Woven by Gold (Beasts of the Briar #2)

1. Rosalina

1

Rosalina

I t’s been four months, and the rosebush is still frozen. Winter has turned to spring, warm rain has washed away the snow, pastel flowers sprout up from the hard earth, and the rosebush is still frozen. Crystallized red petals glimmer like jewels in the dusky pink light, while shadows—long and inky—dip between the thorns, casting fingers of darkness onto the forest floor.

Fiery rage crawls through my body as I dig my nails into my palms.

I hate him. Hate him all the way to my core where the anger simmers like a wild thing. Hate him in the deepest way. The way you can only hate yourself. Because despite everything, that is what he is. A part of me, woven into my very being.

Keldarion. The High Prince of Winter.

My mate.

I hadn’t known what a mate was before I found my way into the Enchanted Vale, home of the fae. The place where I’d spent every day researching mates, trying to find a way to break the four fae princes’ curse.

A humorless laugh bubbles within me. I’d been the answer—at least part of it—all along. Kel’s mate…

I clutch at my chest, gripping the fabric of my sweater. An ever-present ache. The bond that awoke when I saved Kel’s life. I know he felt it, too. But instead of accepting me and breaking the curse, he’d forced me back here.

To the human world. To Orca Cove.

This way is closed to you forevermore. His kiss still echoes on my lips, a tingling of frost that will never melt.

The rosebush shudders, chunks of ice falling off and breaking apart on the ground. Out crawls Papa. He gives me a wide smile, dusting off broken briars and dirt.

Going through the thicket doesn’t take you to the Enchanted Vale anymore, just ten feet behind to another cluster of trees. I would know. I’ve crawled through it more times than I can count these last four months.

My father’s brown hair is mussed, and dirt streaks across his nose. “I got a good one this time, Rosie.”

“That’s nice, Papa.”

He carefully wraps a frozen rose blossom in some cloth, then tucks it in his large backpack. “Come on.” Papa casts a glance back at me. “Let’s go home.”

But Orca Cove isn’t home anymore. Home is waking to cherry blossoms floating in my room and tea with Marigold and Astrid. Home is being surrounded by books so old the pages are stiff, and the sweetest smile peering out from behind them. Home is the smell of salt and sea, and a laugh so joyful it always brings out my own. Home is the softest touch over my body, safety behind what others fear.

And home is arguing with a stupid icy bastard across a dinner table and pelting him with bread rolls, as my friends—my family—laugh with me.

I trail behind my father out of the forest, my mud-caked boots sinking in the damp soil.

Keldarion took that home from me.

And I hate him so much I think it’s going to burn me alive.