Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(19)

“And here we are,” Dominique said, his voice a deep echo in the great hallway.

“And here is?” Isabelle asked.

“The wall of the strange and even stranger.”

“Pardon?”

“Strange, this wall. It’s ugly and haunting, and well, to be honest, I despise it, but I’ve been given the task of revealing all my family secrets to you. And reveal I will.”

His personality had changed again. Dominique looked irritated, nervous and uncomfortable as if the very pictures he looked upon would suddenly spring to life.

“Your ancestors, then?” Isabelle prodded.

“All of them, even Alexander the first.”

More evidence that he truly was a prince, the remainder made her all the more uncomfortable. “I imagine your family is proud of your musical accomplishments.”

“My family ceased being proud of me a great while ago, wife.”

What an odd statement to make.

Dominique pulled her hand as he led her hurriedly to the end of the hall. Just as she was about to round the corner, her eyes caught a glimpse of the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. With ebony hair and crystal blue eyes it was undeniable that it was Dominique’s mother. Next to her picture was a man, his large aristocratic nose framed by a harsh face. He looked every bit the type of diplomat that people would follow. A man who could lead.

“Who are they?” She pulled Dominique’s hand, hoping he would stop.

He looked at the pictures, his face a mixture of hurt and anger. “They are dead, and that is all you need to know.”

“But...”

“Enough!” His voice snapped and his icy blue eyes burned holes through her. “I will show you to our room, but there are a few things you must first know about the castle.”

“Other than it’s haunted, you mean?” Isabelle whispered.

“Cuppins likes to talk, do not take his words for truth.”

“So you didn’t run around naked during a royal dinner?” Isabelle wasn’t sure what made her feel the need to tease the man who merely seconds ago had scolded her so harshly. Perhaps she was going mad.

Dominique actually smiled, though she could tell he took great pains to hide it, which proved a simple task considering all the scruff on his face. “Yes well, when I was a boy I had a great need for affection. I thought nobody would ignore my presence if I were, uh, naked.”

“And did they?”

“Did they what?”

“Ignore you?”

Dominique swallowed and looked down. “Always.”

Isabelle reached a comforting hand to Dominique’s face. His eyes closed as her skin made contact with his.

“Please, don’t,” he whispered.

“Don’t what?”

“Pity me. I would rather you hate me, rather you dream about my death, than extend the same pity and compassion to me that you do Cuppins.”

It made no sense that the man wouldn’t want comfort, after all, hadn’t he just finished explaining the lack of attention he received as a boy?

“Why?” Her other hand went up to touch the other side of his face, bringing it dangerously close to hers.

“Because, I am undeserving. Of your loyalty, your goodness, your compassion. Everything. I would rather die than receive it.”

“Do any of us truly deserve loyalty? Love? Forgiveness? How can you earn such things in the first place, Dominique?” Her heart leapt as she said his name. She pulled back as if burned, noting the fierceness in his gaze as he looked at her lips then back at her eyes.

“What I have done has earned me a spot in the inner most circle of Hell.” His hand caressed her neck up and down, until she leaned in wantonly, needing more of his touch.

“The rules.” He cleared his throat and stepped back. “As I stated before, are simple. Dinner is always at eight, you are to dine with me every evening.” She opened her mouth to speak but he shook his head and continued talking. “You have free reign of the castle, but you may not under any circumstances enter the second practice room located near the stairs. It is locked, so it shouldn’t pose a problem to your morbid curiosity.”

Isabelle watched as he bit his lip in obvious frustration. “What’s in the room that you’ve forbidden me to enter? Corpses?” Her sarcastic remark was met with so much rage in his face that she took a step back. Truly, she had meant to lighten the mood with humor. Was it truly littered with such as she said?

“It is none of your concern! Do I make myself clear?” he roared.

“Y-yes,” she stammered.

He cursed and turned on his heel, pausing after only a few steps. “And Isabelle?”

She lifted her head just in time to see a devilish smile dance across his face, bringing wicked intent into his eyes. “You will share my bed. Every night.”

“But—”

He marched back in her direction and grabbed her arm, pulling her against him. “You are my wife, and you will act as such. In every way.” His eyes dipped to her bodice and then back to her lips. “If you find the idea so repulsive, then close your eyes. Hum a song, think on happier things. Blast it all, you can even pretend it’s Hunter rather than myself, but you will be mine.”

Cursing, he left her in the dark hall, his boots stomping all the way down the stairs.