Page 10 of Down from the Tower

“And you think perhaps they will see me this time?” he asks, the deep baritone of his voice washing over me. “Since so many people could see me before?”

I swallow. “Trick of the light. And up here, trick of the dark.”

“Don’t you mean trick of the shadows?”

My back stiffens when he lifts his hand, and that inky blackness dances across his fingertips. It moves almost like flames, fluidly moving from one long finger to the next and back again, smooth like silk and twice as quick as fire.

It’s jarring. What am I supposed to make of a shadow man?

He licks his lips at my silence, and it’s only slightly reassuring to see that the muscle is pink like a regular tongue and not black like his shadows, hair and his mood. “You can scream again if you would like. But no one’s going to think I’m playing games.”

I lift my chin again, but the confidence I want to feel isn’t there. Waking up to a strange man in my room is frightening enough, but this one talks in riddles and bends the darkness to his whim. There’s nothing regular about him.

I suppose there’s nothing regular about me either, but I don’t consider myself dangerous. He’s already shown he’s different once, down in the parlor. Seeing him here in my room is disturbing, especially if the guards can’t see him.

Despite the fear, questions bubble up in my head. He hasn’t threatened or hurt me yet, so maybe if I ask the right question he’ll find me amusing like Midas’ friends and let me go.

It would help if I hadn’t stabbed him but there’s no taking that back now.

I swallow around the nerves. Greeting strangers isn’t a strong suit of mine. As the princess, I only ever speak with guests that the King and Queen deem worthy. I can’t say I have any friends except for Cheshie, and I can’t admit to anyone that my most loyal companion is my cat.

At least not anyone I’m trying to intimidate.

“Are you here for my magic then?” I ask, proud of myself when my voice doesn’t shake. “The gift? You’re wanting some magic for yourself then? Or life, since you claim to be Death.”

He chuckles. “I have magic of my own, Princess, if you haven’t noticed.”

He sweeps his hand out, and the shadows respond instantly. They crawl up to me, caressing my arms and legs, some of the little devils slipping beneath my skirt and slipping up my legs.

I shudder, alarmed that it’s more than pure horror I’m feeling. The last thing I need to do is give this guy any indication that I like having him here. I kick and step backwards, flailing my arms and legs, and he watches for a moment before dragging the shadows back, a few of them climbing high enough up my skirt to make my pussy pulse.

I’m not going to think about why. I just stabbed him.

“Be that as it may, you’re here in my rooms, uninvited.” I make sure to make my point, putting emphasis on his place here in my tower. I’m proud when my voice doesn’t shake, giving nothing away about how his shadowy touch just affected me. “You’re avoiding the King. If there’s something you want you’ll need to speak with him. Threatening me will make no difference. ”

“Midas,” he asks, tilting his head. “Yes, that is technically true. I’ll see the King in due time. When I’m ready for him to see me. There’s no reason for me to threaten the princess right now.”

My eyes narrow. “You speak in riddles.”

He chuckles, brushing some of his deep, thick black hair from his eyes. It still blends with that cloak, which I’m starting to think might be made entirely of shadows. Watching him is bizarre; every time I think I’ve found a spot on him to focus on, it shifts, the shadows within moving and causing my eyes to jump around. “There’s truth in my words. Perhaps one day you’ll understand them.”

“Speak plainly and I will.”

“Well, you are a bit headstrong, aren’t you, Princess?”

I scowl. Headstrong is one of the colorful descriptions Dorah likes to use when there’s company, pretending that my outbursts and my displeasure for seeing guests is just silly. But Dorah turns up her nose when Midas takes matters into his own hands with me, and even if he won’t risk striking me with the golden hand, he’s more than capable of making his point with the other.

“Go about your business, shadow man,” I growl, and he chuckles at my nickname. “I won’t be getting in trouble for you.”

“As I’ve said, no one else can see me. You’ve seen proof of it twice now.”

Unfortunately, he’s right. I shift back on my feet, looking down at the brush shard that’s now clean, signs of inky blackness completely gone.

He mentioned death?

“What are you,” I whisper, staring at him. His shirt doesn’t appear damp, not that I think black blood is really going to show up on black clothing in the dark, and I study the spot I stabbed for several moments. I can’t see a wound at all. Even when I shift a little closer and he twists into the nighttime glow of my window, I see nothing.

“I’m many things,” he says, and we’re back to the riddles. “Forsaken. Damned. Take your pick.”

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