2
By the time they reached the Dark Castle, he has regained some measure of sanity, and clearly saw that he has made a terrible mistake.
He summoned his carriage, the magical one that drives without a groom, for he did not want to disturb the texture of magic any more tonight with tricks such as transporting them to his abode in the cloud of smoke, for example. So, they traveled by carriage, and it was a long journey, and not a pleasant one. They were sitting opposite each other, and in the dark interior of the carriage he was acutely aware of her presence, and of her gloomy mood. The rush of excitement, the heroic elation that made her go with him must have left her, and their aftermath was depressed bewilderment, and fear. She didn't know what would happen to her now, what he'll do with her; she was lost and forlorn.
He felt her gaze as she was stealing shifty glances on him, trying to access him. What she saw obviously couldn't comfort or reassure her. He is a monster, and he did wonder at the courage it took her to actually sit with him so close without screaming and trying to escape. Well, she gave him her word, and as she is a princess, her word obviously means a lot. Yet he had no doubt that she regretted her decision bitterly, and he knew he couldn't do anything to comfort her.
Hours had passed in the un-companionable silence, and he knew it was never going to work. She would always fear him and be repulsed by him. She will never see in him anything other then the evil imp who took her away from her family. And she will be right, actually, for he is nothing but a malicious horror, as dark inside as he is ugly in appearance, and there is nothing else to see in him apart from his black nature. He was a fool to take her, and he made a fool of himself, and he was ashamed to think of all the bright and blazing hopes he felt when he was making her come with him. And he knew that if she stays close to him, he will make an even bigger fool of himself – he understood, only too well, that hopes and dreams will return, and he will do silly things, and the girl will stop fearing him and will come to despise him. This he will not be able bear. He had to do something to create a barrier between them, to scare her so much that she'd never get close enough to know him and his weaknesses. He was so vulnerable before her that he had to turn her away completely, or else she'd destroy him.
The easiest thing, of course, would have been to simply let her go, but this thought never crossed his mind.
What he thought of instead was a plan: to behave as nasty as he possibly can. Her father called him a beast. Excellent, then, he will be a beast. He will act in a truly beastly fashion.
Thus, when they finally arrived to the castle, he dragged her along gloomy corridors, ignoring her pleading questions about her future fate, and promptly put her in the dungeon, locking the door and sneering at her cries and sobs.
That would teach her not to play a hero in the future.
Let her cry and curse him in the dampness of her cell. Let her hate him and think him a monster. It is much safer then to let her look into his eyes, and perhaps see there something that might place him completely in her power.
She doesn't need to know that, after locking her in the cell, he stayed by her door for hours, listening to her sobs and, later, to her sleeping breathing. She doesn't need to know that, when he finally forced himself to retreat to his chamber, he briefly touched the smooth wood of the heavy door separating them, wishing it were her skin.
In the morning, for want of any reasonable explanation of her presence in the castle, he did make her go around doing domestic duties. Of course he could clean the place himself, without any human help, he could simply think the dust away, but he never bothered, and the place was filthy. There actually was a fair amount of things for her to do – scrubbing the floors, washing, cooking.
He explained her duties sitting at the end of the long table in his dining room, never actually used for dining, for he rarely ate normal meals – lonely people seldom do. She was fussing with a tea tray while he talked, and he found twisted pleasure in teasing her. She was so collected, so determined to be calm and efficient; after her night in the dungeon she obviously wanted to please him as best she could. She looked so touchingly sweet, he felt he might lose his determination to be cruel to her. So he scared her, momentarily, mentioning skinning little children, and she dropped one of the teacups, and chipped it. And then she nearly collapsed – kneeling, holding the cup up to him in trembling fingers, she apologized prettily, but her voice quivered, and she was on the verge of tears. He overdid his evil act, obviously. He wanted to reassure her, to spring from his chair and to help her get up from the floor. Yet from where he was sitting he had an excellent view of her cleavage, and the sight of her bosom, heaving in distress, made him think of things that were very contradictory to his decision to stay as far away from her as possible. In fact, it made him want to be as close to her as possible; to touch that very white and very soft skin, to take the cup from her delicate fingers and brush them gently, pressing her small hand to his chest, while laying a finger of his free hand on her parted lips to silence her apology. And then he realized that he should not stand up from his chair, any time soon, for he was wearing rather tight pants and, if he stood up, his reaction to her kneeling position would, well, show. Embarrassed, he inwardly cursed his dirty mind and his lonely life – what has he come to, if just a glimpse of her naked skin excites him out of any proportion?
He waved her apology away; 'It's just a cup', he said. She nodded, bit her lip, and went on with her duties. He cocked his head on the side, following her retreating figure with a long gaze, caught himself staring at her naked arms, holding the tray, and cursed himself again.
By the middle of the day he was surprised to find that she was actually quite good at doing the things he demanded. He asked her how did that happened – was her miserable father so poor that he made her do the housework?
She raised an eyebrow at that spiteful remark, looked at him sternly and explained in a polite and cold voice that she was brought up as a princess, and that means she learned how to do everything that is asked of her servants, for she must gain their respect. And she must know how things are done so that she can control if they are done properly. With that, she turned on her heels and proudly walked to the kitchen to make him some lunch. Soup, it turned out to be later.
He was left staring into the space were she just stood, feeling humble and chastened. She was so much better than him, in every way. She was young and beautiful, brave and of noble birth. He, even with all his powers and affected gestures, is just a peasant, and always will be. She is a princess, and remains a princess even with a broom or a bowl of soup in her hands.
By the end of the day he was completely convinced he made a terrible mistake. He should never have taken the girl with him. Her presence invaded the castle so much he felt crowded. He seemed to be always in her way – he never knew just how intimidating a woman could be when she is absorbed in cleaning. She was everywhere – dusting and swiping, leaving the sweet scent of her skin and hair everywhere she went, and it was impossible not to look at her. He was unable to concentrate on his work. He couldn't think, couldn't spin, he seemed to be spending all his time listening to her light steps or the gentle sound the train of her silk dress made as it drugged on the floor. She fed him three hot meals. He brought tea to his study, and put the tray on the table where he was making a potion, almost tripping it over. He nearly screamed at her, and yet how could he, when she was standing before him all modest and sweet, casting her eyes to the floor, bending her head and asking if he needed anything else tonight? He grumbled a negative, and she marched to her cell.
And then, from behind the locked door, he heard her crying again.
And he felt like ripping his own heart out, so as not to feel anything, for to listen to her distress was truly unbearable, and to change anything between them was impossible.