Page 14 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 14

G retta stopped and turned, and Ansel hesitated. He knew how she felt about him. The logical move would be to let her go. Unfortunately, logic had long-since abandoned him where she was concerned.

“I want to show you something,” he said.

“What?”

“I’ll take you to it.”

“Where?”

“Come with me, and I’ll show you.” He was pushing his luck, but her earlier comment sat poorly. While he may have misinterpreted their past friendship, he didn’t believe she hadn’t trusted him. Some part of him needed her to trust him just a little now. A selfish part simply wanted to be with her longer.

“I’m not in the mood for games,” she said. “Tell me what it is, or I’m going back to the room.”

“It will help you.”

“Help me what ?”

“Escape.” He’d bring her to Antrelle when the storm passed, but in the meantime, he’d rest easier if she knew the way herself.

Her expression fluctuated between doubt and curiosity. He held his tongue while she decided.

“Fine,” she said.

Ansel checked a flare of gratification. He’d claimed a victory, but a small one.

He collected a lantern and led her out the kitchen’s side door. They followed a corridor that smelled like ancient mildew and rotting leaves until they reached a winding staircase.

“It’s up here,” he said.

She eyed the stairs skeptically and indicated he proceed.

Their shadows flickered on curved stone as they ascended. High, narrow windows spat rain on them, and wind howled overhead. Each time Ansel glanced back at her, she looked away.

He’d give anything to know what she was thinking. It likely involved pushing him down the stairs or gutting him with the scissors in her pocket. He’d happily offer pointers on center of gravity and the location of vital organs if it meant she’d talk to him more.

When he’d offered her breakfast, he hadn’t expected a conversation. The things she’d told him only left him with more questions. What had the rest of her childhood been like? Was she happy? How did she become a professional witch hunter?

The last one troubled him. He believed Gretta could handle herself in the field she’d chosen, but he didn’t relish the idea of her alone in other cottages with other witches. Though, really, it seemed the witches ought to be wary of her.

Ansel thought of Isobel and paused a step. He needed to pay her a visit as soon as possible.

When they reached the top, Ansel left the lantern inside the doorway. He hunched against the wind and led Gretta onto the platform ringing the tower.

Its crumbling brick walls had wide cutouts facing every direction, letting in wind and mist, but the plank roof shielded them from the worst of the weather. The platform perched above the glowing tree line, offering an expansive view of the swamp and beyond.

Gretta came up behind him. Ignoring the rain, she rushed to a cutout and leaned over the ledge. Ansel clenched his hands to keep from pulling her back by the waist.

“Careful.” He came up beside her. “It’s unstable.”

“What is this?”

“The watchtower. Guards once used it to make sure no one came in or out.”

“How is this supposed to help me escape?”

With the lightest touch on her elbow, he steered her around the platform and pointed. “Do you see the spire on the horizon? That’s Antrelle City Hall, northeast of here.” He pulled the pink vial from his pocket and offered it to her. “A pinch of your dust will get you there in minutes.”

Gretta studied the vial with a frown. She snatched it from his hand and tucked it away. “Already reconsidering your promise to bring me back?”

I could, his villainous side whispered. It would be easy enough to lock her up again and keep her forever…

“No,” he said. “But it’s insurance in case you don’t believe me.”

She continued studying the horizon. Droplets speckled her lashes, and a long strand of hair lay plastered to her cheek. She dragged it off her lips with a pinkie.

She used to wear her hair short. It had been fine as bird feathers, and she’d wake up with it in little spikes. He’d smooth them, calling her his pigeon until she stuck her tongue out at him.

What would it feel like now? Cool and silky or heavy like velvet? When it was dry, it had a bit of wave, suggesting a texture more like—

He needed to stop thinking about her fucking hair. He needed to stop thinking about her altogether. Obsessing over their past and the woman she’d grown into was as pathetic as sleeping outside her door. Whatever they used to be, he was dead to her now. She’d said it herself.

Thunder cracked, and Gretta jumped. Shrinking from the ledge, she wrapped her arms around herself.

He was truly pitiful because he wanted it to be his arms around her. He wanted to be the one protecting her from everything that frightened her. Which was stupid, and pointless, and why couldn’t he shut his goddamn brain off ?

“Do you want to go back in?” he asked, voice deep.

“I like being outside.”

“You seem nervous.”

“I’m not.” She flinched when lightning struck nearby.

Ansel stared at her profile, his body thrumming with the need to do something for her. But what? What could he possibly do that wouldn’t make everything worse?

He dug his fingers into the ledge until grit fell to the canopy below.

He’d thought he could handle being near her—he couldn’t. Now it was too late. He was going to dig his grave deeper.

“Gretta.”

She looked at him and took a startled step back.

“I need to say something,” he continued. “Will you let me?”

“If it’s another apology, I don’t—”

“Please. Let me get this out once. One time, then I’ll never bother you with it again.”

The rain picked up, pelting the roof.

“Is that a promise?” she asked.

“Yes.”

After a moment, she sighed and leaned on the tower’s outer wall. “Alright. Get it over with.”

Ansel’s eyes begged her to look at him. She inspected her ponytail, pulling out a loose hair.

“I’m a piece of shit.”

She glanced up and worked to get the clinging hair off her fingers.

“I think I have been for a while,” he said. “It’s not that I enjoy it, I just stopped caring. After I lost you…I don’t know. It was like nothing else mattered.”

She shifted against the turret, crossing her arms.

“That’s not an excuse,” he said quickly. “And I’m obviously not blaming you. But I want you to know that when I think about what I did to you… Gretta, I can barely live with myself. I don’t know how I’m going to go on waking up to this, knowing I’m the thing you most needed protection from. If you asked me to throw myself off this tower, I would, and I’d do it with a fucking smile .”

Brow raised, she finally met his eyes. “Is that it? Are you done?”

“ Please ,” he said, rushing to her, dropping to his knees. “I’m not asking for forgiveness, just tell me you believe I’m sorry.”

“I do believe that. The problem is, you’re sorry for the wrong thing.” When he tilted his head, she scoffed. “You’re sorry for what you did to your precious Gretta, when you should have been sorry before you had any idea who I was.”

He had no defense, so he merely dropped his head.

Lightning flashed, illuminating them. The tower went quiet except for the rain, and he heard her sigh.

In a low, tired voice, she said, “I can’t believe it turned out like this. How the hell did you end up as the villain in our story?”

Groaning, he pressed his forehead to her stomach, and her palms settled on his neck. He didn’t think she realized she was doing it, but his heart pounded harder.

“How, Ansel?”

“I don’t know,” he said brokenly. “Shitty childhood, shitty blood? Shitty decisions, I suppose. Does it matter?”

She ripped her hands off his neck. “I guess it doesn’t. Not for much longer.”

It shredded him that she was right. Soon, she’d leave and forget him all over again.

Through all this, a single question plagued him. The answer might kill him, but even that would be better than wondering.

“I need to know something.” Ansel lifted his head, ready to hand her the proverbial ax to chop it off. “What’s the real reason you didn’t say goodbye?”

Gretta couldn’t speak.

She wanted to. He was on his knees, offering the perfect weapon to land the killing blow. A dozen lies came to mind, and she saw in his haggard face that any of them would destroy him. All she had to do was choose one.

Instead, the truth spilled out.

“My parents,” she whispered. “They didn’t like how we were together.” Disgusted with herself, she shut her mouth.

Why couldn’t she do it? His apology didn’t change anything. It certainly didn’t erase what he’d done.

He blinked at her. “Your parents kept you from me?”

He’d be waiting on his knees forever if he thought she was going to elaborate. In fact, she was done dealing with any of it. Emotional reactions only added weight to the situation, and she’d already decided she was finished with them.

“Get up,” she said.

He rose. His eyes had softened with something too close to relief for Gretta’s taste.

“I think we need to set a couple things straight,” she said. “First, our shit from the past has nothing to do with anything now. We were kids in a bad situation, end of story. We’re going to get through the next few days as strangers because that’s what we are. Understand?”

He nodded.

“Second, I don’t want any more melodramatic apologies. I let you get it off your chest, and I’m trusting you to honor your promise to drop it. Can I trust you?”

“You can trust me.”

“Fantastic. I’m going back in.” Shivering, she started down the stairs. Ansel followed, holding the lantern aloft. When they reached the kitchen, she left him there without another word.