Rumpel's Prize Page 4

  “Massster,” he hissed with an echoing sibilance.

  “The girl wishes breads and stews. Serve it in the great room, whatever we have on hand now.”

  Twin red eyes glowed back at him. “As you wisssh.” Cook vanished in a puff of sulfur.

  Bone weary but knowing there was still much left to do before the games could begin in the morning, Rumpel yanked a large hunk of dehydrated pig from a hook. Tucking it beneath his arm, he walked to the juncture of the wall and one of the shelves and depressed a small black knob tucked within a hidden crag. Soundlessly and seamlessly the rock face moved away, revealing a long and winding set of stairs that led deep into the heart of the castle.

  Marching down, wall sliding shut behind him, Rumpel walked the almost half mile to the chamber below. The chamber itself was heavily warded by dark magick, not magic. No, that was the light stuff, the happy, fluffy-bunnies and colorful-rainbows stuff the fairies produced. His stuff was potent, deadly, and frightening.

  The moment he stepped into the room, the malevolent shiver of chaos and madness tingled upon his flesh. Spelled lanterns glowed to amber life as he neared the iron cage. This room guarded his most valued and treasured soul.

  The very reason why he held the games.

  A large crow, the size of a small child, blinked obsidian, beady eyes at him. The wickedly curved beak clacked open as the creature sensed food had finally come.

  The bars inside the cage weren’t thick, but then they needn’t be as they had been forged in the fires of Delirium. This particular iron was meant to hold back a demone such as he. The creature could never escape.

  Kneeling, he studied the haunch of pig in his hand. “You hungry, Euralis?”

  The crow cocked its head but said nothing back.

  “Yes, I’d imagine you are.” Tossing the meat at it, he watched for a bit as the smoky undulations of the bird’s power seeped through its form, transforming him from bird to child.

  The boy appeared to be no more than five, but in truth he was much older than that. His hair was greasy, his dusky skin raw and bleeding from countless sores.

  “You’ve been picking at yourself again,” Rumpel chided.

  Euralis opened his mouth wide, exposing dripping silver fangs before he tore into the meat with the ravenous, bottomless hunger he always felt. He sawed at the flesh like an animal would, ripping into it and slurping it down.

  The boy did not listen to him, just buried his face in the meat.

  “I’ve brought another. I think this one may be the one.”

  Finally the child looked up, and there was an empty, soulessness in his gaze. The same beady gaze of the bird stared back at him. Flecks of meat clung to his lips as his breathing hitched.

  “Yes.” Rumpel stood. “Your madness might soon end.”

  The boy screamed, rushing to the cage and grabbing hold of the bars with dirt-grimed nails, shaking them with fury as his cherubic face transformed into a frightful mask.

  Clenching his jaw, Rumpel left, drowning the boy back in darkness once again.

  Shayera couldn’t make heads or tails of the man sitting at the opposite end of the long room. The gleaming mahogany dining table was studded with the finest crystal and china, and thickly woven rugs—which felt like walking on fluffy clouds—lay on the opulence of a marble floor full of gold veins. Chandeliers, more massive and heavy than any she’d ever seen, hung from solid beams.

  This was a palace fit for a king and occupied by one man.

  It actually made her kind of sad.

  “Do you not like the stew?” he asked after a moment, watching as she’d allowed the spoon to linger by her mouth for an overly long time.

  “No, it’s not that. Actually, it’s wonderful.” It was a thick red stew full of fennel and thyme and even had a hint of rosemary and lavender in it. There were thick meaty chunks of beef and potatoes and the bread was as yeasty and crusty as any master baker in her hamlet could produce.

  But it was bothering her that in the entire time she’d been here, she’d not seen a hint or a peep of another soul around.

  “Where’s the cook?” she finally asked, glancing up at the walls, which were decorated with countless paintings of glamorous people. But even they disturbed her, for all the paintings were of people so cruelly beautiful that it made one nervous to gaze upon them for too long.

  The women wore haughty smirks and dressed in the finest gowns of silk and lace she’d ever seen crafted; they had high cheekbones and wildly red lips, and blazing beautiful eyes of every color of the rainbow. In short, they were what one might term ravishing. The men were equally as attractive, standing tall and proud, all of them with long hair hanging scandalously free, wearing trousers and long coats and looking smugly important, with sharp, strong jawlines and regal noses… In a lot of way they reminded her of Rumpel.

  But where they were dressed in their pompous finest, he was in scuffed jeans, boots, and a formfitting T-shirt imprinted with a logo she’d never seen before.

  “Why do you care?” he asked, then took a bite of stew.

  Setting her spoon aside, suddenly too nervous to eat, she shook her head. “It’s just weird that this enormous place doesn’t echo with the laughter of souls.”

  “Little poetic for the daughter of Caron. Shouldn’t you be more concerned with where the men are?” He gave a low chuckle and his voice was so full and throaty that it instantly made her heart rate spike with both desire and hate.

  “And just what does that mean?”

  “Oh come on, Carrot, everyone knows who your father is.”

  “Was,” she snapped, shoving her bowl away. “He’s not like that anymore and I certainly have never been.”

  Swishing the red wine in his goblet for a moment, he took a sip before answering. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I don’t really care what you believe. What’s the plan, Rumpel? You have a game in mind. I know you do, so just stop with this nonsense and tell me now.”

  “Fine.” He took his white napkin, dabbed at his lip, and then set it aside. Clapping his hands, the trays of food immediately vanished as if taken away by invisible hands.

  If he was showing off, he needn’t bother. It wasn’t like she planned to escape. For the sake of her father, she’d keep to whatever deal he had in mind. She lifted a brow and tapped her fingers on the table. “Drawing things out doesn’t up the tension, it only makes me more annoyed.”

  He chuckled. “I like you, girl, and that’s not something I say to most.”

  “Great. Glad we got that out of the way.”

  “You’re here to play a game; you’re right. Very astute guess.”

  She dipped her head but waited for him to continue.

  “For the next three months you’ll run a gauntlet. It’s not bad or hard—only one scenario per month.”

  “And what will I be doing the rest of the time?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever you want; my castle is open to you. Look around, discover, play…” He jerked his hand around. “Doesn’t much matter to me.”

  “And what’s the purpose of this gauntlet then? Why can’t I just do it all at once and get it over with?”

  His smile was wicked and as much as she did not like the man, to deny that he wielded his looks like a blade would be an utter lie. She felt his gaze to the depths of her soul.

  “Because it takes time to set up, Carrot.”

  She really hated that he continued to call her that. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard it before, but the man was trying to get her off balance. He was playing a game of cat and mouse with her. It helped that her mother had been a trained psychologist on Earth—it had been something of a hobby for Shayera to learn about tells and giveaways and it seemed that in Kingdom, emotions ran much the same way as they did on Earth. To Rumpel she might appear as a silly little girl, but Shayera wasn’t useless. She had a brain and it’d gotten her out of trouble more times than she could count.

  “That’s it?”


  Spreading his arms wide, he shrugged. “That’s it.”

  “So it doesn’t matter if I pass or fail? You’re just going to let me go after that?” She scoffed. “You honestly expect me to believe that, really? I’m not stupid. You’re not called the devil for no reason.”

  He laughed and it was a sound that was rich and full of humor, and she hated that her lips twitched in response. Schooling her features, she hid her reaction behind her hand and gave a little cough instead.

  Amber eyes twinkled. The man was plenty smart himself and knew exactly the type of effect he had on her. She wouldn’t deny it, but nor would she give him more fodder by copping to it either.

  “Well, lass, you’ll want to pass.” He took a slow sip of his red.

  “And if I don’t? If I fail miserably? Am I to be cast into the fiery pit you keep hidden beneath my feet?”

  He snorted. “Can you smell the sulfur?”

  Golden amber eyes twinkled and she realized he was enjoying her sass. It was odd to her because she was trying her hardest to get under his skin, but he didn’t seem inclined to allow it.

  Sighing, she shrugged. “I’m tired. Just point me to where you plan to chain me up and I’ll be off.”

  “Well, I had a chamber prepared for you, but if you’d prefer the dungeon I’ve got chains and shackles and even a few spiked whips”—he popped the p—“if that’s more to your liking. I think I should like to see more of your,” he said, his hot gaze roving deliberately across her covered breasts, “form.”

  Swallowing hard, Shayera shook her head. She was no fool to believe her body was not desirable. It was why she’d sought the help of the local witch after all. Her body was too desirable, and she’d hoped that Rumpel, being what he was, wouldn’t be affected by her birthright. Even he seemed pulled in by her dark allure, though.

  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 handwoven 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.

  An enormous four-poster bed took up the center of the room. The room was done up in creamy-white and velvety-blue tones, from the sheets to the fresco-style painting of a cloudy, brilliant morning adorning the ceiling above.

  Twinkling lights threaded through the gauzy white fabric atop the frame, giving the room an indoor-outdoor feel to it. As if she’d just stepped foot into a hidden fairy garden, green ivy crept long fingers along the walls, bringing a richness of scent into the room.

  She frowned. “Surely he doesn’t mean for me to have this room?”

  Dalia laughed. “The master’s no monster. He’s never treated one of ye badly, you have my word on that. He prides himself on the care and upkeep of his ancestral home. You’re quite sssafe here, little human.”

  Marching into the room, Dalia went straightaway to the bed and began turning down the sheets. Shayera hung back by the door, because even from here she could see there were more rooms hidden within this very large one. Yes, she was intimidated by its size. What was the man trying to do? All she needed was a sturdy cot and a warm room, that was it. What was the purpose of all this?

  “Well c’mon then.” Dalia waved her on impatiently. “Don’t just ssstand there like
a Peeping Tom.”

  Creeping into the room, Shayera hugged the walls, more than a little uncomfortable.

  Patting the sheets down one final time, Dalia swung her fists onto her hips. “Well, then.” She eyed Shayera, starting at her bare feet and then moving up to her face. “Master was right—you’re much too pretty to be wearing such a ghastly frock as all that.”

  Nervously twisting the rope belt at her waist, Shayera shook her head. “I don’t need a change of clothes; I’m comfortable enough as it is.”

  Snorting as if that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard, the dark-haired spirit woman tucked a strand of silky hair behind her smoky ear. “You’ve no need to worry about a man attacking your virtue here. Massster keeps any and all at bay.”

  Brows dipping, Shayera stuttered, “M…men? I didn’t. Why would you even assume—”

  Dalia held up a hand. “You’re not the first pretty thing to be shagged against her will. I know it when I see it.”

  Releasing a disbelieving huff, Shayera lifted her jaw. “I was not raped, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  Dalia shrugged. “Well, if not that, then you’ve been hurt mightily. And forgive me for the assumption, but generally if such a fine woman as yourself deigns to cover up as you have, it generally impliesss—”

  “Not that!” She glowered, because while she’d not been raped, the maid had come very close to the truth of the matter.

  Dropping her head, Dalia peered at the thickly woven snow-white rug. “Forgive me, miss, I spoke out of turn. As I’m clearly wont to do. I’ll bother you no more.” She made as if to go and Shayera jumped in her path, blocking the way and forcing the maid to look up, startled.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just a sensitive topic for me. You’re right, something did happen, but it’s of no matter now. I’m fine. And… I’m sorry—it’s not your fault.”

  Her lips pulled into a hint of a smile. “It’s all right, miss. Perhaps we should start over. My name is Dalia.” She held out her hand with an expectant grin.

  Nibbling on the corner of her lip, Shayera tucked her fingers inside the voluminous folds of her dress. “I can’t… touch.”