Chapter Twelve
Daphne
Golden scales ripple under my fingers as I trail them over their warm, shimmering surface. They expand and deflate in a hypnotic rhythm, and emotion wells up inside me.
“Theo?” I whisper, afraid if I say his name too loud he’ll disappear. The muscles beneath the scales shift, and then I’m eye to eye with a beast. Smoke huffs from his nostrils as he sniffs down my body. “I’m here. I’m alive. You need to come back to me.”
He nudges me backward with his snout, and a smile breaks out across my face.
“It’s me,” I repeat. “Come home.” For a moment, I believe I can detect speech, sounds with significance, but they are snatched away when my body jerks. Theo bellows his displeasure. What’s happening?
“Daphne, wake up,” Nash shouts.
I’m dreaming?
My hand strokes up the scales on Theo’s nose. “I’m coming for you. Try not to eat anyone.” He blinks down at me, and a moment later, I wake on the enormous bed with a scowling dark knight hovering over me.
“What were you dreaming about?” Nash asks.
“Dragons.” I glance around the chamber, finding a distinct lack of twins.
“Theo?” he asks.
I shrug. “I think so, but it was a dream. Where are Malachi and Hart?”
“Gathering breakfast. We thought it best if we eat up here, giving you more time to rest.”
My hands wrap around his neck, and I brush my lips against his before pulling away and noticing the light spilling through the closed curtain. “Wait, it’s morning? I meant to nap.”
“You’re exhausted. Not unreasonable, given what you’ve been through.”
“Still, there were things I wanted to do.”
His grin is as wicked as they come. “And those things aren’t going anywhere.”
My nose twitches as a soft floral scent invades it. “What is that smell?”
“I ran you a bubble bath for your back.”
I blink. “A bubble bath?” He nods. “For me?” Another nod.
Something warm and gooey expands in my chest. Love, I realize. They aren’t along for whatever wild ride a lifetime with me entails. They love me. Me, Daphne Stone, architect of the realm.
Nash’s thumbs sweep against my cheeks, spreading a dampness to my temples. “Why are you crying? You don’t have to get in the bath.”
I shake my head. “Don’t you dare.”
He leans his forehead against mine. “Then tell me why you’re crying, or the bath gets emptied.”
“You play dirty, Nash Stirling.”
His lips brush along mine, with not a signal of heat or floof-fondling times. Which—I shuffle my legs. Yep, naked as the day I was born—means this kiss is a vow. It destroys me on a different level.
“Tell me, Daphne Stone, what’s making you cry?”
“I just never imagined a future where anyone loved me for me. Where I wouldn’t have to temper myself to fit into their world and be someone who got baths run for them because their back hurts.”
“You still don’t see your own worth.”
“I do. I’m just lucky that Prince Poopfloof chose my sister to fondle.”
He pushes a strand of my hair from my forehead and tucks it behind my ear. “No, you don’t. If you did, you would know that we are the lucky ones.”
The mattress rumbles beneath us and blows out the longest groan I’ve ever heard.
“What in the Blazes?” I whisper. The hideous sound yanks me out of my emotive state faster than the three blind mice scurrying from the farmer’s wife.
“It snores louder than you do. All night.”
“And I slept through it?” Hard to believe when it sounds like several trolls are trapped inside the mattress.
“You’re a deep sleeper.”
I never used to be. Maybe it’s because I feel safe for the first time.
That doesn’t mean my world got less dangerous; if anything, it got more dangerous.
It’s just that I have several pairs of capable hands helping to defend me against everything from face-eating horses to soul-stealing queens. What is life without a little danger?
Nash scoops me in his arms and, in a feat of strength and dexterity, strides to the tub with swirling scented steam. Rose petals float on top of the glistening bubbles, and I sigh as Nash lowers me into the soothing water.
“Rose petals don’t seem like your thing,” I murmur. He grabs a sponge and dips it beneath the water before making sweeping motions over my back. I rest my head on my knees and groan as the knots and aches I’d been ignoring loosen.
“That was my doing,” Malachi says.
I blink my eyes open to find the twins staring at me with amusement. My gaze narrows on the platter in Hart’s hand. “Please tell me there’s sausage.”
“I worry about your obsession,” he grumbles.
“Answer the question, Hart.”
“Yes, there’s sausage, but not meat ones.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I guess any sausage is better than no sausage.”
Malachi snorts. “Not all sausages are made equal.”
“Never truer a word was uttered,” I agree with a grin.
Nash finishes pampering me like I’m a princess, starting with a divine hair wash followed by a full body scrub that I make him promise to repeat every morning once we have rescued my dragon, dismantled the Idols, and a bunch of other stuff that needs our attention.
After I’m dressed and have choked down several flavorless sausages—who knew I’d miss the Hallows—we head down to the stables. I eye the extra bags piled beside the horses. “What’s in there?”
“Camping gear,” Malachi says. He launches himself onto his horse and offers me a hand.
“I’m riding with you?” I never ride with him.
Nash’s hand curls around my waist as he leans down and brushes his lips against my ear. “We pulled sticks for it, and he won. Trust me, I’d rather your beautiful ass was grinding against me for many, many turns. But alas, you’ll have to put the youngest through his paces. Just do me a favor?”
He leans back with a playful twinkle in his eye that I love. “Name it.”
“Don’t go easy on him.”
I chuckle, and he grins back at me before lifting me onto the horse’s back. Hart hands Malachi a cloak and nods his head at the darkening sky. “The skies are going to open.”
Ugh, rain. Malachi snaps the cloak around his neck and sweeps it around my body. As the horses step forward, Bronn appears from the tavern and nods at our retreating party. “You’re welcome back anytime,” he calls out.
“Friendly fellow,” I note with a wave. “Weird bed situation, though.”
The road curves into a small clearing, and I lift my head from Malachi’s chest when something bright flashes between the trees.
Music. Or… something trying very hard to be music. A trumpet squeals as if it’s being strangled by an emotional capon.
I miss my capons.
Cymbals clash in a nonsensical rhythm to the background of what sounds like a cat being strangled.
Malachi slows the horse. Ahead, a procession stumbles across the path like a drunken parade. A pumpkin carriage rolls past, one wheel turning back into a pumpkin every few rotations before popping back into a wheel again with a wet squelch.
Two bluebirds drag a silk banner that reads: HAPPILY EVER AFTER — TERMS AND CONDITIONS APPLY
The words beneath rearrange themselves into increasingly worse options.
MAY CAUSE CURSES VOID WHERE TRUE LOVE EXISTS NO REFUNDS
A handsome guy in a gold-trimmed coat and matching crown jogs behind the carriage, brandishing a blue velvet pillow, sans shoe. “Are you the one?” he asks a passing goose.
The goose honks, affronted at being the chosen one.
“I knew it,” the handsome fellow sighs, kneeling. “Your eyes are like starlight on a lake, and I have found my one true love.”
The goose pecks his crown, which tilts and falls to the ground. I get the love affair with the feathery kind, but they are friends, not floof material.
Hart and Nash flank our sides as we watch the spectacle. “What in the Hallows is happening?” Hart grumbles.
“A mess,” I say, delighted as a lizard bursts into sparkles. “A proper, full-blown, glitter-covered mess.”
A cluster of glass slippers hops across the ground like agitated frogs. One of them leaps onto Nash’s boot and clings there. He stares down at it. “Absolutely not.” It sparkles harder.
“I think the fairy tales are muddled,” I say with a smile as Nash argues with a stage-four clinger enchanted shoe. “Unless this is normal for So Far Away?”
Malachi leans his chin on my shoulder. “Normal is not a word to describe anything where you’re concerned.”
The pumpkin carriage halts with a loud, wet pop. Half of it collapses into a squash, its seeds spilling across the road. The Cinderella story is in place, but it seems to have collected random parts of other narratives to make itself a unique tale. I approve, so long as it’s what they want.
A tiny mouse in a red waistcoat climbs onto the seat and clears his throat. “Attention, travelers!” he squeaks. “Because of a minor enchantment dispute, the Ever After Procession is experiencing technical difficulties. Please remain calm and do not kiss anyone until further notice.”
A shower of rose petals falls from the sky, but as soon as they touch the ground, they turn into frogs. One lands on my shoulder. “This is not what I ordered,” she croaks in a voice that sounds like an offended grandmother.
I scoop her up and stare at her cute, wrinkly face. “Tell me about it.”
She blinks at me, her eyes widening. “Oh,” she whispers. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“You’re her.”
Not this again. Maybe I need to wear a name tag. “Her who?”
“The one who breaks things by existing.”
Malachi’s arms tighten around me. “That’s not true,” he mutters.
The frog ignores him. “Everything’s unraveling. We were meant to escort the next destined couple to their first dance, but the prince keeps proposing to livestock and the slippers are unionizing.”
A slipper hops past, carrying a tiny protest sign that reads: NO FEET, NO SERVICE
Nash shakes his leg with a growl at the clinging shoe. “This is ridiculous.”
My grin widens. “This is delicious.”
The mouse scurries toward us, hat in paw. “Oh, thank goodness. You look competent. Or at least dangerous. Either is acceptable.”
“What do you need?” Hart asks.
“A decision,” the mouse says. “Which of these is the real bride for the prince?”
Seven more geese waddle forward, identical apart from the various colored satin bows tied around their necks.
They all squawk at once, “Pick me.”
The guy faints. Are all princes this flaky?
Hart sighs. “This is a new level of chaos.”
The frog in my hand whispers, “You could fix it. You’re an architect, aren’t you?”
I glance at the seven geese. At the broken carriage. At the slippers marching in protest. At the goose wearing the prince’s crown.
The world feels… malleable. Like molten metal waiting to be poured into a new mold.
I lick my lips and wave my free hand in the air like I’m a conductor. The glass slippers stop hopping. The pumpkin steadies, its shape holding steady. The seven geese stop their bickering.
Oh my Idols, it’s working.
The air tightens, like a seam being pulled straight. The honking falters, and their ribbons glow faintly, as if remembering to whom they belong.
My vision flickers, revealing what the feathers are concealing.
A baker in the yellow ribbon, a seamstress in the blue.
A runaway queen brandishes the green, the pink hides a witch, and the white a cobbler.
In the red ribbon is a chambermaid. Last but not least, the purple reveals a girl who tripped and got herself tangled in the story. I can relate.
I close my eyes. “Reveal the conceal and show us the way.” A burst of magic skims my skin and lifts my hair. When I open my eyes, the geese have gone and in their place are the true folk.
“Wow,” Malachi breathes.
“So who is the bride?” the pretty, redheaded seamstress demands with a stamp of her foot.
I shrug. “None of you, or all of you. Stop living your life according to the rules and start following your hearts.”
The blonde queen lifts her hand. “We can do as we wish?”
The genie poofs in front of us and takes in the crazy scene before lifting a brow. “What did you do?”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t start this.”
“Can you answer the question?” the baker asks.
“Follow your heart, so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone,” I advise.
“Anarchist is my new favorite version of you,” Nash mutters as the glass slipper gives up and drops off his foot. It takes his boot with it and dashes off into the depths of the forest. I guess that slipper was head over heels in love with his footwear, not his foot. Understandable.
The prince wakes with a snort and stares at each of the women who blink at him in expectation. Despite my advice, they’re still acting as the narrative demands. It will take time to break the ties of the Idols. Start small, and then the freedom of change and choice will spread.
The prince points to the only goose left, who makes a superb model for his crown. “I choose her.”
The goose honks, and the spurned women all talk at the same time.
“Seriously?”
“I missed my cousin’s wedding for this.”
“How did I get here?”
“What’s for dinner?”
Good question.
“Does anyone have a bandage? I got a blister from those nasty slippers.”
The group of women walks away from the parade and the fawning prince. Hopefully, they’ll form a new female empowerment group.
The prince smiles at the goose he chose and reaches out to stroke her neck. “So soft.”
She bites his hand. Hard. He yelps as blood blooms on his fingers.
The goose drops the crown at her feet and bows.
The mouse sighs with relief. “Close enough. We’ll file it under ‘unconventional but binding.’”
The banner rearranges again.
HAPPILY EVER AFTER — RESULTS MAY VARY, BUT ALL ENTANGLEMENTS ARE FINAL
The procession lurches forward, less chaotic than before. The frog in my hand turns back into a rose petal and drifts away.
Malachi leans down. “That was unbelievable. You broke the narrative.”
“No,” I whisper. “Just nudged it.”
“Is that what you’ll do with us?”
I glance back at him. “No. With you, I’d break the entire realm if I had to.”
“I’m good with that, so long as we’re together.”
Behind us, Nash clears his throat. “For the record, we’re also on Team Break the Realm.”
“Unanimous decision,” Hart adds.
“No regrets should be our new motto,” I decide. “Even the weird bed situation.”
Malachi snorts. “I have no regrets about us sharing a bed, and I hope you don’t.”
“I meant the snoring,” I say, glancing at him over my shoulder. “I regret nothing since the diurnal I met you.”
He sucks in a breath. “Daphne.”
“I mean it. Don’t just hear my words. Feel them.” I lean my head against his chest to hear his heart thumping. Strong, steady, sure. “Feel them, Malachi. No regrets. Not one.”
The look he gives me is equal parts devastation and devotion, like I’ve handed him something fragile and holy at the same time.
Given the choice again, I would save him.
Every time.
Every realm.
Every damn story.