Little Saint Bride [Death and the Maiden, #1]

Chapter Eleven: A Mask of Half-Baked Lies

MEDIA is "Hades and Persephone" by Abigail Larson. Isn't it cute? Although, he looks a little bit like Snape...

I try not to squeak as Hadrian descends the steps into the basement.

Why do you have to pick the cliche location to sleep, dear husband? Why must you scare young virgin maidens on their wedding night by bringing them in the lowest part of the Underworld possible?

Inconspicuously, I sneak a glance at Hadrian the Handsome's face. He's not looking at me, but there's a smirk flickering along his jaw that I'm certain is gloating at my mesmerized state. His chin is so chiseled it's like a goddamn chess board; all lines and carvings. I just want to run all my pieces across him.

And therefore, I have my answer as to why he resides in the basement of a perfectly roomy castle.

He's an ass.

I snort and roll my eyes. Hadrian's answer was to tilt his cunning lips towards me, and I return his bemused look with a glare.

'Put me down,' I demand.

Another smirk. 'Pregnant women shouldn't put themselves under so much strain.'

Another glare. 'Walking isn't strenuous. Dealing with idiots is.'

Hadrian chuckles. 'Dear me, I should have carried you from that room sooner, my little wife.'

'I'm not your little wife,' I say through my teeth, hissing out each word. 

'You are shorter than me, little wife,' Hadrian beams, and I see he's reached the bottom of the steps. His grip, however, does not loosen; if anything, his arms tighten around me as he kicks open the door.

And his chambers filter in slowly. I blink, taken aback.

Waterfall.

His room overlooks the waterfall. I begin to laugh, feeling my sides hurt and yet no humorous joke was told. I laugh because of the terror welling inside my chest, threatening to make me scream and cry.

Hadrian looks at me, alarmed. 'What's so funny?'

I continue to laugh as my eyes water. He narrows his eyelids, peering at me. 

'What's scaring you? The waterfall?'

As he mentions it, I stop laughing, and go mute. 

Roughly, Hadrian strides towards his bed; a large, four poster in the other corner of the room, covered in plush velvet blue and dark mahogany. He places me down upon it, not even looking at me.

'If the waterfall scares you, you won't stand a chance at being my little saint bride, Nerissa,' he says, facing away from me. He sits at the foot of the bed, staring at the rest of the room.

Bookcases line the walls, along with strange tables filled with vials and bubbling liquids. Markings and runes clutter shelves, and there's chalk markings along the floor. If I had to guess, Death dabbled in magic-- and not the good kind.

In fact, my eyes spot the locked cupboards, the skulls on display, the painting of Cerberus upon the wall, and I worry that I can't overpower this man. He's direct, and he knows that I'm here for something other than to become a devoted wife.

'I'm not little,' I say automatically, my mouth forming the words before I could filter them. My sass was really going to get me into trouble this time; unable to keep my cover and unable to retrieve it!

'We're all little compared to the waterfall,' he says vaguely, and I don't know what he means. He's staring out at the water, entranced.

'I just want to be your wife,' I repeat, a pleading note forming at the edge of my voice.