Page 37 of The Dark Prince
I shifted.
Claws burst from my nail beds, and sharp canines protruded painfully from my gums. I cried out, but the sound twisted into an animalistic howl. I fell to my knees as bones snapped and tendons stretched, and I could barely off my leather armor and shove my clothes off beside the bed before my fingers disappeared and my body changed completely. My mask flew off my face and disappeared into the mess.
I pounced against the heavy wooden door, but it didn’t budge.
The man …the beast thought.The dark man with the dark magick. He locked us in!
Visions of death and mutilation filled my head. I was powerless to stop the beast once I unleashed him.
We will kill him!
The beast rammed our body over and over again at the door, growling and snarling. He didn’t give in until bruises and sores burst from under our skin, and then he turned his fury on the rest of the room.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed.
Eventually, he tired and slowly relinquished control back to me. I gazed through his eyes, embarrassed at the destruction. We shattered the tables into splinters. The couches were upturned and chewed. And the entire time, the king was downstairs with his men andmy wife, just waiting for an excuse to end this all and put an arrow through my skull. He was giving me time to break the curse, but he made it clear he would put me down if I ever threatened him or his rule.
The thought sobered the beast enough that I regained complete control.
Then I smelled the man again, standing just outside my door. I snarled and growled, ripping down a curtain from the bed and shredding it in my jaws.
“My lord. I am here to help you. Let me in.”
A new scent filled the beast’s nose, stopping him in its tracks. One ear cocked to the side as our head tilted, curious.
The sound of the key turning in the lock was oddly loud. The door creaked open. The beast fled, diving between the bed and the wall. It tucked itself down into the corner and retreated completely. Why? How?
As Isadora’s soft footfalls echoed in the debris, I was suddenly myself. Naked and in pain, but myself.
I hurriedly snatched my breeches and shirt, hands trembling and sweat dripping down my back. I’d have to talk to Arne after this; Isadora shouldn’t see me like this. I didn’t have my mask. The mess on my face alone would be enough to frighten her, let alone everything at once. She wouldn’t understand.
It was too late now. I closed my eyes and awaited her judgment.
Eighteen
ISADORA
The room was half destroyed, with the couches upturned and chunks of cushion missing. The sheets from the bed were all torn, and the bed was turned to the side and pulled five feet away from the wall. My heart caught as I noticed that the great wooden mantle over the fireplace had a massive crack in it. The tub was no longer serviceable due to the amount of dents and dings in it. I allowed myself a moment to mourn it before trying to find my husband.
“Tyr? Where are you?”
A groan and an odd, animalistic huff came from behind the bed and in between the stone wall. I crouched down and slowly crept toward it.
“Tyr? Is that you?”
I didn’t want to think of what rage must have overtaken him to damage his own rooms this way, but I reminded myself that he wouldn’t hurt me. Not because of any affection we held for each other, but because his sense of duty forbade him from hurting anyone under his care. If I could trust in anything, it was that.
“I … I’m here. I don’t have my mask.”
The words were raw and full of pain; the sounds of a broken man. I glanced around quickly and spied it lying nearby on the floor. I clasped the hard, unyielding porcelain between my fingers, noting the weight and how dirty the leather underside was. It had to hurt and rub raw against his face, making whatever he was hiding worse.
I made a split second decision, and took the mask over to the largest remaining piece of the tub, on its side and destroyed, but with a small amount of water still pooled in the center. I grabbed the soap dangling on the edge by its robe and washed the mask carefully, stripping it of all the dirt and muck gathered at the edges. I took a drop of the vanilla oil Bessy had used on my hair from my pocket, and rubbed it into the leather that made up the side that went against his face. I dried it with the edges of my dress.
Only then did I make my way back toward Tyr, closing my eyes as I rounded the corner of the bed. I sat on the floor in front of him, unable to see him but feeling his anguish and his pain. I held out the mask to him blindly.
He didn’t take it.
Instead, his hands cupped my face and he pulled me toward him, and I fell forward tumbling into his lap. He buried his hands in my hair as he cradled my head to his chest, his body shaking with repressed emotion.
