Page 63 of Promised to the Nightmare Realm
Tristan touches the wall, and several green torches come on at the same time, revealing the vast yet cozy space with a slope on one side. Unlike the library below, the Book Mausoleum’s ceiling is low, with the intricately carved support beams hanging so low Tristan needs to duck as we pass.
This is not a room meant for living.
Countless shelves sag under the weight of old tomes. As we approach, I note that their spines are cracked, the covers—faded or bruised by heavy use. Some of the old books lean against each other like drunkards on their way from the tavern, others lie in uneven stacks, as if abandoned mid-search by someone who never returned.
But I also see faces.
The statue of a smirking gargoyle with a chipped ear watches us through a gap between the old volumes. A wooden angel whose wings were chopped off lies on the floor, a sentimental smile pasted to its face.
And behind a thick veil of cobwebs are skulls.
Human? Elven?
Does it matter when they’re stacked into a neat pyramid, like the result of some sick game?
“What the heck…” I mumble, pointing their way.
“It’s the mausoleum’s keepers from the past. Most had a wish to stay among the books after death,” Tristan explains, once more ducking as he carries me through a door where the green light is already burning.
This tiny space is a bedroom with a single window casting a yellow glow on the bed through stained glass. It looks just like an attic in some abandoned gothic manor, where a sickly orphan hopes to survive the winter among ghosts.
Tristan sets me down in a leather armchair next to it and gets to work preparing the space for me. He takes off the sheet protecting the bedding from dust, pulls out fresh pillows out of a black leather-bound chest decorated with bones, and surprises me when he strokes my head in passing.
I want to tell him off. Swat his hand away like it’s a mosquito, but the gentle warmth of the brief touch soothes me in ways I can’t describe. It’s as if something warm’s drizzled down my back and stayed that perfect temperature, not causing any discomfort whatsoever.
I feel so pathetic for needing him, but despite his betrayal, made obvious by the gentle tremor of his heartbeat I can now sense through the shadow thread connecting us, I need the solace of his company.
As long as he’s here, no one else is going to hurt me.
“Was that… your sister?”
“Yes, Sabine.” Tristan moves around swiftly, and I’m surprised a prince like him knows how to make a bed at all. “You remember I told you about her? She’s lovely, and kind, and isvery interested in humans, so she will certainly want to visit you.”
I stiffen, instantly transported back to Gloombane’s tower where that malevolent elf also had an ‘interest in humans’ and was very keen to test his theories on me.
“I—I don’t know if I wish to see anyone right now,” I mumble, staring at Tristan’s form stretched over the bed.
“Understandable. I will let her know. Just the medics for now. They will take the best care of you, and you’ll be back to your old self in no time. Gloombane will be just a bad dream.”
I doubt that. I’m permanently broken by what he did to me, and what he made me become. There’s no escape from the darkness he implanted in my soul.
“You know nothing about the things he did to me,” I growl, flinching when the gravelly tone escapes my lips.
I don’t even sound like myself anymore, but why would I? I’m no longer the hopeful person who followed a magical knight into another realm just because it wasromantic.
I was such an idiot…
Tristan stiffens, as if I’ve hit him, and I hate that it makes me recoil deeper into the armchair. Not only because I hate who I’ve become, that I’m lashing out at the person who saved me, but also because my whole body is afraid of retaliation.
He is an elf. A powerful shadow wielder. A prince.
He could probably do much worse than Gloombane and get away with it.
I bet this castle has a dungeon. And a real torture chamber.
He takes a deep breath as he lays out a black set of soft clothes on the bed. It’s nothing fancy, pants and a long shirt I can see myself sleeping in.
“My apologies, Nate. I… I know that—”
