“You’re late,” he said.
Ebony floated toward him, sweeping white across the spread of food against the dark cloth table, then disappeared into the wall. The dining area, like the rest of the castle, was grand, with beautiful woodworking circling beams to meet the ceiling’s great mosaic. A man receiving a crown bowed to the ground in a show of piety with nothing but dark hair shadowing his face. A simple man, an angel compared to the figure wrapped in shadows behind him—the figure cloaked in darkness had only their skeleton handsoutstretched with a gold crown to crown him as the world behind them burned.
I pulled back the chair. “If I knew there was a specific time to be down, I’d have prepared myself sooner.”
“I see you changed out of that god-awful gown,” he remarked before slowly sipping from the wine glass as burning gold peered up from its rim.
“It was covered in blood,” I said, frowning.
The glass before me filled with a fine red liquid within its crystal. I held it up to my nose to inspect it.
I’d be damned if I drank blood or anything suspicious from this household without knowing what I was consuming. Perhaps it is how he is to kill me, by lulling my senses into a false sense of security.
I took a small sip and sighed in relief as the soft tang of alcohol calmed my frayed nerves.
“I’m not going to kill you, if that is what you are worried about—especially over dinner. That would be too easy and less entertaining that way, anyhow.” He smirked.
“No, I suppose you would have killed me well before now. You probably could sink your fangs in at any point? More entertaining that way, I suppose. The thrill of the possibility of when!”
He rested his head on his hands, chuckling low and softly. “You are not as mousey as I took you for, Little Dove. Instead, you are a fire that is ready to burn everything in its path. Interesting, very interesting indeed.”
Before I got another word out, a plate of food appeared before me of roasted duck simmered in a red sauce over a bed of soft potatoes. My mouth watered at the sight, stomach groaning in sheer anticipation. I had not eaten anything other than the tea from that morning, and in the commotion of everything, I had forgotten.
I picked up my fork and knife, maintaining my composure to still be the lady I was brought up to be. One bite of the duck and I nearly lost it as the meat melted on my tongue.
I devoured the meal in slow, adept bites, trying to remember the last time I ate so well. With the piling debt, most of the money had been diverted to staving off collectors, leaving little for significant luxuries such as the meal before me. I tried to keep my composure, shoveling bite after bite.
All the while, my host looked on with amusement, twirling the memorizing scarlet liquid about the twinkling crystal.
Suspicious at the prospect of what or who was in the glass, I set the fork down onto the table cloth, my appetite vanishing at the sight of the staining red streaks.
“Did you not enjoy Bartov’s cooking?” he asked. “He is a very good chef, from what I heard, both in life and in death.” He drummed his fingers along the table, remaining steady and unmoving.
“It was delicious, but—”
“But what?”
With my gaze lowered to the plate, I fiddled with the ring, sorting the barrage of thoughts cascading through my own fickle mind. “You said I had to guess your name to win my freedom.”
“Yes.”
“If I guess wrong, then I die.”
He nodded. “Correct again.”
“So, why should I even try and guess your name if I am to die if I guess wrong?” I asked.
My mystery host tipped his head as a mischievous smile graced his lips, a calculating predator toying with his prey, awaiting the kill to tear me apart both body and soul. One way or another, this castle was to be my tomb—and him, my executioner.
“Explain it to me.”
I rubbed my hand along the smooth silk fabric. There was still much I was unsure of, especially if I were to stay alive and not end up like the priest. The idea of freedom tethered my wary nerves together. I needed to buy time and find a way to stay alive.
Find the beast name and a cure for my ailment—not an impossible task.
Not at all.
“Why?” he said.
