The Black Prince: Part II Read Online Free PDF

the stairs. The hall above was brightened only by the occasional torch; not all that rested in brackets were lit. Fuel was dear, and they—the family and the guards who protected them—needed only enough light to direct their footsteps. Anyone who needed the full illumination of daylight to find his path, Isla reflected, didn’t belong there anyway.
    She reached the top of the stairs but, instead of turning left toward the solar she shared with Tristan, she turned right. Toward the library. It was at times like these that she craved the comfort of books. The escape they offered, into a thousand different worlds where none of her concerns were relevant, and simply their smell. Books were constant and true friends, always ready for an adventure.
    Ready to accept her, without judgment.
    She closed the door behind her and, shutting her eyes, breathed in that rare perfume that no one had thought of bottling. Parchment and vellum and leather and magic. And, underneath that, just the faintest hints of wood and stone and…time. There was simply no other way to describe it. Libraries were different.
    Opening her eyes, she took a step forward. And then another. A lone lamp was burning. She lit a candle from it, a small taper set into a simple cup with a holding loop. She then held it aloft before her, as she moved forward. Into the belly of the beast, shelves looming above her on both sides.
    “So here is my beloved.”
    Isla jumped, almost dropping the candle. Tristan took it from her, his fingers gentle. They were warm against her skin. He’d fed. She hadn’t turned; he was still behind her. She didn’t know what to say. Or, indeed, to do. So she waited.
    While his free hand grazed her shoulder, her arm.
    “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t be upset with me.”
    Was she still terrified of him, her own husband? The man who made her heart beat faster simply by entering the room? She swallowed.
    “You think that I am?” The words were soft.
    “Yes.” Her response was barely audible. Of course he was. She’d seen how he’d looked at her at dinner, heard the cold fury in his words. She’d only managed not to care before because she’d been so upset, herself. But with the ending of the night had come the realization that she’d acted like a child. And a spoiled one, at that. And yes, she was frightened. Of what he thought, of how he’d respond. She doubted even that a normal man could have understood a fraction of what she’d felt, and still felt. And Tristan felt nothing at all.
    The candle cast a yellow glow on his corpse flesh. He put it down on a section of shelf where no books rested. “What upsets me,” he said, “is that I’ve failed.”
    She turned. “What?”
    The hard gaze she remembered from earlier was gone. “In showing you just how important you are.”
    She bit her lip. He hadn’t. It wasn’t that.
    “I can’t help what I am.” He sounded almost…regretful?
    “I know.”
    “I remember what love is.”
    She felt the tears threaten again.
    He caressed her cheek. So gently. “What I felt for Brenna, back when I could feel, wasn’t a tenth of what…I never needed her, as I need you. Never needed anything, as I need you.” Leaning forward, he kissed her on the forehead. She rested her head against his. “You’re part of me, Isla.”
    “I get…so scared that you’ll leave.”
    “I could never leave.”
    She looked up. “But I’m not….” She was just a normal girl. A girl who’d been elevated beyond her wildest dreams but still, just a normal girl. Nothing special. Nothing to enchant a man like Tristan.
    “I’m not—”
    But he stopped her with a kiss. This wasn’t the slow, measured touch that she’d grown so used to, his lips cool and firm as he commanded her with his touch. This was the hot, frenzied coupling of need. Where each kiss, each caress was a silent plea.
    She gave herself up to him, sinking against him as he slid his fingers into the elaborate knot of her hair.