Chapter 7
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The touch was soft on her cheek. The fingers warm as they brushed her hair back. "Isilla," the man who touched her whispered. The voice deep and familiar but her half sleep mind couldn't place it. He said her name so gently. The hand slipped from her cheek to her shoulder pushing away the heavy dressing gown. She let out a breath, opening her eyes slowly.
Arren stared down at her, a half smile on his face. She shot awake pushing herself up on the bed. The robe, loosened by his touch fell away from her shoulders, exposing the gauzy nightdress and her breasts beneath. His eyes swept over her briefly. She moved to cover herself but stopped. This is what is supposed to happen, she thought casting her gaze downwards, away from him, her face hot.
He reached out to her again, running his fingers along her collar bone and her bare shoulder before pulling the robe back to cover her, "Not yet."
She felt the blush deepen and turned to the window. Deep night stared back at her, no moon to speak of. It seemed far later than evening.
He followed her eyes, "Ah," his voice was so soft, "You were asleep when I arrived. I thought you must be tired. We have all night, there is no rush."
She nodded, her heart pounding.
"Are you are frightened of me," he asked softly.
She shook her head and then showed her empty hands, shrugging. He raised his eyebrows, "I have a gift for you. It will make this easier, I think."
He stood, the mattress rising again without his weight. The shadows in the room followed him, dancing away from the light and pooling wispy tendrils around his feet and up his legs. She watched his back as he crossed the room to the small table, he had removed the jacket he wore earlier and was in just the white shirt as he had been in the garden. When he turned, he held a box in his hands.
He placed the box on the bed before her, reaching past her to brush his hand over the lantern next to the bed. A false flame shot up creating a small pool of light on the bed. "All of the lamps are enchanted here. Just touch them if you need light," he said, explaining.
How much power it must take to keep this castle running, she thought staring at the lamp for a moment.
She nodded slowly and he motioned to the small box, only slightly larger than both of her hands held side by side. She lifted it, inspecting the design of it in the additional light from the lamp. Wood, ornately carved, she traced the designs, repeating patterns of flowers and small animals, with her fingers. Undoing the small clasp, she pushed the box open.
Nestled inside were an ornate feather a small leather-bound book. She looked back at the feather. A pen! But no ink, she thought to herself holding the items.
She looked up at him, his softly smiling face, "They are enchanted," he said simply, "The pen is inkless. It will write on any surface and it can never be destroyed. If you break it, it will simply repair itself. Try it."
She looked at him and opened the book. The pen moved easily over the page leaving thick black strokes and no ink drops. She smiled sheepishly. She did not want to insult his gift but pages ran out quickly. The little book would not last long. Still, now she could speak.
What of my maids? she wrote quickly.
"They are safe, I saw to their return myself. No one will harm them."
She nodded feeling a weight lift from her heart.
This is very thoughtful but the pages won't last long. I don't want to add the replacement of journals to the burden of my care, she wrote choosing her words carefully so as to not offend.
He read her note quickly and then taking the book from her hands, ripped half the pages out and returned the half empty cover to her, "Open it. I told you, they're enchanted."
She bit the inside of her lip, embarrassed as she took the book back. The tiny journal felt the same as it had before he took the pages and upon opening it, none were missing.
"The book will never run out of pages, just like the pen will never run out of ink. With this you can freely speak with anyone. Well anyone who can read," he dropped the pages he had removed carelessly to the floor where the sparked in shadow that surrounded him and disappeared. "Do you like them?" he asked.
He sat on the edge of the bed, surrounded by shadows, his eyes locked on her, waiting. Like this, despite the shadows that twisted around him, he didn't seem like any sort of monster. The gift was perfect.
Yes, she wrote, I like them very much. Thank you. Then, she added, No one has ever given me something like this.
He nodded, turning away from her, rubbing his hands together between his knees. "I know that this is not what you wanted, Isilla."
It doesn't matter. Why did you help me? The pen traveled smoothly across the page, her words clear and concise, stronger than she felt.
He read her note, "To walk away from a land of dreams and live in nightmares was very brave," he reached for a curl and tugged gently on it, "You look much different than your portrait."
I know, I am very plain, she responded.
He twisted the curl around his fingers, watching the light play on it as it slipped over his fingers before he shook his head, "No you are not. There is not a single plain thing about you."
He released the curl letting it bounce back with the rest.
"You must be the only person who is not afraid of me in all of the realms. What makes you so brave?" his voice had a mocking tone.
If you meant to hurt me you would have done so by now, she answered honestly, quickly.
His eyes darkened for a moment before he closed them releasing his breath. When he opened them, they were the same muddy green they had been in the garden. "You don't know anything about me. I could still harm you," he said softly.
I don't know anyone, anymore, she wrote sullenly, but, she added, you saved me so I thank you for that.
He brushed her hair behind her ear the contact sending shocks through her, "I told you not to thank me. In time you may find that you would have preferred not to become my wife. I don't understand what you mean by this," he said tapping the book sliding closer to her.
She looked at him, for a moment. I thought I knew the Prince but I was wrong and everyone else has gone away, she wrote.
"Tell me about the Prince in your letters," he asked.
She wrinkled her nose, frowning at him. It doesn't matter it's not who he is. He didn't even read my letters, she wrote.
"No it doesn't and what you read is not who he is. He had someone else write them. Did you care for him? The person from your letters?"
She thought and then scrawled, Yes. Isn't that foolish of me?
"Then I'm sorry he's not real," he pushed back her hair searching her face, "I'm sorry that this has all happened to you. Believe me, I am."
He leaned forward, but she pulled away, quickly, her back meeting with the headboard.
He reached for her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. Her body shook as he lifted her hand and turned the palm up. Her pulse beat a pattern under his fingers before he shifted his hand, taking hers into his. He stroked her fingers until she opened her fist revealing the small moons her nails had dug into her skin.
"I will not hurt you," he said gently, lifting her fingers to his lips. She pulled back again, fighting him, cold fear coursing through her. He held her firmly, his eyes closed, "Please, at least for tonight, trust me."
She stopped, there was something in his voice that sounded like kindness. He brought her fingers to his mouth, kissing them gently before slipping them past his lips. "I won't bite," he whispered moving his lips across her palm to kiss her wrist.
His soft touch sent hot shocks up her body. He kissed a trail up her forearm, tasting her skin. She let out a heavy breath as he dropped her arm. She shivered as he pulled her closer, his eyes locked on hers. Dark curls fell over his forehead. The words of the shade come back to her, if he's good, then he'll make you ready.
How do I know if he's good, though? She thought. She closed her eyes, her breathing came too fast, her heart beat too hard.
His lips touched hers. The kiss was different from his brother's. A tumble of warmth, the feeling that had been lacking since she arrived at the palace, flowed through her and she sunk into his kiss, the warmth spilling from his touch down her body, flooding her belly. His hand dropped from her face and pushed back the heavy robe, slipping inside to find the soft curve of her waist.
He pulled her closer, the kiss urgent but his movements measured and gentle against her. He pushed her mouth open with his own gently, slipping his tongue between her lips testing and teasing her. Her body responded to him in a way that it hadn't to Lehan's touch. His arms held without crushing, there was no force in his kiss.
He let the kiss trail off, keeping his face close to hers. She could feel his hand on her side, hot through the thin fabric. Why is it so dark, she thought.
She looked away from him, her eyes wide.
Shadows covered every inch of the room. Thick tendrils of the smoky shadow that followed Arren moved lazily through the room, twisting and pooling in the corners, reaching for the lamps and blocking all the light. Sick, purple light flickered throughout the strange pulsing smoke. She pulled away from his grasp, a shriek erupting from her throat as the thick shadows reached for her.
Their contact broken, he opened his eyes.
His sneered, his features barely visible in the thick darkness. He waved his arm in one quick motion, sweeping the shadows away. The eyes that looked back at her hardly looked like eyes at all. The same tendrils of shadow that filled the room coiled and rolled through his eyes, bright with the same strange light that flickered throughout the room. A light that couldn't be rightfully called such, as if somehow the shadow itself glowed.
Isilla peddled her feet back on the bed but there was nowhere else to go, the headboard solid against her back. Fear flooded her mind, his eyes bored into some dark part of her She threw her hands over head. His features rippled from anger to distress before he closed his eyes again.
His eyes, the color as they had been when he kissed her, were cold when she peeked through her arms at him again, his face stern. He reached for her, pulling her down the bed and forcing her legs open too fast for her to fight him.
"Don't!" she shouted knowing that he couldn't hear her.
He opened his hand and the knife that she had used to cut fruit flew into it. She screeched and struggled to get away from him. He stared down at her, expressionless before slicing his thumb open.
Fat droplets of blood welled up and he let them build until they fell on the sheets between her thighs. Satisfied, he ran his thumb against his finger. A puff of smoke appeared for a moment between them and the bleeding stopped.
"The maids will come for the sheet," he said climbing off the bed and crossing the room to the table to replace the knife. "Don't let them touch you."
He looked back at her. "Isilla, do you understand me?" he asked, all the gentleness from his voice gone, replaced with a harsh bark.
She nodded quickly.
"I married you for the good of my realm. I won't harm you, I won't allow harm to come to you but I cannot love you. Do you understand?"
She nodded again, the touch of his shadows, his darkness, still on her skin.
"It seems you are afraid of me after all. Goodnight, Isilla."
He spun his hand in front of him and the shadows surged around him, a small whirlwind in the center of her room before dissipating leaving behind nothing. The light returned to normal.
She looked between her legs at the drops of blood he had left. The door opened and she turned to the sound.
The maids, she thought as they filed in.
The same women from before gathered around the bed. "We need the sheet, dear," one said.
When she didn't move the woman reached for her. Arren's orders came back to her and she snatched herself away from their touch, sliding from the bed.
The maid who had done her makeup shook her head, "Poor thing. He must have tortured her."
"She's lucky to be alive, you know, really alive after what he's done to those others."
"She'll never get a good night's sleep again."
Is that the power of darkness, she thought her body curled onto the chair. She glanced at the knife that sat on the plate. But he cut himself before he hurt me.
Frightened and confused, she watched as the maids finished their bed change. Alone again she climbed into the bed and leaving all the lights on fell into an exhausted sleep.
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The touch was soft on her cheek. The fingers warm as they brushed her hair back. "Isilla," the man who touched her whispered. The voice deep and familiar but her half sleep mind couldn't place it. He said her name so gently. The hand slipped from her cheek to her shoulder pushing away the heavy dressing gown. She let out a breath, opening her eyes slowly.
Arren stared down at her, a half smile on his face. She shot awake pushing herself up on the bed. The robe, loosened by his touch fell away from her shoulders, exposing the gauzy nightdress and her breasts beneath. His eyes swept over her briefly. She moved to cover herself but stopped. This is what is supposed to happen, she thought casting her gaze downwards, away from him, her face hot.
He reached out to her again, running his fingers along her collar bone and her bare shoulder before pulling the robe back to cover her, "Not yet."
She felt the blush deepen and turned to the window. Deep night stared back at her, no moon to speak of. It seemed far later than evening.
He followed her eyes, "Ah," his voice was so soft, "You were asleep when I arrived. I thought you must be tired. We have all night, there is no rush."
She nodded, her heart pounding.
"Are you are frightened of me," he asked softly.
She shook her head and then showed her empty hands, shrugging. He raised his eyebrows, "I have a gift for you. It will make this easier, I think."
He stood, the mattress rising again without his weight. The shadows in the room followed him, dancing away from the light and pooling wispy tendrils around his feet and up his legs. She watched his back as he crossed the room to the small table, he had removed the jacket he wore earlier and was in just the white shirt as he had been in the garden. When he turned, he held a box in his hands.
He placed the box on the bed before her, reaching past her to brush his hand over the lantern next to the bed. A false flame shot up creating a small pool of light on the bed. "All of the lamps are enchanted here. Just touch them if you need light," he said, explaining.
How much power it must take to keep this castle running, she thought staring at the lamp for a moment.
She nodded slowly and he motioned to the small box, only slightly larger than both of her hands held side by side. She lifted it, inspecting the design of it in the additional light from the lamp. Wood, ornately carved, she traced the designs, repeating patterns of flowers and small animals, with her fingers. Undoing the small clasp, she pushed the box open.
Nestled inside were an ornate feather a small leather-bound book. She looked back at the feather. A pen! But no ink, she thought to herself holding the items.
She looked up at him, his softly smiling face, "They are enchanted," he said simply, "The pen is inkless. It will write on any surface and it can never be destroyed. If you break it, it will simply repair itself. Try it."
She looked at him and opened the book. The pen moved easily over the page leaving thick black strokes and no ink drops. She smiled sheepishly. She did not want to insult his gift but pages ran out quickly. The little book would not last long. Still, now she could speak.
What of my maids? she wrote quickly.
"They are safe, I saw to their return myself. No one will harm them."
She nodded feeling a weight lift from her heart.
This is very thoughtful but the pages won't last long. I don't want to add the replacement of journals to the burden of my care, she wrote choosing her words carefully so as to not offend.
He read her note quickly and then taking the book from her hands, ripped half the pages out and returned the half empty cover to her, "Open it. I told you, they're enchanted."
She bit the inside of her lip, embarrassed as she took the book back. The tiny journal felt the same as it had before he took the pages and upon opening it, none were missing.
"The book will never run out of pages, just like the pen will never run out of ink. With this you can freely speak with anyone. Well anyone who can read," he dropped the pages he had removed carelessly to the floor where the sparked in shadow that surrounded him and disappeared. "Do you like them?" he asked.
He sat on the edge of the bed, surrounded by shadows, his eyes locked on her, waiting. Like this, despite the shadows that twisted around him, he didn't seem like any sort of monster. The gift was perfect.
Yes, she wrote, I like them very much. Thank you. Then, she added, No one has ever given me something like this.
He nodded, turning away from her, rubbing his hands together between his knees. "I know that this is not what you wanted, Isilla."
It doesn't matter. Why did you help me? The pen traveled smoothly across the page, her words clear and concise, stronger than she felt.
He read her note, "To walk away from a land of dreams and live in nightmares was very brave," he reached for a curl and tugged gently on it, "You look much different than your portrait."
I know, I am very plain, she responded.
He twisted the curl around his fingers, watching the light play on it as it slipped over his fingers before he shook his head, "No you are not. There is not a single plain thing about you."
He released the curl letting it bounce back with the rest.
"You must be the only person who is not afraid of me in all of the realms. What makes you so brave?" his voice had a mocking tone.
If you meant to hurt me you would have done so by now, she answered honestly, quickly.
His eyes darkened for a moment before he closed them releasing his breath. When he opened them, they were the same muddy green they had been in the garden. "You don't know anything about me. I could still harm you," he said softly.
I don't know anyone, anymore, she wrote sullenly, but, she added, you saved me so I thank you for that.
He brushed her hair behind her ear the contact sending shocks through her, "I told you not to thank me. In time you may find that you would have preferred not to become my wife. I don't understand what you mean by this," he said tapping the book sliding closer to her.
She looked at him, for a moment. I thought I knew the Prince but I was wrong and everyone else has gone away, she wrote.
"Tell me about the Prince in your letters," he asked.
She wrinkled her nose, frowning at him. It doesn't matter it's not who he is. He didn't even read my letters, she wrote.
"No it doesn't and what you read is not who he is. He had someone else write them. Did you care for him? The person from your letters?"
She thought and then scrawled, Yes. Isn't that foolish of me?
"Then I'm sorry he's not real," he pushed back her hair searching her face, "I'm sorry that this has all happened to you. Believe me, I am."
He leaned forward, but she pulled away, quickly, her back meeting with the headboard.
He reached for her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. Her body shook as he lifted her hand and turned the palm up. Her pulse beat a pattern under his fingers before he shifted his hand, taking hers into his. He stroked her fingers until she opened her fist revealing the small moons her nails had dug into her skin.
"I will not hurt you," he said gently, lifting her fingers to his lips. She pulled back again, fighting him, cold fear coursing through her. He held her firmly, his eyes closed, "Please, at least for tonight, trust me."
She stopped, there was something in his voice that sounded like kindness. He brought her fingers to his mouth, kissing them gently before slipping them past his lips. "I won't bite," he whispered moving his lips across her palm to kiss her wrist.
His soft touch sent hot shocks up her body. He kissed a trail up her forearm, tasting her skin. She let out a heavy breath as he dropped her arm. She shivered as he pulled her closer, his eyes locked on hers. Dark curls fell over his forehead. The words of the shade come back to her, if he's good, then he'll make you ready.
How do I know if he's good, though? She thought. She closed her eyes, her breathing came too fast, her heart beat too hard.
His lips touched hers. The kiss was different from his brother's. A tumble of warmth, the feeling that had been lacking since she arrived at the palace, flowed through her and she sunk into his kiss, the warmth spilling from his touch down her body, flooding her belly. His hand dropped from her face and pushed back the heavy robe, slipping inside to find the soft curve of her waist.
He pulled her closer, the kiss urgent but his movements measured and gentle against her. He pushed her mouth open with his own gently, slipping his tongue between her lips testing and teasing her. Her body responded to him in a way that it hadn't to Lehan's touch. His arms held without crushing, there was no force in his kiss.
He let the kiss trail off, keeping his face close to hers. She could feel his hand on her side, hot through the thin fabric. Why is it so dark, she thought.
She looked away from him, her eyes wide.
Shadows covered every inch of the room. Thick tendrils of the smoky shadow that followed Arren moved lazily through the room, twisting and pooling in the corners, reaching for the lamps and blocking all the light. Sick, purple light flickered throughout the strange pulsing smoke. She pulled away from his grasp, a shriek erupting from her throat as the thick shadows reached for her.
Their contact broken, he opened his eyes.
His sneered, his features barely visible in the thick darkness. He waved his arm in one quick motion, sweeping the shadows away. The eyes that looked back at her hardly looked like eyes at all. The same tendrils of shadow that filled the room coiled and rolled through his eyes, bright with the same strange light that flickered throughout the room. A light that couldn't be rightfully called such, as if somehow the shadow itself glowed.
Isilla peddled her feet back on the bed but there was nowhere else to go, the headboard solid against her back. Fear flooded her mind, his eyes bored into some dark part of her She threw her hands over head. His features rippled from anger to distress before he closed his eyes again.
His eyes, the color as they had been when he kissed her, were cold when she peeked through her arms at him again, his face stern. He reached for her, pulling her down the bed and forcing her legs open too fast for her to fight him.
"Don't!" she shouted knowing that he couldn't hear her.
He opened his hand and the knife that she had used to cut fruit flew into it. She screeched and struggled to get away from him. He stared down at her, expressionless before slicing his thumb open.
Fat droplets of blood welled up and he let them build until they fell on the sheets between her thighs. Satisfied, he ran his thumb against his finger. A puff of smoke appeared for a moment between them and the bleeding stopped.
"The maids will come for the sheet," he said climbing off the bed and crossing the room to the table to replace the knife. "Don't let them touch you."
He looked back at her. "Isilla, do you understand me?" he asked, all the gentleness from his voice gone, replaced with a harsh bark.
She nodded quickly.
"I married you for the good of my realm. I won't harm you, I won't allow harm to come to you but I cannot love you. Do you understand?"
She nodded again, the touch of his shadows, his darkness, still on her skin.
"It seems you are afraid of me after all. Goodnight, Isilla."
He spun his hand in front of him and the shadows surged around him, a small whirlwind in the center of her room before dissipating leaving behind nothing. The light returned to normal.
She looked between her legs at the drops of blood he had left. The door opened and she turned to the sound.
The maids, she thought as they filed in.
The same women from before gathered around the bed. "We need the sheet, dear," one said.
When she didn't move the woman reached for her. Arren's orders came back to her and she snatched herself away from their touch, sliding from the bed.
The maid who had done her makeup shook her head, "Poor thing. He must have tortured her."
"She's lucky to be alive, you know, really alive after what he's done to those others."
"She'll never get a good night's sleep again."
Is that the power of darkness, she thought her body curled onto the chair. She glanced at the knife that sat on the plate. But he cut himself before he hurt me.
Frightened and confused, she watched as the maids finished their bed change. Alone again she climbed into the bed and leaving all the lights on fell into an exhausted sleep.
The touch was soft on her cheek. The fingers warm as they brushed her hair back. "Isilla," the man who touched her whispered. The voice deep and familiar but her half sleep mind couldn't place it. He said her name so gently. The hand slipped from her cheek to her shoulder pushing away the heavy dressing gown. She let out a breath, opening her eyes slowly.Arren stared down at her, a half smile on his face. She shot awake pushing herself up on the bed. The robe, loosened by his touch fell away from her shoulders, exposing the gauzy nightdress and her breasts beneath. His eyes swept over her briefly. She moved to cover herself but stopped. This is what is supposed to happen, she thought casting her gaze downwards, away from him, her face hot.He reached out to her again, running his fingers along her collar bone and her bare shoulder before pulling the robe back to cover her, "Not yet."She felt the blush deepen and turned to the window. Deep night stared back at her, no moon to speak of. It seemed far later than evening.He followed her eyes, "Ah," his voice was so soft, "You were asleep when I arrived. I thought you must be tired. We have all night, there is no rush."She nodded, her heart pounding."Are you are frightened of me," he asked softly.She shook her head and then showed her empty hands, shrugging. He raised his eyebrows, "I have a gift for you. It will make this easier, I think."He stood, the mattress rising again without his weight. The shadows in the room followed him, dancing away from the light and pooling wispy tendrils around his feet and up his legs. She watched his back as he crossed the room to the small table, he had removed the jacket he wore earlier and was in just the white shirt as he had been in the garden. When he turned, he held a box in his hands.He placed the box on the bed before her, reaching past her to brush his hand over the lantern next to the bed. A false flame shot up creating a small pool of light on the bed. "All of the lamps are enchanted here. Just touch them if you need light," he said, explaining.How much power it must take to keep this castle running, she thought staring at the lamp for a moment.She nodded slowly and he motioned to the small box, only slightly larger than both of her hands held side by side. She lifted it, inspecting the design of it in the additional light from the lamp. Wood, ornately carved, she traced the designs, repeating patterns of flowers and small animals, with her fingers. Undoing the small clasp, she pushed the box open.Nestled inside were an ornate feather a small leather-bound book. She looked back at the feather. A pen! But no ink, she thought to herself holding the items.She looked up at him, his softly smiling face, "They are enchanted," he said simply, "The pen is inkless. It will write on any surface and it can never be destroyed. If you break it, it will simply repair itself. Try it."She looked at him and opened the book. The pen moved easily over the page leaving thick black strokes and no ink drops. She smiled sheepishly. She did not want to insult his gift but pages ran out quickly. The little book would not last long. Still, now she could speak.What of my maids? she wrote quickly."They are safe, I saw to their return myself. No one will harm them."She nodded feeling a weight lift from her heart.This is very thoughtful but the pages won't last long. I don't want to add the replacement of journals to the burden of my care, she wrote choosing her words carefully so as to not offend.He read her note quickly and then taking the book from her hands, ripped half the pages out and returned the half empty cover to her, "Open it. I told you, they're enchanted."She bit the inside of her lip, embarrassed as she took the book back. The tiny journal felt the same as it had before he took the pages and upon opening it, none were missing."The book will never run out of pages, just like the pen will never run out of ink. With this you can freely speak with anyone. Well anyone who can read," he dropped the pages he had removed carelessly to the floor where the sparked in shadow that surrounded him and disappeared. "Do you like them?" he asked.He sat on the edge of the bed, surrounded by shadows, his eyes locked on her, waiting. Like this, despite the shadows that twisted around him, he didn't seem like any sort of monster. The gift was perfect.Yes, she wrote, I like them very much. Thank you. Then, she added, No one has ever given me something like this.He nodded, turning away from her, rubbing his hands together between his knees. "I know that this is not what you wanted, Isilla."It doesn't matter. Why did you help me? The pen traveled smoothly across the page, her words clear and concise, stronger than she felt.He read her note, "To walk away from a land of dreams and live in nightmares was very brave," he reached for a curl and tugged gently on it, "You look much different than your portrait."I know, I am very plain, she responded.He twisted the curl around his fingers, watching the light play on it as it slipped over his fingers before he shook his head, "No you are not. There is not a single plain thing about you."He released the curl letting it bounce back with the rest."You must be the only person who is not afraid of me in all of the realms. What makes you so brave?" his voice had a mocking tone.If you meant to hurt me you would have done so by now, she answered honestly, quickly.His eyes darkened for a moment before he closed them releasing his breath. When he opened them, they were the same muddy green they had been in the garden. "You don't know anything about me. I could still harm you," he said softly.I don't know anyone, anymore, she wrote sullenly, but, she added, you saved me so I thank you for that.He brushed her hair behind her ear the contact sending shocks through her, "I told you not to thank me. In time you may find that you would have preferred not to become my wife. I don't understand what you mean by this," he said tapping the book sliding closer to her.She looked at him, for a moment. I thought I knew the Prince but I was wrong and everyone else has gone away, she wrote."Tell me about the Prince in your letters," he asked.She wrinkled her nose, frowning at him. It doesn't matter it's not who he is. He didn't even read my letters, she wrote."No it doesn't and what you read is not who he is. He had someone else write them. Did you care for him? The person from your letters?"She thought and then scrawled, Yes. Isn't that foolish of me?"Then I'm sorry he's not real," he pushed back her hair searching her face, "I'm sorry that this has all happened to you. Believe me, I am."He leaned forward, but she pulled away, quickly, her back meeting with the headboard.He reached for her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. Her body shook as he lifted her hand and turned the palm up. Her pulse beat a pattern under his fingers before he shifted his hand, taking hers into his. He stroked her fingers until she opened her fist revealing the small moons her nails had dug into her skin."I will not hurt you," he said gently, lifting her fingers to his lips. She pulled back again, fighting him, cold fear coursing through her. He held her firmly, his eyes closed, "Please, at least for tonight, trust me."She stopped, there was something in his voice that sounded like kindness. He brought her fingers to his mouth, kissing them gently before slipping them past his lips. "I won't bite," he whispered moving his lips across her palm to kiss her wrist.His soft touch sent hot shocks up her body. He kissed a trail up her forearm, tasting her skin. She let out a heavy breath as he dropped her arm. She shivered as he pulled her closer, his eyes locked on hers. Dark curls fell over his forehead. The words of the shade come back to her, if he's good, then he'll make you ready.How do I know if he's good, though? She thought. She closed her eyes, her breathing came too fast, her heart beat too hard.His lips touched hers. The kiss was different from his brother's. A tumble of warmth, the feeling that had been lacking since she arrived at the palace, flowed through her and she sunk into his kiss, the warmth spilling from his touch down her body, flooding her belly. His hand dropped from her face and pushed back the heavy robe, slipping inside to find the soft curve of her waist.He pulled her closer, the kiss urgent but his movements measured and gentle against her. He pushed her mouth open with his own gently, slipping his tongue between her lips testing and teasing her. Her body responded to him in a way that it hadn't to Lehan's touch. His arms held without crushing, there was no force in his kiss.He let the kiss trail off, keeping his face close to hers. She could feel his hand on her side, hot through the thin fabric. Why is it so dark, she thought.She looked away from him, her eyes wide.Shadows covered every inch of the room. Thick tendrils of the smoky shadow that followed Arren moved lazily through the room, twisting and pooling in the corners, reaching for the lamps and blocking all the light. Sick, purple light flickered throughout the strange pulsing smoke. She pulled away from his grasp, a shriek erupting from her throat as the thick shadows reached for her.Their contact broken, he opened his eyes.His sneered, his features barely visible in the thick darkness. He waved his arm in one quick motion, sweeping the shadows away. The eyes that looked back at her hardly looked like eyes at all. The same tendrils of shadow that filled the room coiled and rolled through his eyes, bright with the same strange light that flickered throughout the room. A light that couldn't be rightfully called such, as if somehow the shadow itself glowed.Isilla peddled her feet back on the bed but there was nowhere else to go, the headboard solid against her back. Fear flooded her mind, his eyes bored into some dark part of her She threw her hands over head. His features rippled from anger to distress before he closed his eyes again.His eyes, the color as they had been when he kissed her, were cold when she peeked through her arms at him again, his face stern. He reached for her, pulling her down the bed and forcing her legs open too fast for her to fight him."Don't!" she shouted knowing that he couldn't hear her.He opened his hand and the knife that she had used to cut fruit flew into it. She screeched and struggled to get away from him. He stared down at her, expressionless before slicing his thumb open.Fat droplets of blood welled up and he let them build until they fell on the sheets between her thighs. Satisfied, he ran his thumb against his finger. A puff of smoke appeared for a moment between them and the bleeding stopped."The maids will come for the sheet," he said climbing off the bed and crossing the room to the table to replace the knife. "Don't let them touch you."He looked back at her. "Isilla, do you understand me?" he asked, all the gentleness from his voice gone, replaced with a harsh bark.She nodded quickly."I married you for the good of my realm. I won't harm you, I won't allow harm to come to you but I cannot love you. Do you understand?"She nodded again, the touch of his shadows, his darkness, still on her skin."It seems you are afraid of me after all. Goodnight, Isilla."He spun his hand in front of him and the shadows surged around him, a small whirlwind in the center of her room before dissipating leaving behind nothing. The light returned to normal.She looked between her legs at the drops of blood he had left. The door opened and she turned to the sound.The maids, she thought as they filed in.The same women from before gathered around the bed. "We need the sheet, dear," one said.When she didn't move the woman reached for her. Arren's orders came back to her and she snatched herself away from their touch, sliding from the bed.The maid who had done her makeup shook her head, "Poor thing. He must have tortured her.""She's lucky to be alive, you know, really alive after what he's done to those others.""She'll never get a good night's sleep again."Is that the power of darkness, she thought her body curled onto the chair. She glanced at the knife that sat on the plate. But he cut himself before he hurt me.Frightened and confused, she watched as the maids finished their bed change. Alone again she climbed into the bed and leaving all the lights on fell into an exhausted sleep.
