Page 41 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

He’d knelt before Queen Schon, heart racing as her cold gaze had swept over him.

The marble floor had bitten into his knees, but he’d barely noticed the pain.

Her voice, soft as silk but sharp as a blade, had laid out his task with precise clarity.

Each word had filled that hollow space inside him with purpose, with meaning.

“You alone can save us,” she’d said, and for the first time in his life, Red had felt chosen .

Not cast aside, not overlooked, not whispered about behind raised hands.

She’d selected him for this vital mission.

Him! The orphan boy with the strange eyes who’d spent his childhood dreaming of belonging .

Now, with Wim’s warmth still lingering on his skin, Red closed his fingers around the arrow’s shaft.

This was his chance—perhaps his only chance—to prove his worth.

To show everyone who’d ever doubted him that he could be more than just the foundling left on the palace steps.

If he succeeded, children wouldn’t go to bed hungry anymore.

The fields would flourish again. His kingdom would thrive.

The memory of the Queen’s smile—that rare thing she’d bestowed upon him—burned in his mind. For the first time, she’d looked at him as if he mattered, as if he was worth something.

Red traced the arrow’s delicate engravings with his thumb. Everything he’d ever wanted lay within his grasp: recognition, purpose, belonging. All he had to do was complete his mission.

But…

Oh, if only it didn’t mean losing Wim in the process!

Red stared at the mountain of a man in front of him, Wim’s form blurring as his eyes leaked with furious tears.

Wim had crashed into his life like a storm, destroying every careful wall Red had built around himself.

Where Red had expected a monster, he’d found gentleness.

Where he’d feared mockery, he’d discovered unwavering understanding.

Wim’s rough hands had shown him more kindness than any silk-clad noble.

His deep laugh had filled empty spaces Red hadn’t known existed within himself.

Even now, trapped between duty and desire, Red couldn’t deny how Wim made him feel whole.

Complete. As if all his jagged edges finally had somewhere to fit.

The wolf had seen past his different-coloured eyes, past his sharp tongue and prickly defences, straight through to the lonely soul beneath.

And instead of recoiling, Wim had reached out and pulled him closer, wrapping Red in warmth and acceptance he’d never known he craved.

Oh, why had fate done this to him?

It would have been so much easier if they’d never met .

Wim slumped against the tree, his broad shoulders curved inward. His eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the trees, glazed with a sheen that made Red’s chest ache.

“I sort of wish I still hadn’t told you the truth, as much as the lie was burdening me.” Pain threaded through each of Wim’s quiet words. “These past days… they’ve been…” He trailed off, dragging a hand down his face.

Red’s fingers itched to reach out, to smooth away the creases of pain etched across Wim’s features. Instead, he wrapped his arms around himself, clutching his red cloak closer.

“They’ve been perfect,” Red finished for him. The words escaped before he could stop them, honest and raw. “Well, except for the bandits. And the slavers. And that time you tried to eat me.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Wim’s face. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Not bloody likely.” Red bumped his shoulder against Wim’s, drawing another weak smile from him.

Silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken words. To distract himself from the agonising fist squeezing his heart, Red traced his fingers over the golden arrow’s shaft, feeling its smoothness beneath his touch. He’d never detected magical energy thrumming through it, but what did he know?

This was it then. The moment they parted. Maybe if Red begged Wim, the wolf would give him a half day’s head start.

“What if…” Wim cleared his throat. “What if we just… pretend? For now?”

Red looked up, catching the desperate hope in Wim’s eyes.

“Pretend?”

“That we’re still just two travellers, sharing a path.” Wim’s hand found Red’s, his thumb brushing over Red’s knuckles. “Until we reach Old Oma’s cottage. Then… then we’ll deal with what must be done. ”

Red should say no. Should walk away now, before their inevitable clash which would tear him apart. But the thought of continuing alone, of losing these potential precious moments with Wim…

“Alright.” Red squeezed Wim’s hand. “Until we reach the cottage.”

“And then?”

Red met Wim’s gaze. “And then… we’ll see what happens.”

It wasn’t a solution. Not really. But what was the harm in a little make believe? A few more memories to be made, to be stored in the deep crevices of Red’s mind, to be brought out once he was back at the palace, alone in the attic once more.

Red knew better than most how dangerous hope could be. Yet as Wim’s fingers traced patterns on his skin, he decided that perhaps some poisons were worth tasting.