She went limp against him as his power put her under. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her from the room, walking easily in the pitch-black darkness of the castle. He needed no light to find his way.
Winding his ways through the halls, he made his way to their bedroom. Laying her down on the sheets, he sat beside her and stroked her hair away from her face. Forcing her under was not a moment he was proud of.
But the conversation of his lack of humanity?
That was one neither of them was prepared for.
Bowing low, he kissed her. He held the embrace for a moment. It was a stolen embrace—one she had no part in—but for a moment, he imagined himself as some storybook prince.
A shame he was no such thing.
He was the dragon. He was the miserly, deadly lizard. And she was his prized possession. “I am your husband, Marguerite. And you belong to me. And past that…nothing else matters. Someday soon, you will come to understand. Someday soon, you will see this all as an unpleasant dream, as easily forgotten as a simple nightmare.”
I will not let you go, Marguerite. I will never, ever let you go.
* * *
It wasmorning when she woke. The light was streaming in through the curtains. For a long moment, she wondered if the strange events of the night before had only been a terrible dream.
But she knew better.
Gideon was not beside her, though the depression in the pillow and the mattress said that he had slept beside her. She could not remember much after Leopold disappeared. She had cried—she had asked him a question—and then darkness had taken her.
What had she asked him?
She struggled for a long moment to grasp it from the scattered and groggy state of her mind. But finally, it was there.
What are you?
He had touched her—a thumb to her forehead—and the world had gone dark. Had he put her under a spell? Anger boiled in her at the thought. How dare he!
When else had he worked his magic on her? She desired him—was that by his design? Climbing out of bed, she staggered but caught herself on the post. Shaking her head to clear it, she tried her best to steady herself.
Dressing as best she could, she left the room to find Gideon. She stopped at the kitchen first, plucking a dangerously sharp looking knife from the block. It was small enough that she could conceal it in her sleeve, but big enough to be easily deadly and require no skill for her to wield.
Wandering the halls of the stone castle, passing by the servants she now knew were not of the living, she pondered her situation. She was the wife of a man who may not have been a man at all.
She found him sitting in his library, reading. Approaching him warily, she did not know how to begin the conversation. When he looked up upon hearing her footsteps, he seemed surprised. His brief look of shock faded to amusement. “Of course. I should have known.”
“Known what?”
“That you would wake earlier than intended.” He shut his book and placed it on the table before him. He was not wearing his long black robes, instead donning a simple black tunic tucked into similarly colored pants. He was still an imposing sight, with his long white hair trailing about his shoulders.
I should have known he was not human. Look at him. The snow-white hair. The silver eyes…“What are you, Gideon?”
With a grimace, he glanced away. “I am a man.”
“I am not speaking to your gender. A bee might be male. A bird. A dog. I am asking of your species.”
He held his arms out at his sides. “Do I resemble a dog to you?”
“A wolf, perhaps.” She shook her head. “You refuse to answer me. You know the nature of my question, and you hide behind semantics. Why do you avoid telling me the truth?”
“Because you are not ready to hear it. Because I am protecting you.” He took a step toward her, his boots far louder on the wood floors than her simple slippers. “You have endured much these past few weeks—the loss of your family. This marriage. Moving to a strange country. Discovering that I am, in fact, a necromancer. Raising the dead of your own accord and speaking to your lost friend. Is that not enough for you?” He sighed. “I, for one, am exhausted.”
“I cannot suffer the shadows any longer! I find myself lost in a maze and I cannot decipher the map. You know the way, but you hide it and claim it is for my own good. I am not a child, so do not treat me like one.”
Another grimace, and he turned away from her, stalking across the room to the fireplace. He leaned his hands on the mantel of the unlit hearth. “You are no child, Marguerite. But you are young. And there is only so much a person can be expected to endure in such a short time. I will tell you the answer to your question—I will show you in time, how I survived the blow from Leopold. But I—”