Océane regarded the dress laid out on the bed with utter disgust. To be fair, it was simply cut with no frills or bows, so it could have been worse ... but not much.
“It’s pink.”
“It is dusty rose,” Aleish corrected with a haughty sniff.
“No.” Océane shook her head slowly, quite unable to tear her eyes from the horror on the bed. “It’s pink!” The words were spoken with as much disdain as she could manage and she still didn’t think it conveyed just how much she hated it. Though judging from Aleish’s expression she’d done pretty well.
Aleish raised her eyebrows to the heavens before heading for the door. “Well it’s all I have in your size at the moment. You are much … curvier than me,” she said, shaking her head at Océane in exasperation as she went out.
Océane stood in her new underwear, which thankfully had been simple, white, and fitted perfectly. She glared at the dress as though it had personally insulted her. Moments later the door opened again and she turned, hands on hips. “I’m not wearing it and that’s final!”
To her dismay she discovered it was not Aleish who stood in front of her but Laen. His huge presence loomed in the doorway as he stopped dead in his tracks. He was wearing what appeared to be his usual attire of black leather trousers and a simple white linen shirt momentarily combined with a slightly stunned expression. It didn’t last, however, and was quickly replaced with an arrogant smile.
“As you wish,” he said with a sneer.
Océane shrieked and snatched the dress up off the bed. It may have been pink but it was better than standing in front of a mad man in her birthday suit. “Don’t you knock before you enter a woman’s bedroom, you pervert!” she yelled, trying to ensure she was covered by the slippery pink silk and failing miserably as it slid between her fingers.
“Not when that woman is my prisoner and is afforded no such courtesy.” His voice was harsh and it sent fear prickling over her skin. “Now get dressed, and fast. I wish to speak to you.” He strode over and sat down in the chair by the French doors. Océane moved as he walked past her, turning in a circle, trying desperately to keep covered.
“Get out of my room!” she demanded, refusing to be bullied by the Neanderthal sitting in the fine oak chair which had creaked alarmingly as he sat down. She hoped it broke under him.
Laen simply reclined with a bored expression and inspected his fingernails on a hand that looked like it could bend steel. “The last time I checked, this was my room, my home, my land. Everything here is my property ... including you, so I will do as I please.”
“Bastard!” she spat, fury and indignation pushing her temper past what was prudent in the circumstances.
He snorted, giving her an amused look from those disturbing black eyes. “Much as my step-mother may wish that was the case, my parentage has never been in question. If however you mean that I am a callous, cold-hearted brute ... then yes, quite so.”
“I am not getting dressed in front of you,” Océane said, her voice trembling with rage, “so at least have the decency to turn around for a moment.”
She thought perhaps there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes but she couldn’t be sure and he continued to stare unblinkingly back at her. “I’m afraid I have no decency where you are concerned, and frankly I am amazed you know the meaning of the word.”
Fear coiled in her belly, cold and heavy as she tried to hold his gaze, and then she remembered what Aleish had told her. He was a good man at heart. “Laen, please ...” she pleaded.
He stood up abruptly, rigid with anger. “You dare to use my name?” he said in disgust. “It is Prince Laen to you, or your Highness, and you have the nerve to pretend you find my manners offensive? Impudent creature!” He stalked towards her and grabbed hold of her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Océane felt her heart stutter with fear at the anger in his eyes. “You have five minutes to get dressed and then my guards will come and fetch you. Do not keep me waiting or they will drag you through the castle in whatever state they find you.” She saw the words dread, horror and fear curl up around his jaw and over his eyebrow before he let her go and he left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Océane’s knees gave out and she sank to the floor, trembling and clutching the stupid dress as her heart threatened to break her ribs it was beating so fiercely. With trembling hands she shook it out and dragged it over her head. She had no doubt whatsoever that he had meant every word about the guards taking her whether she was dressed or not. Hauling herself back onto the bed she looked at the dainty, slipper-like shoes Aleish had provided which perfectly matched the colour of the blasted dress. With a defiant smile she grabbed her red DM’s and put them on instead.
Right on cue, the guards burst into the room and took an arm each, practically lifting her off the floor and ushering her through the corridors until she was standing, somewhat breathless, in a large room furnished floor to ceiling with bookshelves. She couldn’t help but stare in wonder at literally thousands of beautifully leather bound volumes in front of her. Oh, but if she could only be granted a few hours to look at the skilful bindings, let alone read the actual books themselves. She didn’t have time to consider the futility of her day dream however as Laen appeared, and dismissed the guards with a nod of his head.
The guards bowed and left the room.
***
Laen looked at her dispassionately. She seemed very small standing in the grand library and yet she stood straight, staring at him with fury burning in her eyes. He looked closely at those eyes now and determined that they were not actually brown at all. They were more a deep mahogany with small flecks of copper, like chocolate dusted with cinnamon. She also looked very different in the clothes that his sister had provided with her thick black hair now loose and falling over her shoulders. He could smell the scent of the shampoo she had used, the lingering fragrance of the bath oils his sister had no doubt provided for her curling around him with beguiling invitation. He recalled the way she looked standing in her bedroom in just her underwear. The shock of it had driven the words clean from his head and it had taken some time for him to gather his wits and return to the brutal demeanour he had deemed necessary.
Even now he found the sight of her anger something to admire. She would not let him know how afraid she was even though he knew she must be terrified. For a moment his resolve wavered as he considered just how afraid she must be, and then he remembered the state of his world, the plight that was befalling his people, the sorrow in his sister’s eyes because she could not conceive a child. No. She had answers and he had to have them.
He stepped closer and her chin went up, the lovely chocolate-coloured eyes fearful and defiant. The word beautiful flitted nervously into his brain before being squashed with an iron resolve. His step-mother’s beauty had brought disaster to his family; there was no way he would be seduced by a treacherous human woman. His gaze roamed over her until he came upon the toes of her hideous boots peeping out defiantly from under the soft folds of the dress. His lips twitched despite himself but it was a momentary reprieve.
He held her book out in his large hand before throwing it carelessly down on his desk. He heard her gasp and saw her fists clench with rage. Good, he wanted her to be angry. It was in anger that she would reveal her true nature.
“Where is the rest of it?”
He watched as Océane tore her eyes from her precious book to glare at him. “What do you mean? That’s all there is.”
“Liar!” he snarled, snatching up the board she had been working on at the museum. There was a half-finished painting of the dagger on it and a chapter heading: The Dark Prince is Lost.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his voice low and menacing. He watched her face fall as she saw that he had taken the illustration she had been working on at the museum as well as the book.
“It’s just a story,” she said, looking up at him with those big eyes and holding her hands out helplessly. “I had no idea it was your story.” Her voice was pleading and to his disgust he found a part of him wanted to believe her. “I ... I thought I was making it up, honestly.”
“What do you know of honesty?” He sneered. “Very well, and supposing I pretend to believe this ... preposterous idea, tell me, what happens next?”
He watched the alarm on her face and knew she was hiding something, that she knew something. Before she had time to come up with a decent story, to tell the lies that dripped so easily off the tongues of humans, he acted. He grabbed her by the wrists and slammed her up against the wall. He was so close; he knew she would feel his breath on her face, and he wondered if it were possible for her to actually die of fear as her heart surely could not survive at the rate it was beating against his chest.
“I can see your mind turn, trying to come up with a lie,” he whispered against her ear. “Please do not bother. I will get to the truth, sooner or later, and believe me when I say you will not like my methods of reaching it.” He deliberately looked her over, his eyes lingering on the low neck line of her dress, knowing full well what he was implying and despising himself for it. And yet he couldn't stop his gaze from raking over her. He looked back at the terror in her eyes and had to remind himself over and again of everything he was protecting. It was so much harder than he would have believed not to touch her with more gentleness than he was doing now. He wondered what it would be like for her to look at him with something other than fear and hatred.
Before he had time to question either his thoughts or his actions, there was a commotion outside the door of the library and raised voices. The door swung open and Laen cursed as the man who entered quickly took in the scene in front of him and the unguarded look in Laen's eyes.
A delighted smile played over the curve of the intruder’s mouth. “Oh, my dear fellow, do forgive me the interruption. The guards told me you were interrogating a prisoner, but I see they were quite mistaken.”
Laen dropped Océane as though she had burned him, and quickly arranged his face into a more suitable expression. “The guards were perfectly correct, Corin,” he growled, glaring at Océane with hatred.
Corin scrutinised him, his interest piqued. “Well nonetheless, please do not forget your manners. Won’t you introduce me to your charming captive?” He turned to give Océane the benefit of a devastating smile.
Laen’s furious glare drifted from Océane and back to Corin, scowling harder as he saw the way his friend’s warm gaze lingered on her and the returning gleam in Océane’s eyes. He cursed with fury when he saw the realisation dawn on her face. She had finally found a powerful ally.