That last piece was an emotion she sought to quickly ignore. But something else nagged at her—the sad reality of her situation. She was married to a monster, and now had been imprisoned in his castle. She was living the worst manner of fairytale, save that there was no shining prince coming to rescue her.
My hero is already dead, murdered at the monster’s hand. Therefore, she had only herself to rely upon for her escape. And she could not do so with the doors and windows locked and barred. If I am to find a way to escape…I need to regain his trust.
It meant swallowing her fear and her pride. It meant allowing herself to edge dangerously close to the monster but keeping herself away from the snap of its teeth. While it was not her flesh that was in danger—he had proven that he had no intention of harming her—she feared for something greater now.
Her soul.
With a long exhale, she headed into the dining room and cautiously sat at the setting that had been put out for her. “I cannot hide from you in this place. There is no point in pretending that I can.”
Lifting the cloche from the plate, she set it aside. There were no servants in the room to do it for her, and she was honestly glad for the privacy. Judging by the temperature of the food before her—steak, green beans, and mashed potatoes—dinner had been here some time, and they had likely all been sent away.
Picking up her knife, she hesitated. “Is this meat from a cow?”
He huffed something that could have been a laugh in a former life. “Yes.”
“Good. At least you are not serving me the villagers you roasted. I will at least thank you for that.” She began to eat, trying to pace herself, lest she get sick. Or look like a barbarian.
“The thought had not even crossed my mind.”
“Small favors.” She gestured at his own covered plate with her knife, prompting him to eat. He arched an eyebrow at the gesture but sat forward nonetheless and did as he was instructed. They ate in silence for a time before she felt she could dare to take a sip of the red wine sitting in a goblet in front of her. Alcohol had always affected her strongly, and especially so if she had nothing but a quarter of a baguette in her stomach over two days’ time.
Finally, she felt as though she could work up the courage to do what needed to be done. Sitting back in her chair, she took her wine goblet with her so that she had something to sip and fiddle with. “I am…I am sorry, Gideon.”
“Do not pay me the insult of lying to me.”
“No. I do not regret running away. I would do it again, if I had the opportunity and thought I stood a chance of survival.” This game must be played slowly. He will not believe a sudden change of heart. “But for the men I sought to—to employ—for that, I am sorry. I was terrified, desperate, and I reacted poorly to the truth of your nature. I know what you said to me last night is true. I could not trust them, and I was a child to think that I could. I was helpless and without a shred of defense against them.”
And to an extent, the words were true. She saw the reason and logic in his words, and knew he was right. But she also knew that had not mattered. She had one coin with which to pay for her escape. Given the chance to do so again, she would likely make the same choice.
He studied her, searching for the lie, and seemed to find none. “You are…forgiven, Marguerite.” His voice softened. “And I, for my part, also reacted poorly.”
My poor choices would have only potentially ended with my throat slit after they finished using my body. Your poor choice ended in the brutal murder of nearly forty people.
He continued, oblivious to her thoughts. “Take pity on a man who found his wife in such a state.”
“I do.” She shook her head. “I believe there are many men who would have committed murder in such a moment. Your methods were…more spectacular, perhaps, than most. But I will not pretend a mortal human could not do the same.” She paused. “Now you have referenced yourself twice as a man. Are you able to lay claim to such a thing, given you are a wraith—”
“Lich.”
She rolled her eyes. “—as you are?”
“I do not know by what means I am meant to measure. In my humors, I am male. I have the urges of a man. I have the mindset of a man. Despite the fact that my human cage may come and go as I wish it, I would call that enough.” His mood improved at the chance to discuss something that did not revolve around their current predicament.
She pondered his words for a moment then nodded. “But what precisely are you? What is a lich?”
“The rules of my existence are not well defined, even to me. I am still discovering it to this day. But the heart of your question, I believe, comes at the nature of my physical state. This thing that you see before you is no more representative of my true self than your body is to your own immortal soul.”
She supposed that made some manner of sense. “You can control your shape at will?”
“Yes.”
“This…thing I see before me, then, what sculpts it?”
“My own mind. I can change it if I wish. It is just more difficult to maintain a form that is not natural to my own identity. Think of Leopold, as he appeared to you as a spirit. What gave him that resemblance? Whatever it was that makes his soul his, I presume.” He tilted his head slightly to the side. “Do these topics interest you, my love?”
Nodding, she found it was not a lie. Her curiosity over the soul—over magic—was real. Even if she found her tutor was one she did not wish to keep.
A faint smile, one that dripped of hope, crossed his features. Dinner finished, they pondered each other over their respective glasses of wine. His silver eyes seemed to constantly be searching hers for something. What it was, she did not know.