Chapter Twelve

Relief had come in waves for days. Alexandre would fall asleep with the suffering growing strong within him and wake up as if it’d never existed at all. The freedom lasted for hours before slipping away as he sank into the agony once again.

He’d been unconscious when they arrived at the palace of Bela. They’d heard rumors of it being rebuilt, but how? La Dame had only been in Bela for a few months as far as they knew.

A wrongness hung in the air as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Sunlight streamed through a window across the room. It stood open, with no glass separating the room from the outside world. Had they given him a means of escape? Nothing could be that simple.

He pushed back the heavy blankets and noted his bare legs. They’d removed his clothes. A blast of chilly wind roared through the window, causing the hairs on his legs to stand on end.

Wrapping a blanket around himself, Alex stood from the wood-carved canopy bed. A wardrobe stood tall in the corner—well, not corner exactly. The walls curved in a continuous circle. As he passed the table near the window, his fingers brushed the edge of a silver tray laden with food.

It was more than he fed his own prisoners.

A wide sill lined the bottom of the window. Alex stopped, his eyes rounding. The sky dropped outside the tower, connecting with the ground far below. A breath wheezed in his chest as he gripped the edge and leaned out. He wouldn’t be able to make it down without breaking his neck.

Trees stretched as far as he could see without another structure in sight.

Leaning back in, he stumbled and crashed into the corner of the table. He wasn’t in the palace of Bela. His prison cell was a tower in the middle of the woods.

His eyes darted around the room in search of a door.

The curse chose that moment to stab into him and he bent at the waist, trying to breathe. Why had he been put there?

A voice sounded outside. Maybe he wasn’t alone after all. It was a sweet melody, and it drifted up through his window. He leaned against the wall, allowing it to soothe his frayed nerves. She sang of simple things—a villager’s magic and her love of a fisherman.

A scraping broke through her voice, coming from the bottom of the tower. He peered out the window, trying not to be seen and reeled back. It was her.

He’d been a boy when he’d first met La Dame, but she hadn’t changed. She continued to sing as she raised her face to him, her blackened tresses curling down her back. Her dark eyes locked onto his and he couldn’t move. Her bright red lips curved up into a smile as she raised her hands. The outer stones of the tower wall shook and shifted, and still, Alex couldn’t look away even as fear smashed into him.

The stones continued to move until they formed a narrow staircase from the ground to the edge of the window. She climbed it with slow, methodical steps, holding up the hem of her low-cut black dress.

As if released from a spell, he broke eye contact and stepped back, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. She climbed through the window with a tremendous amount of grace.

He stood tall, refusing to cower in her presence.

“Alexandre,” she said cheerfully. “It has been far too long.” She reached up to kiss his cheek familiarly, and he froze. “Oh, don’t be like that, young king. We’ve been friends for too long.” Her eyes scanned the room, and she clucked her tongue. “I left you quite the feast and you haven’t touched it.” She planted her hands on her hips. “That is rude.”

When he didn’t move, she frowned. “Sit.”

His legs moved with jerky, uncoordinated steps out of his control. His teeth clenched as he tried to stop himself.

“Don’t fight it,” she said, taking her own seat. “You won’t win.”

His butt crashed into the chair.

“What’s happening to me?” he gasped. “Why—” His voice cut off when she snapped her fingers.

“No talking. Eat.” She pushed the tray toward him and he had no choice but to obey.

She steepled her fingers. “I came to extend an invitation to my ball tonight.”

He swallowed noisily.

“You can speak now.” She sighed.

“Invitation implies I have a choice.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “You’re to be the honored guest. The clothing I’d like you to wear is in the wardrobe. I hope you like to sing.”

“Why?”

“I can’t give away all my surprises, now, can I?”

“Why am I here?”

“Hmmm, an inevitable question. Although, I am feeling a bit slighted you act as if you’d rather be elsewhere.”

“I am your prisoner.”

“I don’t like that term.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Be patient, your Highness. All will be revealed.” She stood. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat with you all day, I have a ball to prepare for. Before I go, I brought you a bath.”

She walked to the window and gave some sort of signal to a servant waiting below. Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs and a man who barely fit through the window shoved a wooden tub through and climbed in. A second man followed, dragging someone behind him.

A mop of inky hair covered the boy’s face, but Alex would recognize his brother anywhere.

“Tyson,” he breathed.

Tyson’s head snapped up at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Alex?”

“Reunions are lovely, aren’t they?” La Dame’s voice was wistful.

Tyson was jerked forward, and he fell to his knees in front of the tub.

“Fill it,” the man behind him ordered.

Alex glanced from La Dame to his brother in confusion, but Tyson seemed to understand what they meant. He leaned forward and put both hands down into the tub. La Dame poured a pitcher of water over his hands and the water expanded until it filled the tub halfway.

Alex collapsed onto the corner of his bed. He’d been told his brother had magic, but his mind couldn’t grasp onto that fact.

La Dame clapped her hands together, the sound jarring him from his thoughts. “Tyson will stay here until the ball. I wouldn’t want to break up such a happy reunion.”

Without another word, she exited the window with the two men behind her. Once they were down, the stones shifted back into place forming the smooth wall.

Alex stared at his brother for a long moment. Tyson met his eyes.

“You hate me now, don’t you?” He gestured to the water he’d created with a defeated sigh.

Opening his mouth, Alex was suddenly lost for words. He stood from the bed and dropped to his knees in front of his brother who still sat by the tub. Releasing one of his arms from the blanket, Alex pulled Tyson into a firm hug that said everything he couldn’t.

They sat there for a moment longer, before Tyson chuckled. “I’d feel much more comfortable if you had some clothes on right now.”

Alex smiled. When was the last time he’d done that? Pulling away, he climbed to his feet. “I don’t want to take anything from La Dame, but my desire for clothes overrides that.”

“She’ll want you to bathe before the ball.” Tyson rose and went to sit in a chair at the table.

“I don’t care what she wants.”

“You will, brother. Don’t be placated by her niceties. I’ve seen what she does to people who disobey her.” He sighed. “I knew they’d gone to kidnap you. When Matteo told me, I feared what kind of shape you’d arrive in.”

A grimace flashed across Alex’s face. “It would have been worse, but the pain lessens each night. It must be Etta.”

Tyson shifted his eyes away. “You’ve released her then?”

“Of course.” He paused. “Tyson, look at me.”

A beat of silence passed before Tyson raised his eyes.

“I am not our father.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe I was like him, but it’s different now. I don’t hate you for your magic and I will never forgive myself for what I did to Etta.”

“She’ll probably never forgive you either.”

Alex snorted. “I imagine not.”

“But she’s coming for you,” he went on.

Alex tried to refute that, but Tyson shook his head. “Even if there wasn’t a curse tying you two together, she’d come. It isn’t in her not to fight. That’s what La Dame is counting on.”

“What do you mean?” Alex pulled on the clothes that had been left for him and dropped into the chair opposite his brother, wincing from the agony that grew worse by the minute.

“This isn’t about you. Matteo says she’s playing with us.”

Alex raised one finger. “First, who is Matteo. And who do you mean by us?”

“Matteo Basile. His father is Viktor’s brother.” His eyes darkened as his next confession poured forth. “La Dame isn’t after the Durands. She wants her revenge on the entire Basile line. On Matteo. On Persinette. And on me.”