Concern tinged his green eyes. For a moment, she was lost in them. His desire for her comfort more than made up for the drafty room. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Stellan aligned his hands atop the keys. “Well then, what would you like to hear?”
“I don’t know anything about this type of music. Play your favorite piece.”
Stellan thought for a moment and then began to play. Booming power chords filled the room.
Clarysa listened and watched, entranced not only by the melancholic tune, but also by Stellan’s virile features. He’s an expert musician, a sorcerer, a skilled hunter and a prince. What more could I possibly wish for? His thigh flexed against hers as he worked the pedals. The harmony of his movements made her wonder if he would play her body in the same way. Then Clarysa’s neck and cheeks became warmer, for Stellan had chosen that moment to turn and look at her.
After a moment he grinned. Clarysa shot him a questioning look. The man was up to something. “Look at the keys,” he urged.
Clarysa glanced down. His hands were dancing on air above the keyboards, and yet the music still played!
She gasped, the blood quickly draining from her face.
Stellan laughed, and the transformation made him seem a man unacquainted with the meaning of sorrow. He rose and motioned for her to join him by the fire.
Clarysa hesitated. She peered intently at the moving keys, tossing a mystified glance in his direction. “Is this magic, or some kind of mechanical devilry?”
“Does it matter?”
She moved cautiously toward the hearth, half-worrying the organ might rise and follow her. “I suppose not.” She nudged Stellan playfully on the shoulder as they sat on the floor, but the Prince seemed deep in thought. For a long time, they both stared into the flames.
Quiet moments like this propelled her thoughts into directions that were perhaps better left alone. This time, however, was one she could hardly let be, especially since she didn’t know when they’d have another rendezvous. “Stellan,” she said, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…” She paused for a moment, gathering the words. “I don’t want this to come out wrong or upset you, but I can’t help but wonder.”
Stellan glanced up. The intensity of his gaze made her breath catch.
“Will I have to read your mind or are you going to tell me what it is?” His voice sounded grim and mildly sinister.
She smiled nervously. “You can read minds?”
He shrugged noncommittally.
“Oh, I see. Well, continue playing Sir Mysterious if you like. Anyway, Lionel and I… Well, we’ve heard stories about you for so long I must admit it’s strange to think about how I’m standing here with the real flesh-and-blood legend. It’s quite surreal.”
Stellan rose to lean against the wall. He folded his arms. He smiled devilishly. “Go on. I think I like the sound of this.”
“Well, with all I recall hearing about you, I can’t help but wonder, where are your parents? Should we be thinking about arranging a meeting between them and my father?”
Stellan’s grin quickly faded. “No.”
“But why not? I think…”
“I said no, and that’s all I have to say about it.”
Such harsh words. His sudden change unnerved her, but she decided to press onward. Her kingdom’s safety depended on her ability to break through Stellan’s carefully constructed defenses. “I understand what it’s like to have your family members against you.”
Stellan lifted his head, his eyes two smoldering coals threatening to wither everything in sight. “Do you? Well let me ask you this, Princess. As you and daddy dearest squabble over important matters like what kind of pheasant to feast upon or which gowns to wear, have you ever had to wonder when your next meal might be? Better yet, as a child, were you ever awakened in the dead of night by the cold steel of your father’s blade against your throat? Have you ever…” His voice faltered.
A moment of uneasy silence passed. Clarysa held her breath, not daring to speak.
Stellan made a fist. “Were you ever forced to watch your own mother waste away before you…flesh dripping off her bones?” His jaw muscles bulged. “Answer me, Clarysa! Have you? Because I have!” His voice fell to a whisper. “My father killed my mother before my very eyes. An early test of the damnable magick I came to call Pestilence. This is the sight I have been condemned to live with all of my life, burned into my memory. It’s the first thing I think of as I wake, and the last thing I see before I sleep.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. No wonder the man seemed so tortured! “My deepest condolences, Stellan. I had no idea.”
He shook his head. “Your sympathy is wasted. I deserve my hateful existence. I saw how my father and uncle were, but I did nothing to stop them. I saw again and again how the Black Arts perverted their minds. Not all of us think only of evil gains, you see. Only my mother and I…” His voice wavered. “I should have saved her.”
Clarysa rushed forward and wrapped her arms about him. He clearly needed support more than anything in the world.
“Hush. You don’t have to speak of it anymore. Forget I said anything.”
“No,” came the strained answer. “I should remember. I should increase my pain and suffering, for if anyone deserves such a fate, it’s this loathsome man you see here before you.”
“I don’t believe that and neither should you.”
He disengaged from her embrace. “I know you mean well, but hear the truth, Clarysa. Remember your history lessons? The ‘normal’ people of Aldebaran were glad to be rid of us. They massively outnumbered those with magickal talent and took full advantage. In fact, their plan succeeded far better than they knew. When they exiled my ancestors long ago, few survived the journey. Fewer still survived the harsh environment of
