Page 19

“Tricky creature,” he said, and this time, his fingers pressed against my throat, his lips grazing across my lower jaw to my ear where he whispered, “Seven.”

As he pulled back, his fiery eyes met mine. He loosened his hold on my neck, and the blood that had built in my head rushed away. I was dizzy and far more desperate than before to feel him inside me.

“Are you lying?” I asked, breathless.

Seven brothers. Seven years. Seven letters.

“I cannot lie,” he said, and I knew that was true.

I started at him and then his mouth.

“I am waiting, vicious creature.”

I stared at him a moment longer, searching his endless eyes, tracing his high cheekbones and arrogant smile. I leaned up and I could feel his breath on my lips. I wanted to taste his mouth, suck his tongue like a sweet sugarplum. I wanted him to writhe against me.

“Casamir.”

I hadn’t had any idea how his name would sound when it escaped my mouth, but it was so wrapped up in my desperate emotions, it sounded like a plea. There was a part of me that hoped it would work like a spell and break his control.

But he did not shiver or swallow. He did not press into me or tighten his hold.

He did lean in, and he moved his hand from my neck before pressing his lips to my throat, speaking in a hushed tone.

“Come when I call, sweet one.”

Then he vanished.

I remained against the vanity, mind scrambling to make sense of what had just transpired between me and the elven prince. My heart was still racing, and I could feel his phantom hands and the vines against my skin.

I should not have been surprised by his power. He had used it on my ax when thorns had sprouted from the handle and later when he tripped me as I fled into the enchanted night. But was that the power that made him a beast? Or was it something else entirely?

My gaze shifted as I caught movement from the window. The pixies I had chased from my room were gathered there, faces pressed against the glass.

I scowled and marched toward them, snatching the pillow from the floor I had thrown earlier and launching it at them. I knew it would do no good—they were on the other side of the glass—but it felt good to throw something.

The pillow landed with a soft plop and fell to the floor. The pixies giggled and flew off. I wondered what they had seen and who they might tell. Though it was more likely they just perceived me as another stupid mortal who had fallen for a pretty elven prince.

My gaze fell and I noticed that the broken window that had allowed the pixies entrance to my room was now mended, and while I’d have liked to feel a sense of gratitude toward the prince for the fix, dread filled my stomach like a bitter poison.

Elves did no favors.

What more did I owe the Prince of Thorns?

I left my room with some hesitation, uncertain of what I would find on the other side. I wanted to bring my ax, but the handle was still covered in thorns and impossible to hold. Even without a weapon, I did not wish to remain indoors. It was not in my nature, even when I resided in my cottage on the edge of the forest, even hating that whatever lurked between her branches watched. Worse, what would watch me within the beast’s—Casamir’s—realm?

My door opened to a stone hallway, the walls of which were covered in vines that flowered as I walked by.

Charming, I thought, except that the vines had thorns and they were red-tipped, as if each had pricked a person and drawn blood, and the flowers, which were white and pink and bell-shaped, were poisonous to the touch—a virtual death trap.

I followed them, careful not to knock into the wall. The hallway curved to the right, and I found myself on a portico lined with stone columns, wrapped in the same flowering vines. Beyond was a sprawling garden full of greenery and colorful flora. All around, rising jagged and sharp, were the tall and spindly spires of Casamir’s castle, caging me like the bars of a cell.

Above, the sky was blue but heavy with white clouds that were so low, I felt as though I could reach and touch them.

It was truly beautiful here.

It had been a long while since I had looked upon anything and thought it was beautiful. It was a mark of how my life had changed, not because of Casamir or the five elven princes or even the toad in the well—all of that had been inevitable. My life had changed because I had come to know death at a young age, first when he took my mother and then when he took my sister and eventually my father.

Sometimes I would yell at him in the middle of the night.