Page 1

DULCE

Shadows danced like joyous skeletons beneath the silvery glow of the full moon.

The garden, dressed in obsidian, ivory, violet, and cerulean floral blooms, swayed in the night as the carriage drew closer to its destination.

Wreaths of sage and honeysuckle along the entrance gate greeted the newlyweds, and Dulce sighed in merry contentment.

Home . No longer was she the manor’s sole heir—that honor would now be shared with the handsome man seated beside her.

Cornelius William Hale. Known before today as the most eligible bachelor in every village of Moonglade.

Their conversation had been sparse after the long day of lavish wedding festivities in the town common house.

Cornelius had insisted on inviting everyone in Moonglade, near and far, but hours of feasting, dancing, and greeting many she didn’t know, especially in a dress weighing nearly as much as herself, left Dulce’s feet aching, no matter how showered with flattery she’d been.

Dulce peeked at Cornelius out of the corner of her eye, his smile gentle while he held her hand in his.

She should feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

Not only was her husband handsome, but he was also kind and generous.

Cornelius had pursued her with charm and grace, his humor winning her friendship.

And although Dulce had to admit to herself that she didn’t love him yet , she had accepted his marriage proposal.

To turn down a proposal from such a perfect man would have broken her parents’ hearts, if they had still been living.

Besides, it must not be denied that Cornelius was clearly the one Vesta had meant when she’d read Dulce’s fortune in the tea leaves last spring. There could be no doubt.

“The man who will own your heart entirely, and you his,” her housemaid had said, her eyes glazed over in that way they got, “is the one who will lift you from a most unfortunate and muddy circumstance.”

Hadn’t Cornelius been the one who’d helped her up when she’d tripped in the garden only days later? Anyone would deduce the same. It had to be true, because look, here she sat. His bride. Owning her heart entirely would just have to come later.

Cornelius’s thumb tenderly caressed Dulce’s hand, pulling her from her thoughts and reminding her that they had nearly reached the manor.

Oh dear. Dulce’s heart pounded with sudden panic. The wedding night !

The moment she knew completed every union would be approaching rather soon.

Too soon. Dulce’s hand grew clammy within Cornelius’s as she thought about what would surely be expected of her within the next hour.

They’d hardly kissed a handful of times, chaste kisses that were lovely but admittedly had failed to make her weak in the knees like the heroines in the poems she loved.

Even though most of those ended in beautiful gloom.

The carriage jostled toward the manor’s ancient bristlecone pine, its gnarled trunk like so many open arms, and Dulce smiled, her worries fading at its familiar sight, the memories it conjured.

Her mother had loved this tree and used to take Dulce to sit beneath it almost every day while she read her tales of brilliant alchemists.

Vesta would stand watch, scolding Dulce to be careful as she climbed within its smooth branches, demanding she get down before she broke her neck.

“You’re being rather quiet, darling,” Cornelius whispered in her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “Are you not happy?”

Dulce smiled as she turned to meet her husband’s vivid hazel eyes. “I am. I’m only tired from so much celebrating—that’s all.”

He took his hand from hers and draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close against him. “It was a beautiful celebration though, wasn’t it? I especially loved the glazed venison. And the orchestra was moving. ”

His words didn’t quite calm her nerves, but Dulce smiled again and nodded all the same.

Giving her hand one last squeeze, Cornelius adjusted his cravat, a smile in his voice. “We’re home.”

Dulce peered from the carriage window as the horses halted before the manor that had been in her family for generations.

Deep green ivy crawled across its entranceway, tiny sapphire flowers blossoming within the vine’s depths.

Metallic dragonflies, blue and green moths, and copper butterflies flew throughout the garden.

Several of the bushes were cloaked in shining gossamer where spiders had spun their silk.

Ever since she was a girl, Dulce had instructed the servants never to disrupt the arachnids’ homes.

The carriage door opened to reveal Sylvan, his gray hair disheveled from driving them home, and he bowed with a wide gap-toothed grin. He’d apparently waited for her wedding day since the day she was born and couldn’t stop smiling and congratulating her.

“Your father and mother would be so proud, Miss Dulce,” he’d said, his eyes full of jovial tears just before the wedding ceremony. “I just know they would.”

Dulce had warned him not to drink too much plum brandy, and he’d only laughed.

Cornelius stepped in front of Sylvan, dismissing the servant for the night, then held his hand out for Dulce. A gust of cool fall air blew past her, and she shivered, gooseflesh sprinkling across her arms.

“Thank you, Sylvie,” Dulce said. “I do believe Mr. Hale and I have all we need for the next two days.”

Generally, Sylvan and his grandson Lucas remained at the manor along with Vesta, but Cornelius had kindly suggested giving the entire staff a few nights away at the town’s best inn—the Royal Lion—while he and Dulce learned to be husband and wife.

The servants certainly deserved some time to themselves after the hard work they’d put in over the years, especially after Dulce’s parents passed.

Sylvan hadn’t liked the idea though, taking it more as a critique of his professionalism, which Dulce found endearing, though ridiculous. There was no better housekeeper in the world.

“If you need anything”—Sylvan wrung his hands—“we’ll happily return and be at your service immediately,” he promised.

“All right, I’ll remember that.” She grinned, knowing there would be no reason to take a horse into town and ruin their holiday.

As the carriage pulled away, Cornelius scooped Dulce into his arms, and she gasped, her dress billowing in the wind. “Mrs. Hale,” he said, carrying her to the door. “Now it’s just the two of us.”

“Yes.” She laughed softly. “At last.” No more room full of strangers or her parents’ old friends.

Cornelius carried her over the threshold, a proper bride and groom, and Dulce couldn’t hide her smile.

Two lanterns illuminated the stone foyer with its many plants and ornate rugs.

Once on her feet, Dulce lit the candles around the sitting room until her beautiful groom was bathed in a warm orange glow.

Her gaze meeting his, Dulce’s heart thrummed against her ribcage, singing its own sweet lullaby.

Was this the moment she would fall in love with him?

Should she grasp her husband by the hand and lead him to their bedroom where they could mold their bodies together beneath the silken sheets?

Perhaps now would be the perfect time to loosen the buttons of her wedding gown, to cross the room and unfasten his trousers.

Dulce blushed at the thought.

Surely it would be more proper to converse first? Her tongue suddenly felt heavy in her mouth, no words escaping her. Dulce trusted her own judgment—she hadn’t made a mistake in marrying him. She would be a good wife to Cornelius, and she would fall in love with him. Hopefully very soon.

“How about I brew us each a nice hot cup of lavender tea?” he asked with a smile. “Then we can … talk.”

His smile really was lovely. Dulce inwardly sighed and pressed a hand against his firm chest. Really, Cornelius was the most considerate of husbands, recognizing her nerves and being happy to soothe them.

“That sounds perfect,” she said. “Thank you.”

No matter what ailed her, lavender tea was akin to a cure.

“You just relax, darling.” He guided her into the nearest chaise lounge and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. “That’s better. I’ll return shortly.”

Dulce released a long, relieved breath yet couldn’t relax.

She brushed her palms down her ivory gown, the poofy sleeves tickling her skin, as she stood and sat at her father’s piano.

He’d taught her how to play when she’d begged him at four years old after hearing one of the songs he’d created.

She still loved the piano as much as reading dark and dreary poems. Pressing her fingers to the ivory keys, she played a gentle, moody melody, and thoughts of the first time she’d met Cornelius in the market at Vesta’s palm reading booth drifted through her mind.

Every Saturday, Dulce would visit the market to choose fresh fruit, look at the latest dresses through the shop windows, and stop by Vesta’s fortune-telling booth to keep her company. Vesta had always been more like family, treating Dulce like her own daughter.

Dulce enjoyed the reactions of Vesta’s eager customers.

It never failed that someone would come along praying Vesta could provide them with a romantic match.

One spring morning, a tall, alluring man approached the booth—Cornelius.

Dulce had been wearing a simple black dress that day, and she’d looked easy to mistake for a commoner sitting behind Vesta’s booth.

Holding a recently repaired horse bridle, she had recognized him at once from one of the summer solstice parties.

“Oh.” He leaned on the table, ignoring the cards strewn across it. “I hadn’t realized the market palm reader was so breathtaking. This meeting must be good fortune.” Cornelius gave her a lopsided smile, his rich hazel eyes sparkling.

Dulce arched a brow. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls in the market.”

“No.” He straightened, answering in all seriousness, “Only this one.”

Dulce halted her movements on the piano keys and thought about how gentlemanly Cornelius had been toward her during their courtship.

He would arrive nearly every day just in time for afternoon tea, treating the staff as wonderfully and courteously as her father always had, which was another reason she’d accepted his proposal.

She pushed up from the piano and drew the lacy window curtains aside, peering out the glass into the garden.

A fox burst from a hydrangea bush in the moonlight and darted past the conservatory, its jolly yips reaching her.

An owl hooted in an alder tree, and she caught the rustle of its snowy wings.

Turning from the window, she studied the sitting room.

Once her parents succumbed to illnesses alchemy couldn’t even cure, Dulce had left nothing changed in the house, keeping everything the same, as her mother had it, holding onto their memory for as long as she could.

Until about a year ago, when she began, one by one, to change out some of the household items at last. But never her mother’s vases or paintings.

Marigolds and daisies, her mother’s favorite, always filled the vases, removed only when the flowers withered, replaced by fresh blooms.

A throat cleared behind her, and Dulce whirled to find Cornelius holding out a cup of tea toward her. She scolded herself for nearly forgetting his presence, so lost in memories as she was.

“Thank you,” Dulce breathed, grasping the porcelain handle. She blew against the tea’s aromatic steam while Cornelius took a long, slow sip from his cup.

“Drink up.” Cornelius smiled. “A man could grow impatient to take his bride back into his arms. Especially the most exquisite bride to ever live.”

Heat crept into Dulce’s cheeks, and she pressed her lips to the cup, drinking down the delicate lavender tea.

Its floral flavor didn’t linger in her mouth as usual. Instead, a slight bitterness, a flavor at once alarming and familiar, intensified.

Dulce tried to gasp, but her throat tightened, and her tongue became numb, swelling, the flesh filling her mouth until she choked.

The room swayed, and she reached out for her husband, yet Cornelius’s dreamy smile only grew, turning insidious as he stood watching her. Making no move to help her.

“That’s a good girl,” he purred.

Her husband had done this. She’d married him, and he was killing her. Murdered on her wedding day.

“You poisoned me,” Dulce managed, choking, her legs weakening, her feet sliding against the carpet. Pain filled her insides, twisting.

Mother’s favorite silk carpet , she thought stupidly when its amber and lapis-colored fibers loomed closer.

Cornelius didn’t move to catch Dulce as she collapsed, her mouth dry, her lungs screaming for air.

She attempted in vain to pull herself up on shaking hands, only to meet Cornelius’s indifferent stare. He almost looked intrigued by what he’d done, tilting his head to the side like a curious raven while she struggled.

“Indeed, I did poison you,” he cooed. “Death is a wonderfully convenient part of life, isn’t it? Rest assured—I will grieve yours more spectacularly than any groom before me.”

“Why…?” Dulce slurred.

“Why?” He crouched just out of her reach, smiling with apparent delight.

“My fortune,” she rasped. “It was yours…”

“Money? You think this is about money?” Cornelius chuckled. “How vulgar, my dear bride.”

“You filthy bastard,” she ground out.

He chuckled and rose, placing one shining shoe on her back and pressing until she fell to the floor .

Blackness cloaked Dulce’s vision then, buzzing filling her ears … until there was nothing.