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Authors: Nalini Singh
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own. “Now, may I go?”
“My lord,” he said, licking out his tongue to capture a drop of chocolate on his lip.
Her entire body hummed. “What?”
“You forgot to add ‘my lord.’”
She grit her teeth and put down the teapot with extreme care. “May I go, my lord? ”
He took a sip of his chocolate, paused for a second. “No.”
“No?” Her vision was starting to blaze incandescent red.
“I haven’t finished breakfasting yet.”
Suddenly, she could see the spoiled princeling all too well—except that she was also certain there was a cackling imp riding on his shoulder at this moment. No, not a spoiled princeling at all. More akin to an adolescent boy pulling the pigtails of a girl to annoy her.
It should have been a ridiculous thought when faced with the black-armored Guardian, his hands tipped with bladed points, but this man had grown up in a cage of sorcery that had turned into a solid wall of armor. As she had never had a chance to be a child, he had never had a chance to be a boy, never had a chance to do mischief. The fact that he might be doing so now, with her —it created the beginnings of a terrible weakness inside of her, one she knew she should fight, but couldn’t.
Several long minutes later, he finally finished his meal and stood. Picking up a piece of toasted fruit bread, he closed the small distance between them. “Try it. It’s very good.”
She took it with a bad-tempered scowl, attempting to hide the vulnerability within. “I know. I made it.” Eating it though she wasn’t that hungry, having snacked as she cooked, she narrowed her eyes when he continued to loom over her. “Now what?”
“My lord.”
Oh, she just wanted to— “My lord.”
“You don’t mean it.”
Smiling because it wasn’t her imagination—he was teasing her—she finished off the bread, then dropped into a ludicrously ornate curtsy. “Oh, my lord,” she simpered, fluttering her lashes. “What would you have of this poor wee maiden?”
A rusty sound, harsh and rough. Startled she looked up—and realized the Guardian of the Abyss was laughing. He was even more magnificent than she had believed.
“Why do you stare?” he asked suddenly, stopping midlaugh.
“I didn’t know you could laugh.”
A hush fell over the room, as if the ghosts themselves were holding their breaths.
Lines formed between his brows. “I don’t remember laughing before.”
“Did you like it?”
He considered the question. “It’s a strange sensation.” Not giving her any more of an answer, he said, “Come, I’ll show you where you will bathe.”
Will, not may or even can .
Gritting her teeth against the impulse to call down nasty curses on his golden head, she followed him as he walked to the back of the great hall. Once they were through the door and in a gloomy corridor that went on to a nothingness so deep it seemed impossible that light existed, he led her up a flight of stairs barely illuminated by a small window on the landing.
“Why must it be so dark in here?” she muttered. “A maid could fall and break her neck.”
“This is the Black Castle.”
“I realize this is the gateway to the Abyss, my lord, but surely you don’t intend to harvest souls here on your staircase.”
He turned and looked at her, then at the tiny window now at her back. “I can see in the dark.”
She startled. “Can you truly?” But she knew it was no lie. How else would he hunt in the pitch-black of night?
He started up the stairs again without answering, his armor gleaming even in the muted light. Staring at it, she had another thought. “How do you bathe?”
“Mistress Liliana, you ask the most peculiar questions.” Turning, he pinned her with a darkly intrigued look. “Do you wish to share a bath?”
“I meant the armor,” she said, cheeks burning. “It doesn’t come off—does it?” If it did, that meant her father had made a mistake. Please.
He paused, his hand on the railing. “It must,
“My lord,” he said, licking out his tongue to capture a drop of chocolate on his lip.
Her entire body hummed. “What?”
“You forgot to add ‘my lord.’”
She grit her teeth and put down the teapot with extreme care. “May I go, my lord? ”
He took a sip of his chocolate, paused for a second. “No.”
“No?” Her vision was starting to blaze incandescent red.
“I haven’t finished breakfasting yet.”
Suddenly, she could see the spoiled princeling all too well—except that she was also certain there was a cackling imp riding on his shoulder at this moment. No, not a spoiled princeling at all. More akin to an adolescent boy pulling the pigtails of a girl to annoy her.
It should have been a ridiculous thought when faced with the black-armored Guardian, his hands tipped with bladed points, but this man had grown up in a cage of sorcery that had turned into a solid wall of armor. As she had never had a chance to be a child, he had never had a chance to be a boy, never had a chance to do mischief. The fact that he might be doing so now, with her —it created the beginnings of a terrible weakness inside of her, one she knew she should fight, but couldn’t.
Several long minutes later, he finally finished his meal and stood. Picking up a piece of toasted fruit bread, he closed the small distance between them. “Try it. It’s very good.”
She took it with a bad-tempered scowl, attempting to hide the vulnerability within. “I know. I made it.” Eating it though she wasn’t that hungry, having snacked as she cooked, she narrowed her eyes when he continued to loom over her. “Now what?”
“My lord.”
Oh, she just wanted to— “My lord.”
“You don’t mean it.”
Smiling because it wasn’t her imagination—he was teasing her—she finished off the bread, then dropped into a ludicrously ornate curtsy. “Oh, my lord,” she simpered, fluttering her lashes. “What would you have of this poor wee maiden?”
A rusty sound, harsh and rough. Startled she looked up—and realized the Guardian of the Abyss was laughing. He was even more magnificent than she had believed.
“Why do you stare?” he asked suddenly, stopping midlaugh.
“I didn’t know you could laugh.”
A hush fell over the room, as if the ghosts themselves were holding their breaths.
Lines formed between his brows. “I don’t remember laughing before.”
“Did you like it?”
He considered the question. “It’s a strange sensation.” Not giving her any more of an answer, he said, “Come, I’ll show you where you will bathe.”
Will, not may or even can .
Gritting her teeth against the impulse to call down nasty curses on his golden head, she followed him as he walked to the back of the great hall. Once they were through the door and in a gloomy corridor that went on to a nothingness so deep it seemed impossible that light existed, he led her up a flight of stairs barely illuminated by a small window on the landing.
“Why must it be so dark in here?” she muttered. “A maid could fall and break her neck.”
“This is the Black Castle.”
“I realize this is the gateway to the Abyss, my lord, but surely you don’t intend to harvest souls here on your staircase.”
He turned and looked at her, then at the tiny window now at her back. “I can see in the dark.”
She startled. “Can you truly?” But she knew it was no lie. How else would he hunt in the pitch-black of night?
He started up the stairs again without answering, his armor gleaming even in the muted light. Staring at it, she had another thought. “How do you bathe?”
“Mistress Liliana, you ask the most peculiar questions.” Turning, he pinned her with a darkly intrigued look. “Do you wish to share a bath?”
“I meant the armor,” she said, cheeks burning. “It doesn’t come off—does it?” If it did, that meant her father had made a mistake. Please.
He paused, his hand on the railing. “It must,
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