbows. “Mistress Caratina would never have wanted this for you.”

  In a flash, Rumpel was upon Giles. The first crack of his fist into the man’s face felt satisfying, but not nearly as satisfying as hearing the bone crunch and seeing the blood spurt from his nose. “Never speak to me of her!”

  In an instant Giles was not his manservant but the captain of the royal guard, the man of legend and fury, a seasoned warrior. Rumpel’s blood hummed because this was exactly what he’d needed.

  With a growl, Giles shot to his feet and landed a blow to Rumpel’s gut that took the breath from him. Smearing the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, he sneered down at his prince. “Do not tell me you’ve grown soft in your old age, Prince.”

  With a laugh, Rumpel rolled to the side and hopped to his feet, and the two were upon each other. Evenly matched, they traded blow after blow. An arcing fist smashed into Rumpel’s temple, knocki
ng him senseless for a moment. Stumbling, seeing stars, he dropped his head and charged into Giles like a stampeding rhino, dragging his servant to the ground.

  The rush of air expelling from Giles’s lips told Rumpel he’d landed a solid blow. But he was too dizzy to stand, and draping a hand over his eyes, he laughed, a great, booming sound that quickly turned to a groan as he grabbed his ribs.

  “You’ve the devil about you still, Giles,” he quipped.

  Obedient servant once more, his man sat up and rubbed his sternum. “You hit like a gnat.” He spat out a glob of blood.

  And then they were both laughing. After a minute, feeling immensely better and not quite so dizzy, Rumpel sat up and looked around at the chaos he’d caused.

  When it dawned on him what he’d done, what he’d destroyed, his laughter turned to a sigh. “I’m a mess.”

  “You’re desperate, sir, there’s a difference.”

  Riffling his fingers through his hair and feeling a knot beginning to swell on the back of his skull, he shook his head. “She would be ashamed.”

  “I doubt that, sir.”

  Momentary insanity fled, Rumpel made his way to his knees. Giles was already shrugging on his coat and brushing his mussed hair back.

  “Shall I call the maids?”

  “Aye.” He glanced at the shattered evidence of a life he’d one lived and loved and lost, then turned on his heel and walked away. Caratina was gone, never to return, but he still had a job to do.

  The problem was, he was letting the siren affect him. He couldn’t have that. If she failed, she’d be gone. Period.

  Wiping at the blood on his swollen lip, he made plans for her second test.

  “Master, have you considered that perhaps the girl is not here for Euralis at all?”

  Clenching his jaw, Rumpel said, “You are a friend, Giles. I will accord you mercy where I wouldn’t with anyone else. Do not ever speak such blasphemy to me again.”