Page 5

The garden proved to be a vast, sprawling affair.

Mazes of boxwood hedges, a lake surrounded by willows, their hanging branches waving gingerly in the moonlight, rolling hills that he discovered led up to the rear of the manor, stone and iron that stood imposing and regal even at this late hour.

A light within an ornate fence of jagged barbs and artistically twisted metal, its spikes enormous, caught Reed’s eye as he approached the back entrance of the home.

The lamp glowed amongst well-tended flowering shrubs, towering roses, and headstones.

He knew that here he would find his gravesite.

The cemetery gate wasn’t locked, merely decorative, and Reed slipped past it silently, waiting in the darkness behind a fringe tree for any signs of occupancy inside the manor.

If anyone remained, they must’ve retired amongst the seemingly infinite rooms within the opposite side of the place.

No hint of smoke escaped the manor’s many chimneys, no sound of activity reached the garden, and though its windows were covered in black cloth, no sliver of light shone from its countless panes.

Reed stepped from the tree and passed through the extravagant garden, studying a few headstones before finding the grave clearly belonging to the dead bride. It was piled high with a variety of white flowers, their velvety petals not yet withered.

He extinguished the lamp. If the heiress’s soul actually did need this to light its way back, well, that was just bad luck for her, wasn’t it?

Back in the shadows of the fringe tree, Reed chewed on a piece of already beginning to stale bread—left out for the dead—and waited in silence for anyone to notice the precious light had gone out. But even after twenty long minutes, no one came.

Returning to the bride’s resting site, he struck the earth with his spade and began to dig.

It was surprisingly easy work, perhaps because the grave was so freshly dug, and after a few hours passed, his spade revealed the coffin within. He had half a mind to pass this information on to the professional grave robbers, but then he remembered rule number one and decided against it.

The craftsmanship of the coffin itself was more luxurious than anything Reed had ever seen.

Made of what he was fairly certain was pink ivory—a material he’d only seen in the Leper’s own billiard cue—its surface was decorated in copper peonies and crocuses, silver lavender and delphinium, all surrounded by golden herbs.

“Shame I can’t sell the whole bawdy thing,” Reed muttered, prying it open.

The coffin’s lid fell back, and Reed stilled.

If he thought the casket was beautiful, it was nothing compared to the beauty of its inhabitant.

He remembered in that moment the gravedigger’s practice of kissing the forehead of the dead upon first sight, and though he had thought it revolting at the time, he had to almost force himself not to lean forward and press his lips against those of the bride’s.

“Right,” he whispered, shaking his head to bring himself back to his senses. “Stop gawking like some loggerheaded varlot and focus on the job at hand, Reed. The dead are lost to the maggots…”

The heiress had been buried in her bridal gown, all fine white lace and silk.

Her name had been carefully embroidered into the bodice in blue thread, as death traditions demanded.

Alexandra Josephine Hale “Dulce.” She adorned three strands of luminescent pearls around her slender neck, and her thick dark hair was decorated in gleaming gemstones beneath a veil of embroidered gossamer.

Her pale hands were clasped at her chest, and on her middle finger, she wore a ring of carved gold, its center occupied by a design of white diamonds encompassing the largest ruby he’d ever seen.

Determined not to look at her enchanting face again, Reed reached for the ring, and, avoiding touching her skin, he pulled. But the jewel refused to pry loose.

“Right,” he whispered again, twirling the blade he always carried in his boot as he hesitated. “Will you let your brother die because you’re too much of a qualling canker-blossom to cut one fobbing finger off one fobbing corpse? It’s not as if she needs the thing now, is it? No.”

He made the mistake of looking up at her face again and swallowed deeply. She had, impossibly, become more beautiful, clouds passing over the moon to reveal cheeks tinged a gentle pink in the starlight.

Reed took a deep breath, lifting her hand, and brought his blade to the base of the ring, squeezing his eyes closed, determined to finish what he’d started.

“My beloved mother left me this ring upon her death,” a woman’s voice passed through the silence, and Reed yelped in a decidedly unmanly fashion as he fell back, dropping his blade. “Tell me. What right does a stuffed plague sore such as yourself have to it?”

The corpse’s eyes were open, two gleaming tourmalines in the moonlight, as lovely as the brightest stars in the night sky. Reed gaped at her, filled with horror and shame.

The heiress was alive.

“You’re not dead…”

“Clearly,” she snapped, pulling herself upright with obvious effort. “And you’re a graverobber. A roguish, milk-livered graverobber.”

“Clearly,” Reed said with a bow. How does one even apologize for almost cutting the finger off a corpse who wasn’t a corpse at all just to steal and pawn their belongings? “Rest assured, Your Ladyship, I wasn’t planning to sell your organs. Only your jewelry.”

The heiress frowned, hands on her middle. She had apparently never heard of the practice. “And you seek thanks for that, do you...?”

Reed busied himself with dusting off his clothing and collected his blade, then started to climb from the grave.

“Thank you,” she stated, and he was surprised to find only sincerity in her expression.

Reed sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I was desperate to save my ill brother—he’s all I have left. I’ll take my leave now.”

“Wait.”

He turned back, one hand reaching for the ledge of the grave. To his surprise, the heiress held out the ring to him.

“Take it,” she uttered. “From one orphan to another.”

Reed looked from the ring to her face, curious what game she played.

“Promise to tell no one I’m alive, and you can have my jewelry.”

“I don’t understand.” Wasn’t her husband heartbroken over her death? Wouldn’t he be overjoyed to discover that his young bride was alive?

“In addition,” she exhaled, closing her eyes again. “I can’t seem to move my legs at all, and I would greatly appreciate some water.”

He simply stared at her and smirked. The rich giving orders. As they always would.

Meeting his gaze, she unclasped the pearls from around her neck with obvious effort and held them out to him along with her ring.

“I was nearly dead until you dug me up,” she said. “I have you to thank for my life. Will you help me?”

He was all too aware that time was running out for his brother, just as it had been for the heiress only minutes prior.

“Very well, Majesty.” Before she could protest, he lifted her in his arms and climbed from the muddy grave as she clung to him.

Her body felt warm and impossibly delicate pressed against his, and the sweet scent of lilies filled his nostrils.

He’d meant to startle her from issuing further orders, but as his gaze met her golden-brown eyes, Reed felt tempted once again to kiss her perfect lips. He was most assuredly losing his mind.

Her pristine gown now soiled, he released her gently upon the garden’s manicured grass and handed her the gourd of water from his belt.

Accepting it with shaking hands, she drank in giant gulps, and he noticed she was shaking, gooseflesh rising against her pale flesh. He didn’t waste a moment to remove his cloak and drape it over her shoulders.

“Take them, Reed,” Dulce insisted, and he started at the sound of his name coming from her. She then stood with admirable determination, holding the jewels out to him once more. “Save your brother. And speak of my living to no one.”