Chapter Fourteen

The situation was dire.

Darque paused in his rooms—the ones he used on those seldom occasions when he could be here to watch over his captive in person—to stare through the two-way mirror at Bridin.

She’d grown into a stunning young woman. She sat up straight, her posture regal and proud, in the chair beside the bed. Eyes closed, that deep, rich voice of hers as serene as ever as she sang one of the old songs. Such a solemn woman. So resigned to this existence.

Or so she’d convinced him. He’d only recently become aware of what she’d done. While he’d been away seeing to matters in Rush, trying to quell yet another of those constant uprisings, she’d created a painting, and sent it home with her nurse, Kate, who, in turn, had sold it to an art gallery in Ithaca. No coincidence, that. Darque had dealt with her kind too often in the past not to know this had some hidden meaning. And there was only one he could think of. That the painting was meant as a message of some sort, a message from Bridin to her missing twin. A message which would bring that other one to him. And if he wasn’t careful, the two of them might escape. Together—only together— they might well make their way back to Rush, and stir a full-scale revolt. His hold on the throne could be in serious jeopardy.

Naturally, he’d tried to nip Bridin’s attempt in the bud, by going to this gallery himself. But he’d been unable to so much as touch the painting. She’d placed an enchantment on it.

As furious as he was with her, he couldn’t help but admire her cunning. Despite the frequent tranquilizers, and the constant confinement, she’d managed to hold on to her magic. Gods, it must be stronger than he’d guessed.

And the painting...the painting was utterly mesmerizing. He’d stood in that gallery—as close as he could get to the thing—and stared at it, lost in its beauty for hours.

And then he’d decided to try another approach. He’d hired a reputable art thief to steal it. Once the thief did so, Darque would order him to destroy it. . . right there, where Darque could watch, and be assured it was done. Bridin’s sister must never see that painting.

Never.

It was only with this most recent trouble that Darque had installed the mirror, so he could watch Bridin at all times. He’d be aware if she tried creating any more magical messages.

It was dangerous for him to be here, now. The kingdom was quiet for the moment, but he knew too well it was only a pause in the chaos that usually reigned. He ought to be there.

And he would be, soon. Just as soon as he saw this painting destroyed, and assured himself the sister remained blissfully unaware of her twin and her heritage, he’d leave.

And this time, he planned to take Bridin with him. With her life in the balance, her people would comply, willingly and completely, at long last. When Bridin, their queen, knelt at his feet, the rest would follow.

All he need do would be to convince her to remove that necklace, and he’d be able to take her. Subjugate her. Make her his servant.

And he was close...he was so close to convincing her to remove the pendant. Each night, he went to her while she slept, and used all the strength he had to speak to her mind, to mesmerize it with the power of his own, to bend her to his will. It was exhausting him. Draining him. And it was dangerous. So dangerous, because when he entered her mind that way, he had to open his own to her subtle influence as well.

It was a struggle of wills. But she was beginning to weaken. He was winning. When she learned that the painting had been destroyed, that her sister had never received the message meant for her, her devastation should be the final blow. Her will would be broken, and she would be his to command.

And command her, he would.

As he watched, already savoring his victory, Bridin rose with the grace of...of a fay queen. And stood there, with the windows at her back. The setting sun behind her cast fiery red light through the thin nightgown she wore, so that there was nothing of her body Darque couldn’t see.

His throat went dry. He averted his face quickly, knowing the one weapon of the fairy female, that no man, mortal or otherwise, could hope to fight.

But his eyes were drawn back to hers.

“I know you’re watching me, Dark Prince,” she said slowly, and somehow, though he knew she couldn’t see him, her eyes met and melded with his. “I know what you’re thinking right now.”

Gods, that voice! Deep and smooth and soft. Like velvet stroking him. He put his palms to his ears, closed his eyes. But still he heard her.

“You think you’ll own me. That I’ll be your slave, as well as your prisoner soon.”

“Shut up,” he yelled, turning away from the glass.

“But you’re wrong, Dark Prince. It is I who will own you. Body and soul. Unless you release me, my handsome, ruthless, evil captor...you’re doomed.”

Darque grated his teeth as he stormed out of the room, down the stairs and out of the house. Damn her! Damn her, she’d pay. She would pay for that impertinence, and pay dearly.