Page 6

DULCE

Reed took the jewelry from Dulce reluctantly, his brow arched as though she would reclaim them, and she felt a pang of sympathy for the strange young man with peculiar white hair.

Her gaze met his and lingered there, his deep chestnut eyes widening just a fraction as her fingers remained against his for a heartbeat too long.

His brows were as black as a raven’s wings, and with thick dark lashes and a slender build, he was quite handsome, truth be told.

Dulce folded his hand with finality over the jewels and left his warm touch.

The pearls were nothing but a wedding decoration, a memory she wanted to forget from a marriage she wished she’d never chosen for herself.

The ring was different—it had belonged to her mother, a special family heirloom.

While she cared deeply about it, she didn’t cherish the jewelry as much as the intricately carved music boxes with the dancing figures inside that lined the shelf in her bedroom.

Treasures her mother used to gift her on each birthday, sixteen in total.

It was something she’d missed the most after her mother’s passing.

Dulce’s temper rose at the thought of Cornelius taking possession of them.

Her husband better not have touched a single one, or his fingers would go missing before she finished with him.

If Reed hadn’t been trying to thieve from her grave, she knew within her heart of hearts she never would’ve been found. And while Dulce should’ve been vexed with the thief for attempting to steal from her “corpse,” it was his actions that had saved her.

“Can I ask you something?” Reed inquired as he placed the jewelry in his pocket and busied himself with filling her grave once again. “Well, two things.”

“You may ask.” Dulce shrugged, stretching her stiff legs and arms, her muscles protesting after their confinement. “Whether or not I answer is another thing entirely.”

He angled his head to the side, regarding her for a moment before resuming his task. “How do you know my name?”

Half dead from lack of air by the time her coffin fell open, Dulce had known with chilling certainty that there was no use in fighting.

She would’ve lost. Even if he had come to steal away her body for coin, she would’ve been useless against him.

No, her only chance had been to wait, to breathe, and hope that her strength returned before it was too late.

“Ah, that.” She laughed softly. “I thought it wise to pretend death, since my strength had left me. Did I do well? I was sure you could hear my racing heart.” Everything Reed had spoken she’d heard, including his desperation to help his brother.

His name. Reed . It suited the ivory-haired young man, somehow.

Dulce’s cheeks heated as his eyes fell to her chest for a split second before he focused on his task with renewed haste. Foolish thing to say .

“You did very well—I never guessed for a second that you lived.” He winked, returning the pile of flowers to her grave, followed by the lamp and bread, presumably as it had been before. Dulce shivered at the thought, then stretched her neck, the pain fading from her muscles in slow increments.

Reed stood looking at her now, a frown only improving his features as he offered her a handful of berries, which she readily ate, their juice spilling over her dress in delighted destruction.

“Why do you want no one to know you’re alive?” he asked. “Not even … your husband?”

“An impertinent question indeed.” Dulce smiled.

Keeping her gaze on the gathering fog, she said, “Don’t you think it’s past time you go home now?

Before you’re missed? You still have a brother to save, no?

” She removed the tattered wool cloak he’d placed upon her, a gentlemanly act of kindness.

And even though Cornelius had always seemed kind, he’d never once given her his coat when she’d shivered.

“Fair enough.” He bowed his head with a mischievous grin, and Dulce was surprised to find herself once again charmed by the thief. “Perhaps you will tell me when we meet again. Good day, Majesty .”

“It’s Dulce,” she said, and he only smirked before sauntering toward the shadows, his dark cloak billowing in graceful, tattered folds behind him as he disappeared into the foggy darkness.

Left alone, Dulce regarded her grave—anger rolled through her while she stared, remembering all too well the horror of being buried alive.

The ridiculously lavish casket Cornelius must’ve used her own money to make a mockery of grief with.

The clipped flowers from her gardens that should’ve never been cut.

She swore revenge on her traitorous, most rankish compound of villainous dirt of a husband for his loathsome deceit.

The night fog thickening, her manor more obscured from sight with each passing moment, though its southern wall remained mere feet from her, Dulce lifted her muddy silk skirts and studied the other headstones around hers. Her mother’s. Her father’s.

Taking a deep breath, she hiked through the trees in satin slippers as she made her way through the gardens to the other side of the manor, a light mist drizzling down upon her until she reached one of the apple trees and ate two pieces of fruit, her strength returning in earnest.

Dulce fought the urge to tear off her wedding gown. Would Cornelius even still be inside the manor, or had he retreated somewhere else?

She frowned. Why would he murder her if it wasn’t for money?

Crows cawed above her when she stepped from the shelter of the apple tree, their cries reverberating through the misty night as though warning her of danger.

“I could’ve used your warning before I ended up in a casket,” she muttered. “But thank you all the same.”

The fog rolled its alabaster hands throughout the gardens, ivory and onyx Dracula orchids hidden from sight, and as Dulce reached the north side of the manor, it towered before her, its slate stone glistening beneath the moonlight and flickering stars.

Not every window was draped in darkness, as tradition demanded, but instead, warm light shone from the sitting room near the entrance.

Dulce slinked through the fog of the gardens, remaining unseen in case anyone happened to look.

She wasn’t certain if her trusted staff remained within, or if it was Cornelius alone who shirked the appearance of grief.

She imagined finding him relaxed on her settee, sipping hot brandy in contentment, as though he hadn’t poisoned his new bride.

No, you loathsome, poisonous toad, your dead bride has a little surprise for you.

Inching closer to the windowpane, Dulce discovered two figures standing within, and she stilled.

It wasn’t Vesta, Sylvan, or his grandson Lucas who accompanied Cornelius—it was a woman Dulce had never seen before.

She stood a little above his large frame, her tall height akin to a goddess in poems. Her face was half turned from Dulce, but her luxurious long ruby hair fell in thick braids and curls over her shoulders.

Cornelius fawned over her like a drooling dog as she laughed, the sound resembling chiming bells through the window.

He leaned forward, one arm draped around the woman’s slender waist, his other hand curved around her backside.

Unsurprising. Murdering adulterer .

Movement caught Dulce’s eye at her mother’s bristlecone pine tree, and she noticed an ivory horse tied to it. The beautiful stallion must belong to the unexpected guest .

As Dulce turned back to the window, she found the scoundrel threading his fingers through the woman’s long ruby hair and backing the stranger into her piano while kissing her.

Not in a chaste or loving manner, but instead rather sloppy and revolting, as though he were some sort of swamp beast drinking the woman’s oxygen with his dishonorable tongue.

Relief filled Dulce that she hadn’t fallen for the pribbling lout.

But still, she had accepted she could one day come to love him, and she grew humiliated, frustrated with disappointment at herself for trusting him, for believing that he’d been the one to give her a bright future. To pull her from…

Dulce’s breath caught. Unfortunate circumstance… Unfortunate and muddy circumstance…

It couldn’t be.

No , a desperate grave robber was most certainly not meant to be her true love. Dulce shook away the ridiculous thought.

The front door opened with a bang, followed by laughter, and Dulce crouched low, her hands trembling while she held her breath.

The ruby-haired woman stepped out into the foggy night first—Dulce’s heart quickened when Cornelius walked behind the stranger toward the bristlecone pine like a lovesick pet.

Pathetic bastard. She longed to see him beg for his life.

Dulce tightened her fists, hoping Cornelius wasn’t about to depart with his lover.

The woman didn’t reach to untie the horse from the tree, though—instead, she pressed her palm to the bark.

Cornelius stepped back in apparent reverence as the woman spoke, almost singing, her words obscured at this distance.

This was clearly some sort of incantation, one that Dulce didn’t recognize.

As Dulce watched on with bated breath, lavender light spilled up from the ground surrounding the tree.

The bristlecone pine glowed a soft white and flowed into the woman.

A witch . Like Dulce. Only she wasn’t common, and this was no parlor trick—this woman was powerful.

What was the witch taking from her tree? This was unlike any alchemy she’d ever witnessed or wielded.

Finally the woman stepped away from the tree, and the night fell back into darkness, only the light from the manor illuminating the fog.

“Will I see you again soon?” Cornelius whined, nearly begging. “The servants won’t return from the Royal Lion for another week when I send a carriage to fetch them to pack up their belongings.”