Page 32 of The Frog Prince

There was silence once his words reverberated through the door, seeping into the darkness.

The rest of the village was already abed around them, even those who would frequent the tavern. He’d made sure of that before breaking the tree line, grateful that Otto’s house was secluded and private. The only sounds were crickets chirping and the slow croaks of the frogs who were drawn to him sounding in the night air as they hopped closer.

“What you have promised, you must deliver,” Gisela said finally into the empty air. “For I fear more the consequences if you don’t. My brother is not so dishonorable a person. He isn’t defined by his blood.”

Alwin could only wonder at her meaning.

A few moments later, the door creaked open.

Twin golden heads appeared, the siblings staring at him in fear, the scarce light from the oil lamp bleeding out to touch his damp skin.

Otto moved Gisela behind him, raising his chin like he was expecting Alwin to spring at them.

Instead, Alwin simply took a single step over the threshold.

His bare, webbed foot met wooden floor for the first time in years, squelching and squeaking.

They flinched at the sound.

He opted to ignore it, focusing instead on the feeling of being inside a house again.

No crumbling walls and fractured holes in the ceiling, moss and vines his only decorations. Here warmth washed over him from the fire dancing in one corner, and various objects with their own stories to tell filled the other corners while the scent of fresh food tickled his nostrils.

A home.

He inhaled deeply, feeling deep pangs of longing in his chest, and swept his gaze over the rest of the space.

A small kitchen with a rough, square table and a few chairs around it took up the far wall, a narrow hallway leading farther in. Another table was filled with all sorts of bottles around a well-used mortar and pestle, and dried herbs hung from the rafters. Lastly, there was a small wooden bucket behind a screen, along with a cloth for washing.

Well-used. Well-loved.

He turned to look at Otto, who hadn’t moved his fearful gaze away, tilting his head at him.

“I can almost see why you’d be reluctant to leave your home.”

He stepped closer, making Otto jerk back, pushing his sister with him. As if Alwin would hurt her. As if she wasn’t already hurt by Otto’s own choices.

Using his quicker reflexes, he shot his hand out, ignoring the startled gasp from Otto as their faces drew close enough that he could feel that burst of heat on his cheek.

He ignored the shiver it tracked down his spine and brushed the rounded pads of his fingers over Gisela’s long hair. Green against gold. A weak substitution for the hair he really wanted his fingers to catch on.

A single touch was all he needed to confirm.

“It’s already back, I see.”

Gisela looked at him, wide-eyed and startled, yet there was no hiding the truth that lurked under the surface.

“I…”

She turned her gaze to the floor.

“What?” Otto asked, turning to look at his sister too, giving his back to Alwin as if he weren’t terrified of him. “Gisela?”

“I’m just a little exhausted, Otto. Nothing to worry about.”

Alwin watched Otto’s chest expand and contract with each breath as he realized the truth for himself. He saw his fists clench next to his hips, and then he was in Alwin’s face, all fire and despair. “She’s sick again! You did this to her!”

Alwin stared at the blue flame in his eyes for a moment then took a step away dismissively. It was rude and insulting, and he meant for it to be so. It was the only way he could cover up how affected he was by Otto and his words—how deeply they were able to cut.