I took in a deep inhale, feeling like I was passing some point of no return, and entered the throne room.
When I was eleven years old, my class went on a field trip to visit the historical Lyndhurst Mansion in New York. Lyndhurst was not technically a castle, but it sure looked like one to me at the time. High ceilings, elaborate chandeliers, green velvet settees and the most beautiful set of arched windows with intricate etchings in the glass. My young mind could imagine nothing finer, nothing more fantastical than Lyndhurst.
And my father’s throne room made it look like a damned bouncy castle in comparison.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes rested on me as I stepped tentatively into the expansive hall, and I tried to focus more on the room and less on the oppressive feeling of being judged.
A row of exquisite diamond chandeliers hung from the exposed wooden beams of an arched ceiling, and a gentle tinkling sound flitted down as the crystals swayed in an invisible breeze. A long stretch of burgundy velvet carpet sat atop white marble flooring, running through the middle of the room from the entryway to a raised platform at the back. Seven tall windows loomed over the curved dais, casting rays of light onto the glittering diamond throne. The effect was stunning, as if the very light of heaven fell approvingly upon the ruler of this place. From my distance, I could faintly make out broad shoulders, dark hair and a diamond crown atop his head.
I wanted to move closer to see if his face was kind or cruel, but my body denied the request. I hadn’t made it ten steps, but my feet were determined that we would go no further.
As I stood there locked in place, whispers began to filter over to me. Only a few at first, then more and more the longer I remained immobile. Spacious upper balconies lined each side of the massive hall, filled to the brim with people dressed inthe finest clothing that appeared straight out of the books of Tolkien, while even more stood below the balconies in small crowds. Hundreds, maybe a thousand, all staring at me, their faces wrinkling in disdain. I had no idea what they wanted from me, but when a small snicker broke through the quiet, I decided that I wasn’t going to stick around and find out.
My feet that refused to move forward had no issues reversing. I took one step backward, then another before spinning around and dashing for the door.
Shocked gasps rang out behind me as a strong male voice bellowed, “Raynella!”
I didn’t stop. I flew back to the stone doors and flung my full body weight against them, hoping they would crack just enough to let me slip through. Pounding as hard as I could, I screamed to the guards on the other side, “Open the door!”
A hand landed on my shoulder, but I didn’t dare glance back to see who it belonged to. If I did, I would seethem. See them laughing and sneering and judging me.
“Rain! Rain, look at me!”
Someone was shaking my arm, but it wasn’t until they forced themself in front of me that recognition hit.
“Please,” I begged Dey. “Take it away.”
He studied my face, and I saw that hint of uncertainty and concern like he wanted to help me but didn’t understand what was happening. I’d seen that look on so many faces, so many times. The confusion that said my response to a very normal situation was anything but.
“Take what away, Rain?”
I clutched his tunic in my hands, pulling him closer to me, wanting him to feel my pounding heartbeat, to understand that my lungs ached for oxygen I couldn’t give them.
“All of it. Take it all away. I know I was upset before, I know I said never again, but it's too much. Please. Just take it away.”
Clarity rolled over his face, and a wave of peaceful calm swept through my body as Dey gingerly lowered me to the floor of the throne room. My vision narrowed, blackness creeping in around the edges, and fatigue pressed down like a warm, heavy blanket.
A shadow rolled over my body, and I took in a new masculine face staring down at me. As I fully succumbed to the weight of exhaustion, a single thought ran through me.
We have the same eyes.
Chapter seven
I awoke to the sensation of hot air on my neck, a pressing warmth against my back, and the familiar scent of smoke and applewood.
A spark of panic sprouted inside me, but I quickly shut it down when I remembered the throne room. I couldn’t say that I appreciated waking up in bed with Dey, but I finally understood what he meant about his power being a gift.
My eyes swept over the room, taking in the stone walls and lack of anything remotely modern. The space was fairly open, yet still had a pleasant cozy feel to it. A low fire crackled in the hearth opposite the bed with two soft looking chairs before it. Thick burgundy drapes with veridian stitching along the edges framed each side of the three wide windows. Celestial tapestries adorned the walls, and I recognized some of the constellations from the ceiling in the antechamber. A small table sat below the window nearest the bed featuring a diamond vase filled with a rainbow bouquet of fresh flowers.
Dey shifted slightly behind me, and the movement drew my attention to his tattooed arm lingering on my hip, a thin beige quilt the only thing between us.
His steady breathing told me that he likely still slept, but before I could decide whether I should wake him up or just attempt escape, his arm tightened, pulling me into a deeper embrace against his chest.
Three revelations hit me simultaneously:
Dey was awake.
Dey was naked.
