Chapter 17

The night had grown cold as he stood on the hill, observing the Black Castle. One thing he had learned over his centuries of existence was patience, and he was more than accustomed to waiting to strike. His victory over the Crocodile proved how effective the method could be.

The rise upon which he stood was windswept and bare, above the timber line, with only a small pile of boulders and stone to disturb the view. The stars slowly winked into existence above him as the night darkened and settled. On instinct, his eyes sought out the heavens, searching briefly for the constellation that had always brought him comfort on the long nights he had wandered on the sea.

As he stood, he allowed his mind to wander, wondering if the princess was resting, and if she had received his gift well. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to do it, but the gnawing guilt in his belly had unsettled him enough that he had needed to try and make some sort of reconciling gesture with her. The fact that he had felt the need to apologize at all also disturbed him. He was not accustomed to making apologies to anyone, save his ship, and that was only because it was her due.

That was another matter. He ran his hand through his hair as he tried to settle his thoughts. He still felt the deep vestiges of anger, the swirling darkness within him spitting its indignation at the ship's use of the dagger.

He remembered how it had felt, not that his mind was clear, the creeping sensation up his spine as his ship decided to wield, rather than just hold the dagger. The sweep of her soul up against his own as his will was subjugated. He had never realized what an intimate experience being commanded as the Dark One was. He had felt the spirit of his ship slip into his own, and for a moment, he knew her. The thought of experiencing that with someone made him nauseated, imagining the type of people who would try to use the dagger against him. Those kinds of souls.

The last of the castle lights flickering out in the distance brought him back to the matter at hand. As the hours passed, the citadel was still, and in the small hours of the morning, he decided it was time. Aware that using magic within a certain perimeter of the castle might trigger a trap or an alarm, he made his way down into the valley on foot, enjoying the strain of the battle with the forest undergrowth.

The forest around him was silent, unusual in the woods. The trees did not whisper to each other, the small shadows of the night not stirring the undergrowth, and the music of the night itself did not drift on the chilled air. The specter of the Black Castle seemed to silence nature herself with its presence.

He was tempted, after he started sweating, to cast his leather jacket back to the ship, but his concern for any magical detection spells had him resigned to the sweltering heat of his leather attire. After almost two hours walking, cursing himself for beginning so far away, he slowed as the ground leveled out and he felt the pressure of powerful magic across his skin.

He wasn't quite sure what it was, instinctively sensing the danger, but not knowledgeable enough in the caster's arts to identify it. He had obstinately refused to utilize the magical knowledge of his forebears or to do any research about it on his own, and he was now starting to regret his stubbornness, another first in a line of many over the last few days.

It seemed to get thicker the closer he got, and after another few minutes of walking, the darkness within him spat in fury as he finally clearly sensed the barrier. He reached out a hand, jerking it back with an oath as the magic flared blood red across the surface of the barrier where he had made contact, shocking the tips of his fingers.

Blood magic.

The voice in his mind dripped with entertainment and scorn. He was powerless against it, and the darkness was delighted. He was familiar enough with the stories to know that it was impenetrable, except by the bloodline or by invitation.

She will never get her family back. She will be crippled with grief and you will be free of your obligation and then you can take whatever you desire from her. You can destroy her. You can consume her.

He turned away from the protection spell with a growl, frustration at the situation coupled with the tumultuous feelings that the darkness stirred up within him.

"Shut up," he snarled at the night.

Oh and now you are talking to yourself. First sign of madness you know.

"Bloody fuck off."

Oh can't do dearie.

He froze mid stride at the voice. The darkness had never sounded like that before. Had never sounded like him.

What's the matter dearie? Did you miss me?

He viciously shook his head, trying to silence the voice. That voice. He scratched at his head, hoping to perhaps claw it out. He had become this so that he would never have to hear that voice again. He had destroyed that voice. The swirling darkness reared up, and a wave of dizziness and delight washed over him. Like the haziness that comes with drink.

Can't get rid of me that easily, dearie. I'm sure we'll learn to get along. Be the best of mates!

"No," he groaned, trying to keep his footing, but the silence of the night pressed down on him and after a few steps, his knees gave out. He vaguely realized that this was the same sensation that had overcome him before, the one that drove him to the princess.

Yes, the princess. We should go and have some fun with her shouldn't we. There she is all alone, bound to your service, and you've not have her serve you yet. She's like a sweet fruit ripe for the picking. All you have to do is abandon this foolish little quest and pluck it.

He felt that hollow emptiness again, the craving, blinding need. But he wouldn't. He couldn't.

There's no point trying to fight what you already know you are captain. Just give in; it's so much more enjoyable that way.

He remembered how warm she was. How gentle her breath had been in sleep. The press of her body against his as he had carried her to the cabin. How her touch made him feel full. Complete.

Yes. She is the key to making the hunger stop. She is the perfect way to finally not be hollow.

The demon was right. He needed to go back to her. To feel her touch. To have that warmth.

He started to stand, trying to find his equilibrium, when he felt it, the slide of a soul and a will that was not his caress his heart. The darkness flared with fury, but before he could act on his fury, darkness blotted out what was left of the night and he fell into a dream.

She was sitting under the covers in his bed, a green, leather bound book propped against her chest , hiding the words. Her head bowed over the open tome, one hand gently holding it to her a she breathed deeply and slowly, having obviously fallen asleep while reading. She stirred and shifted, her other hand shifting, tightly but reverently clutching a small pale pink and thornless rose. And the black whispers faded away into a warm kind of silence as the whole of time seemed to watch her and take peace as she rested.