Dreams of the Necromancer (Memento Mori 2)

That made him smile, if briefly, before he fell victim to his embarrassment again, and he looked off into the restaurant. It was full of couples and groups of friends of all ages. His gaze landed on an older couple by the wall. “You and I are bound together in a way that would make such things impossible.”

“And you still won’t tell me exactly how?”

“No.”

“Great. So, you’re in love with me, extremely sexually pent up, and I have no idea what to do with you because I can’t remember jack shit. Glad we’ve established the playing field.” She tore off another piece of bread and ate it.

“I am not extremely—” When she shot him a look, he sighed again. “Yes, fine. Very well.” When she laughed, he joined in. After it faded, his expression was softer. “I have never taken advantage of you, Marguerite. That much I can vow to you.”

She nodded. “I believe you. And thanks for that. I know I’ve spent my entire life being vulnerable and at the mercy of others. I just wish—” She broke off, not knowing how to finish her sentence. Or if she should.

“Go on.” He reached over the table and placed his hand atop hers. Damn it, it felt so nice. “Tell me what you wish.”

“I want control. And I don’t mean it in a kinky way. Okay, maybe, sure, that might be fun. I bet you’d look damn good all tied up.”

There was that red stain on his neck again. He ducked his head and let out a pained sound.

Chuckling, she grinned and hooked her thumb over the web of his hand. “Too easy, Gideon.”

He muttered something under his breath but twined his fingers through hers. “Go on.”

“About tying you up?”

There was that pained noise again.

“Fish in a barrel.” She laughed and decided to ease off. “I don’t feel like I’ve ever had real agency in my own life. That I’ve just been along for the ride. Either literally, because I’ve been in an institution, or because I don’t remember enough of my life that I can make decisions. I’m sick of it. I need it to stop, one way or another.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

She turned their hands over, studying his palm. She played idly with his fingers. “How old are you, Gideon?”

“I was born in the year 611 in the city of Constantinople. That makes me, oh, fourteen hundred and ten years old?” He squinted an eye as he clearly did the math in his head. “I think that’s right.”

“And how old am I?”

“You were born in 1541. I don’t know the month or the day, forgive me.”

“I’m four hundred and eighty years old?” She blinked. She hadn’t really ever thought about it.

“Four hundred and seventy-nine, actually.” He smirked. “But don’t worry, you don’t look a day over twenty.”

“Was that how old I was when I died the first time?” She took a breath. “When I jumped from the castle walls?”

“Give or take.” He nodded, the mirth and amusement gone from his face. Instead, it was replaced with an emptiness and a sorrow that seemed to hollow him out before her eyes. He was no longer a man, but a cemetery vault. Cold and lonely, filled with nothing but grief. He went to speak but seemed unable to think of the words.

I was running from you. I chose to jump to my death instead of facing whatever had just happened between us. She shook her head and squeezed his hand. “No. That’s not what tonight’s about.”

“Are you so certain?”

“I promised I wouldn’t judge you until I had the whole picture in front of me. I’m a woman of my word. I think, anyway.” She flashed him a lopsided smile. “You tell me. Am I? You’re the expert on Marguerite Valard.”

That made him chuckle, and some of the void in his expression faded. “You are indeed a woman of your word. Once you put words to an idea, you will stop at nothing to see it done. You are a bit of a force of nature in your own right, princess. You say you wish for control? I think the only reason this world hasn’t been placed under the heel of your boot is because you’ve been denied it thus far.”

That made her smile. “You’re just all excited about the idea of getting tied up now and are flattering me to see if that’s how this night’ll end.” It was so easy to tease him, she almost felt bad about it. Almost.

He put his head in his other hand, his eyes shut. “Marguerite. Take pity on me, will you?”

“That’s pretty much the point of tying you up and then licking every—”