DEMENTED | Romance | Fantasy | Slight Thriller

Chapter Eight: Smooth as a Wraith

Chapter Eight: Smooth as a Wraith

"I'm looking for an Absinthian by the name of Ebony," a low voice that reminded Ebony of stolen souls and long-forgotten passages spoke. A flutter of ice and bitter unrest coated the room in a haze and ran up her spine as the Prince of Death walked inside the tavern.

He wore a white shirt and cravat as well as midnight-black breeches and what looked to be that of a wealthy traveler's cloak embossed with golden brass buttons. His silky-white hair was messy and untamed, and though Ebony despised him she did admit it was a rather good look on him.

No one in the tavern spoke a word, and they all pointed to Ebony as if they were under a trance-like spell. The Prince's fathomless cold eyes trailed their outstretched hands until he saw Ebony, and his eyes met hers in a flash.

For a moment she could've sworn the emotion in his eyes resonated with worry. But then they turned hard, and now it was time for Ebony to cower again, only this time at the feet of Death Himself.

He stalked over to her as smooth as a wraith and grabbed her arm, dragging her out of the tavern. Shelly, who'd been in a trance-like state earlier just like the rest of the tavern, snapped out of it and hurried out to see Ebony go. Ebony tried to wave, but lost her balance and fell to the cobblestone street.

The Prince stopped only for a brief moment to allow Ebony to stand once again, then continued dragging her.

She cursed and tried to writhe free of his grip. "Can't you loosen up a bit? And can you for the love of the Goddess please stop dragging me?"

The Prince let her go after a moment in the middle of a street just by the edge of the end of the floating Aurian island they were on. She took one look at the edge and gulped as she remembered what was below: Nothing. Endless, abysmal--

"Ebony," the Prince's deep voice brought her back to where she stood. "Ebony."

She blinked a few times. "Sorry?"

The Prince growled at her, irritated even further. "I told you to stay in your room."

Then he noticed her clothes. "Where'd you get those?"

She avoided his eyes, trying not to make contact. "I-I got them from a maid."

"Something tells me a maid wouldn't part with those for free. And they look brand-new." He began stepping closer to Ebony as she slowly backed away. "Tell me, Ebony... where did you get the money to pay her?"

He continued stepping closer, and Ebony felt her corseted back hit dusty old brick. She was cornered.

"I... I told her to add the costs to your bill."

"And, pray tell, did she mention how much the costs were?"

Ebony shook her head, staring at the ground. "I'm not quite sure, I'm sorry. I didn't know you had a financial problem--"

The Prince cut her off. "I don't have a financial problem. It just may mean we'll have to visit the bank sooner than expected."

Ebony exhaled. "So I'm not in trouble?"

The Prince chuckled, a low rumbling sound that made Ebony's stomach fill with skeletal butterflies. "You most certainly are in trouble. And you will receive your punishment."

He leaned an arm against the wall Ebony was cornered on, leaving their faces inches apart. He smelled of evergreen fir and firewood burning in an old cottage--not what she imagined Death to smell like, and his voice went an octave lower as he murmured in her ear; "But something tells me you're not quite ready for that yet."