She jumped, as if she had been shocked, when the dungeon's small door creaked open. She almost fell out of her bed, stumbling to her feet in her confusion.
He eyed her skeptically, as if the rare jewel he had brought home from the market the night before were turning out to be made of glass.
"Good morning," he said. His skepticism only grew.
"Good," she started. But her voice was hoarse and unsteady. "Good morning," she said.
He stared at her a minute longer, like his suspicions that she were counterfeit were turning out to be true. Then he seemed to toss it off, and his voice took on a lighter tone, almost friendly.
"Sleep well?" he asked her. He stepped aside from the doorway and gave a grand sweep with his hand, as if welcoming in an honored guest.
"I," Belle started. She squinted a little as she stepped out into the light of the hallway. "I – don't know," she said. Her brain felt foggy. Wasn't she just at home?
"Yeah, that first night can be a doozy," he said. His tone when he said this was so familiar, like they were old friends exchanging secrets for the hundredth time. "Come along," he said. He breezed past her, not even hesitating to see if she would follow.
She took a faltering step and then another one. And that's when she saw it. A reddish patch – high – between the shoulder blades. I want to touch it. Can it touch it?
He stopped and turned slowly on his heel toward her. And that's when she realized she had stopped walking.
"Coming, dearie?" he asked.
She shook her head. She had to tear her eyes away from that patch on his jacket.
He followed her gaze and stared at her like she was crazy. How did he do that? He acted as if they had known each other forever. It was like he could be instantly – intimate.
"Yeah . . . yes," she stammered. "I'm – I'm coming."
He turned slowly and let out a long, low whistle. This one, it seemed to say, is clearly made out of glass.
# # #
The kitchen was dark and covered with stained glass windows that let some light in but not a lot. She tried to see out one of the clearer panes of glass but the image was distorted. And anyway, all she could see out there was the white of the snow that had been falling when they arrived last night.
"There's a water pump just there," he said. He waved vaguely in the direction of the windows, "and the larder's well stocked," he said. He waved a hand at two closed panel doors on the wall. As before he was talking a mile a minute and walking even faster. "I take my tea in the morning but nothing to eat until midday," he said. He passed his hand in front of a row of shiny copper pots and pans hanging from wrought iron hooks against the wall. They were so shiny and new-looking, they looked like toys.
She looked up then and realized that he was staring at her.
"Oh," she said. "Tea, right," she said. She laughed and shook her head.
She reached up to take the copper water kettle off the last hook above her head. When she couldn't quite reach it, she pressed a hand against the cold stone of the countertop, steadying herself to reach higher. She could almost get it if she could just leverage off the counter a little.
She felt the warmth on her back, and it stopped her. Her arm came back down.
He leaned in close, reaching past her and unhooked the kettle.
She felt his fingers move just a fraction of an inch and that was when she discovered that the warmth on her back was his hand, pressing so lightly and so gently she hadn't realized it was there.
He handed the kettle to her.
She took it and stared. His eyes were huge, like golden orbs floating on the surface of water. And what was registering for the first time was his heat. It radiated. She had assumed his touch would be cold when she first saw him, but it was the opposite. He radiated heat like the sun – which, she guessed wasn't all that strange because he was, after all, golden. But that was why she hadn't felt cold. When she had left her father's castle the day before it had been nighttime and snowing, and she hadn't even been wearing a coat. And yet she hadn't felt cold. He'd kept his arm around her all the time that they'd been walking and she hadn't felt cold.
His hand lingered on the kettle, as if she'd drop it if he let go. He leaned in closer to her so that his face was inches from hers.
"You know, it's not polite to stare, dearie," he whispered.
"Oh," she said. She laughed self-consciously. "I'm sorry," she said. She shook her head, laughing at herself. "I'll, um," she said. She could feel herself blushing. "I'll put the water on," she said. She laughed and took the kettle from him, turning her back so he wouldn't see the color on her face. She giggled. It was a habit. She did it whenever she was embarrassed.
"You do that," he said softly.
His voice had dropped lower. It sounded almost contemplative. But she ignored him, keeping her back turned and busying her hands with the water pump and the kettle. It wasn't until he left the kitchen that she let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.
# # #
He rubbed his fingers against his palm as he wandered back out to the dining room. What a strange reaction. He had meant it to sound menacing. She certainly wasn't the first person who had stared. It was a sort of morbid fascination. Actually, it happened quite a lot. When people saw him for the first time, they were taken aback. They stared. They were frightened. She was frightened, wasn't she?
And that laugh, that soft tinkle of a sound – what was that about? It was like water rippling over smooth stones. Was she laughing at him? Some people laughed when they were nervous, but she hadn't seemed nervous. She'd seemed – giddy, almost shy. Shy was something people didn't get around him. Not anymore. Shy happened when you met a friendly stranger. Shy happened when you bumped into another person and spilled their drink. Shy didn't happen when you looked into the face of a monster. Revulsion happened. Fear happened. Horror happened. But not shy.
Ah, but was it trickeration? Had she feigned that, that shyness, that coquettish laughter? Was she trying to disarm him, to trick him into letting her go? Perhaps she was testing him, probing for the weaknesses in his armor. Well, she would see soon enough that he didn't have any. Because of all the chinks he knew might be there, he was going to show her not a one.
He heard her coming just a moment before she entered the dining room, and he had to run to get into his seat before she entered. He leaned back, his fingers steepled in front of him and eyed her coolly, feigning indifference.
He started again, rapid fire, the way he liked. He wanted her off balance, uneasy. She should be more afraid than she seemed.
"You will serve me my meals, and you will clean the Dark Castle," he said.
She was fumbling with the tea and the cup and the saucer.
"I – I understand," she said.
"You will dust my collection and launder my clothing," he said. He watched her carefully for her reaction. Would she be frightened to have to touch his clothes?
"Yes," she said.
"You will fetch me fresh straw when I'm spinning at the wheel," he said.
She looked confused at that one but smiled through it. "Got it," she said.
"Oh, and you will skin the children I hunt for their pelts," he said.
She dropped the cup. Check mate.
"That one was a quip," he said lightly. "Not serious."
"Oh," she said. She laughed again, that same coquettish laugh, and he looked at her hard. Was it a trick? "Right," she said. She laughed again.
He watched her as she dropped to the floor to retrieve the cup. She had the litheness of youth.
"Oh, my, I'm so sorry," she said. She shook her head and looked up at him.
He shook his head, not getting her meaning.
"It's – it's chipped," she said. She held it up a little higher for him to see.
He didn't say anything, just watched her.
"You can hardly see it," she said. She held the cup up again and showed it to him.
He answered without thinking – honestly, and without thinking.
"Well, it's just a cup," he said.
Damn. That was it. That was the moment he should have taken to disarm her. He should have threatened to punish her, so that she would be good and properly scared. But he had missed it. How had he missed it?
"Oh," she said. She laughed and shook her head, almost like it had been silly of her to be worried.
He leaned his head back against his chair, and he watched.