31. Killian
The road is deserted as I gallop away from the best thing that ever happened to me.
You have two choices, Kill. Take your castle and go, or die out there with the hag. I’ll even throw in a title and let you keep your balls out of respect for our friendship, you cuckolding piece of shit, provided you never darken the halls of Belterre Castle again.
I snatched the rolled-up paper and saddled my horse before Alistair could reconsider. I can’t rescue Briar if I’m dead. The thing growing beneath my scar digs deeper with each passing mile, a throb in time with my heartbeat and the horse’s hoofbeats. Twining up my arm. It hates being away from Briar.
I wanted her thorns. Now I have them embedded so deeply within me that I’ll never be able to extricate myself from the memory of Briar’s petal-soft skin. The thought of Alistair laying a single finger on her sends helpless rage scorching through me.
The fever that’s been rattling my bones dulls into a hollow ache. I’m clear-headed despite the poison seeping through my veins.
Needing Briar is a sickness. The farther away I get, the more she haunts me.
The sky swarms with fae beasts. I’m nearly thrown from my horse when we cross paths with a chimera.
They’re coming for Briar.
Alistair’s arrogance will ruin the entire country. He’s deluded himself, gone crazed with lust, and gods know Briar has that effect on men. Myself included.
I wheel my horse around and kick his flanks, chasing after the chimera.
Fuck it. As fond of my balls as I am, there’s no point in keeping them unless I’m with Briar.
When forced to stop and water my horse, I unstrap the vambrace and shove my sleeve up to inspect the aching scar. It’s turned entirely dark, with spikes protruding into the nearby veins. Worse, the magic or poison or whatever it is that’s causing it is spreading to my other scars that crisscross my torso, darkening them, too. Soon, my body will be as thorny as that thicket of vines I slashed through to get Alistair to the top of that mountain barely a fortnight ago.
Back on the road, I demand everything my horse has to give. But near midmorning, with the castle’s outline a mere speck in the distance, a cloud darkens the sky over it. My stallion fights me to a halt.
The swarm of winged things grows larger, blotting the sun when it passes overhead. Harpies. Thousands of them. I spot a handful of gryphons in the mix, followed by the dragon. I swear it swings its head down to glare at me with a baleful eye.
I hate dragons. But if I want Briar, I might have to make my peace with them.
Briar
I can’t do this.
Droning music announces my arrival, a funeral dirge. Adding to the dismal atmosphere are the cathedral’s boarded-up windows. No number of candles can substitute for the beauty of sunlight streaming through stained glass. Overhead, I can hear the scratch and screech of harpies landing on the roof, followed by the thump of something larger.
It’s my childhood nightmare come to life, yet I no longer fear the feathered, clawed beasts.
Numb, I set foot after slippered foot up the red-carpeted aisle. All eyes follow my stupid fluffy dress. A chorus of oohs and aahs trails behind me. This is the fairy-tale ending I’m supposed to want.
Who cares about a dress at a time like this?
These pampered aristocrats don’t care about the poor peasants who trekked all this way to witness history, only to be attacked by rampaging monsters. I was one of those peasants. I feel awful and helpless, and it seems the monsters are responding to my distress.
But regardless of what the prince thinks, I do not control them. I don’t know how to stop this disaster.
I suppose the layout of a cathedral is a common one, for the nave reminds me of the place where I laid in an enchanted slumber. My heart tries to strangle me by climbing into my throat. My resting place was made that way on purpose. To foreshadow this moment. A warning.
This way lies death. True death, from which I will never awaken.
Blood roars in my temples, until I realize it’s not my racing pulse, it’s a dragon roaring from the rooftop.
Murmurs of alarm from the crowd fill my ears.
My footfalls falter. The dragon shifts, sending roof tiles crashing into to the courtyard.
Run.
The word repeats with every frantic beat of my heart. The prince scowls at my hesitation. He strides to me and seizes my arm. I am so tired of being grabbed and coerced into doing things. The only person I want touching me like that is Killian, and he’s gone.
“Forget the ceremony,” Alistair snarls at the wizened priest. “Get to the rings bit before that thing takes off the roof.”
“But you must take your vows or it isn’t binding.”
“Then say it quickly.”
“Do you, Prince Alistair of Belterre, take this woman, Princess Aurora of?—”
“Yes. I agree to all of it. Now do her.”
His hand clamps mine hard enough to crush my fingers.
“Do you, Princess Aurora, take this man to be your lawfully wedded?—”
“No.”
The word comes out quietly, too soft for anyone but the three of us to hear it. The priest pokes his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and stares at me in astonishment. Prickles run down my spine as if a thousand eyes are boring into my back, which they are.
Overhead, the noisy monsters fall silent. Listening.
If I want to escape this nightmare, I have to make a choice. I have to speak up. I can’t wait to be rescued anymore.
“What did you say?”
Aware that we’re being watched, Alistair is careful not to hurt me too much. His fearsome glower and iron grip almost cow me into submission. I swallow thickly, and feel that voiceless thing inside me spread its wings.
“No. I won’t marry you.”
I break his grasp with a twist of my arm that leaves my empty glove dangling from his hand.
“I don’t want to be your princess. I don’t want to be a queen. I only want to be free of this fate once and for all.”
I rip the veil off and throw it at him, wincing as I yank fine hairs out in the process.
I pick up my frothy skirt and run.
The crowd gasps.
“Seize her!” Alistair shouts. I bolt down the aisle back the way I came, but the way is blocked by royal guards.
Damn it. Trapped.
People spill into the aisle, craning their necks to glimpse the catastrophe of a bride and impeding the prince’s pursuit. I pull a chair near the window and climb.
Help me,I call to the monsters.
A warning thump against the window drops me into a crouch, hands clasped over my head. Glass smashes. Wood splinters. People scream. I cover my ears as shards rain down on me. When it’s clear, I rise, taking in the tip of a dragon’s tail curling through the window.
A red-faced Alistair fights his way through the terrified, retreating crowd.
Calm settles over me.
This is the meaning of my dreams. This is how I break my curse. By embracing the truth. I belong to the fae beasts. I never needed to fear them. The danger for me is that they drive away everyone who cares about me. My own family abandoned me because they knew that to keep me meant their destruction.
Alistair wants to use me to control them and expand his power.
There is nothing for me here.
I place one foot gingerly on the dragon’s tail and cling to one protruding spike. My skirt pulls taut and I almost lose my grip as the tail pulls me upward and my stupid awful dress drags me down. Looking back, I find the prince clinging to the long train, trying to pull me off.
A large shard of glass sticks to the lace-festooned bodice. As awkward and precarious as the task is, I grasp it in my gloved hand and plunge it into the straining fabric. With a great tearing sound, I’m free and flying through the broken window out into the sky.
All the fae beasts roar their welcome.
But clinging to the dragon’s tail is difficult. The spikes are sharp, and my dress acts like a sail in the wind. Nor can the animal use its tail to steer properly. We soar awkwardly over the strangely empty streets of Belterre City as the monsters gathered at the castle take wing and follow us.
The last thing I see as I look down for one dizzying moment is Queen Isadora on an executioner’s platform in the private courtyard, throwing back her head and laughing as she crumbles into dust in the morning sunlight.
I throw my head back and laugh, too. The curse is broken.