Page 27

DULCE

A kiss that could light up the darkest skies. A kiss that could ignite a million stars.

That was the only way to describe kissing Reed.

Dulce kissed him as though this were her last chance, which it very well could be if she didn’t get the witch to break her ghastly spell.

As the lake’s water swished against her, her breasts pressed against the hard planes of Reed’s chest, her chemise and his drawers the only layers of clothing between them.

She threaded her fingers in his ivory hair and knew with certainty that if she didn’t end the kiss now, she wouldn’t leave this lake with him until morning .

Breaking apart from Reed, she bit her lip and fought a smile as she drew back. “Well, Mr. Hawthorne, you truly know how to sweep a lady off her feet.”

His lips were handsomely red and swollen, his chest heaving in sync with hers. “Why, Ms. Bancroft, I do believe you were the one who asked to kiss me, so it’s you who knows how to sweep a man off his feet,” Reed drawled.

Dulce laughed softly and waded through the water to the fall’s bank.

Byzantium marigolds decorated one edge of the field, and she added cloves and cinnamon to the mix, invoking the element of fire in one of her mother’s favorite magical tricks until her chemise was dry.

Next, she turned it on Reed, keeping her gaze strictly trained on his deep brown irises instead of his drawers.

The sun had begun to set by the time they were both dressed, and Reed tugged a lock of her hair as he said, “I’ll start a fire.”

The horses slept soundly while he gathered twigs and leaves, and she unpacked their provisions, determined to make them last the longest they could.

Dulce watched him light the kindling, his hands gentle and delicate despite the scars across them.

She marveled at the thought that she’d never once been so exposed with any man as she was with Reed in the lake.

How easily she had removed her clothing.

Her behavior would be considered unladylike, scandalous for a woman of her station.

Yet, instead of feeling ashamed, she found it to be rather liberating.

After months of tiptoeing around Cornelius with barely so much as a few chaste pecks, her kiss with Reed was the one she’d wished had been her first .

They warmed their hands by the fire, and she ate dried fruit and hardtack accompanied by one of her poisoned berries.

The corners of Reed’s mouth curled up. “I really enjoyed kissing you.”

“Me too,” Dulce murmured, a kaleidoscope of butterflies swarming in her stomach.

“Perhaps we can do it again sometime.”

“Perhaps.” She grinned.

He bit into a candied plum and placed his hand atop hers. “You mentioned you played piano. What else do you like?”

“Poetry.”

“Ah, lovesick fools, heroes rescuing helpless damsels in distress.”

Dulce laughed. “No, not even close. Dark poems that speak of death, agony, and ghosts .”

“I should’ve known.” He smirked, then settled on the grass and patted the spot beside him. “But do tell.”

“If you insist .” Dulce settled next to him, and they both lay on their backs, peering up at the stars for a few moments. She hoped her mother was somewhere up there, watching over her, always there to continue giving her guidance, assisting her on how to overcome the obstacles she would soon face.

“Let me recall one of my favorites…” Dulce began, “When twilight petals droop upon their stalks. Death whispers in my ear. When the herd returns at day’s end, trudging along on tired legs.

Death steals into my home. I cannot understand his words, spoken through a garland of smiling skulls.

Yet his dark infinity, it fills my heart.

And silently, at night’s long last end, I am swept away by my lover. To join the dead… ”

Dawn brought another gray sky and a cool wind that nipped at their skin as they traveled, inching closer and closer to La Bisou Morte’s location. Still, it would be days until they reached her.

To stay awake, Dulce told Reed more poetry at his request, and their conversation fell into easy banter or comfortable silence. The landscape, after the isolated summer falls, slipped back into nothing but rows of silver birch trees, and she wondered if this forest would go on forever.

By late afternoon, though, the ground beneath them changed to vast hills, and Dulce was able to see into the distance for the first time since entering Silver Birch Straits.

As the valley below was bathed in shadows, she discovered that all along it were torches burning with bright orange flames.

Her legs ached from being on the horse throughout the day, and the thought that they approached a town, bearing an inn where she might sleep on a real bed, filled her with the kind of excitement that only comes from experiencing the alternative.

When they drew nearer, it wasn’t homes the torches illuminated, but a massive black and red tent surrounded by a number of silver and gold caravans and wagons.

Dulce was reminded of the carnivals that came through Moonglade each spring, but when a songbird of a voice, accompanied by graceful piano music, drifted through the air, she knew at once that this was one of the performing operas.

She slowed her horse, and Reed’s dapple gray trotted up beside her. He waggled his brows at her. “I’m sensing you want to stop here for the night.”

Dulce hurriedly nodded. “I’ve always wanted to see the performing opera. The opera in town doesn’t have acrobats as I’ve heard they do.”

“Then”—he dipped his head, dismounting, and helped her from her horse with a twirl—“it looks like we have an opera to attend.”

They secured their horses’ reins to a tree and approached the entrance with a red and silver sign in a language she didn’t recognize.

A young woman eating an apple held up her hand at them and shouted over the singing that emanated from the tent’s interior. “We’re not open for a few more days.”

“Oh.” Dulce’s shoulders slumped. Perhaps experiencing the magic of the artists wasn’t meant to be.

“Could we perhaps pay to watch the performers practice?” Reed asked, his voice alluring as silk.

The woman combed her fingers through her thick brown curls and took another bite of her apple. “Six coins.”

When Dulce reached into her bag, Reed stopped her. “Three,” he purred. “And three more for accommodations.”

Dulce arched a brow at him as the woman grinned.

“Fine.” She pointed to her left, where a silver wagon with golden swirls painted along its side rested.

“You two can sleep the night there. Steal anything, and I’ll know.

Also, since you want to watch the performances, you’re in luck, they just started, and they’ll be practicing for most of the night. ”

“Thank you,” Dulce said, handing her the coins.

Making their way toward the tent, they passed a group of people sitting near a large fire, drinking and eating, laughing uproariously, and several talking in a language she didn’t know.

Some wore large colorful dresses and suits, and others were attired in checkered jester or sequined acrobat costumes, beads sparkling in the firelight.

A strikingly handsome man with long black hair to his waist winked at her, and Reed glared.

“I prefer men with ruffled white hair.” She took his arm, and his shoulders relaxed.

They entered the tent to find rows of makeshift benches that took up the space in front of a stage, where hundreds of paper crows and moths hung over the source of the magical song, and at last Dulce’s gaze locked on the woman singing.

She wore a braided crown, and an onyx butterfly mask covered half her face—a sapphire and silver gown fell around her figure in gentle folds to pool at her feet.

Besides two young adolescent girls sitting in one of the middle rows, no one else watched the performance.

Dulce and Reed sank down on the bench behind the two girls, enraptured in wonder as the performer sang her heart out, perfectly conveying every emotion and happy heartache through song.

It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard, one her mother would’ve adored.

The song spoke of fighting for love, no matter if death came for one in the end.

Tears gathered in Dulce’s lashes as a mixture of sentiments coursed through her at the lovely melody.

No matter how much she loved the piano, she knew with certainty that she would never master it as beautifully as the performer playing this piece.

She glanced at Reed to find he wasn’t focused on the performance but instead on her.

She elbowed him in the arm. “You’re missing the act. ”

“Am I?” He grinned and studied the performance while pirouetting dancers entered the stage, twirling silk streamers.

Two jesters soon joined in, raising the singing lady into the air, stealing her away from the man she loved as she continued her mournful song.

Next, a man wearing a dark suit, a golden owl mask covering the upper portion of his face, added his voice to the song, his baritone deep and melancholic, complaining of heartbreak before rescuing her.

They sang to one another, lifting the mask from the other, until finally, in a crescendo of passion, they kissed, the piano music fading.

It was just the right amount of emotional strength Dulce needed on this journey.

She stood, clapping loudly, and the two young girls turned to look at her with wide smiles.

As another performance began, one of the little girls, missing her two front teeth, squeaked, “We’re going to eat candy apples if you want to join us. My mama won’t mind.”

“Who could refuse candy apples?” Reed said, and the two girls giggled.

The two young girls led them toward a middle-aged woman dressed in a brown wool skirt. She placed her hands on her hips as she peered at the two girls. “Are you bothering strangers again?”