Book One: The Marigold's Larkspur ~ A tale of mystery, magic, and obsession.

Chapter Fifteen

Callidus stayed still beneath the boughs of the bottlebrush tree, but Cressida felt his gaze on her like a physical touch. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she swallowed hard, her throat dry, and reached for the door handle again.

While the handle turned easily in Cressida's hand, the door refused to open, as if something were holding it closed. She felt wind sweeping past her, tugging at her unbound hair, and caressing her skin.

"Cressida." Callidus called her name. He rarely used her name, but when he did, it rolled off his tongue with a sense of familiarity and intimacy, as though it were a prayer spoken daily.

"I have nothing more to say." Cressida said, her voice shaky.

"I think you do." Callidus took a step towards her, his tone measured. "I think you have a lot more to say, and I think you should say it."

"Why should I when you don't hear me?"

"I always hear you, Princess." Callidus replied, his eyes boring into hers. "I could never ignore you." He took another step towards her, and she felt an overwhelming pressure in the air around her. "Your voice is a constant presence in my mind."

A tight knot of anxiety twisted in Cressida's gut as she turned her back to him and tried once again to open the door, but it felt as though she were attempting to pull apart a solid concrete wall.

"Why are you trying to leave?" Callidus demanded, his voice sharp as he approached her from behind.

"I'm sorry, I don't feel like dancing today." she muttered, panicked eyes scanning the door, looking for anything that might be blocking the way. The door had no lock.

"Cressida."

"Our conversation is over."

"You cannot leave until we resolve this." Callidus stated, his voice low and commanding. She whipped her head around to stare at him and he paused a short distance from her.

"I can't leave?"

"That's right." Callidus took another step closer, and Cressida's hand fumbled as she reached for the handle again.

"You said I wasn't your prisoner." she said, her voice trembling despite her better efforts.

"You're not." Callidus said, his voice hard, his eyes glinting with indecipherable emotion. "But I'm not letting you leave until we come to an understanding. We are going to finish this conversation, and then we can move on from this...miscommunication."

"Miscommunication?" Cressida sputtered. "You're keeping things from me."

"Alright." Callidus murmured, "Then let's talk."

"I don't want to talk anymore." Cressida's eyes darted around the garden. The walls were too high, and the door was an impenetrable barrier. She was trapped like a cornered animal.

"Once we come to an agreement, I'll let you go." Callidus said firmly.

"You'll let me go?" Cressida echoed as she stared at him, a sudden realization dawning on her too late. Her gaze quickly shifted down to the door, taking note of the lack of obstructions that would prevent her from leaving. Then, her eyes darted back to Callidus, and a deep primal sense of terror began to creep up her spine. "Are you the reason why the door won't open?" she asked, her voice quivering with the force of her accusation.

There was intense silence, the air weighing heavily, pressing upon her, like the second before a thunderstorm.

"Yes." He replied.