Chapter 17
‘Twas the most beautiful sentence ever uttered to him, by the woman he had come to love deeply, but Riven could not in good conscience repeat the words to her.
‘Twould be unfair.
‘Twould be damaging to her future.
He cared so deeply for her that he could not, would not, do anything to harm her.
A troubling quandary for sure.
She stood there, alone on the shore, just waiting for him to say something, do something, but Riven had nothing left in his soul for her.
His family had not come looking for him.
Philippe had not returned.
The enchantress intended to end his life in a week’s time, and there was no way on earth Riven would be able to clean this pond in time.
Faced with his own mortality, Riven intended to crawl out of the muck and wait on the shore until his senses left him and he became a true frog, robbing Brumenhildr of the chance to further curse him, but some deep-rooted survival instinct kicked in.
He swam to the bottom and hauled out more and more junk—boots and broken utensils and old hambones and slime—until he panted with the effort.
When he noticed Bella getting on Nocturne and moping off to the castle, he gave up, draping himself on this floating wagon wheel with exhaustion.
He'd finally chased her off.
The feeling did not improve his mood.
Frogs were incapable of crying, but the emotion welled up inside him. He watched her retreating form grow smaller and smaller until she disappeared behind the castle walls.
“What have I done?”
He splashed wildly in his anger, croaking and screaming Bella’s name. If he had but a week left to live, why did he send away the only person he wished to spend his remaining time with?
An hour or so later, hooves rumbled the ground. Riven dropped the torn bag he had pulled from the mud and leapt to his throne to see who approached.
A black horse ran to him, slowing as it approached the pond.
“Nocturne?”
The horse nickered.
Panic filled him. “Nocturne? Where is Bella?” He leapt from the throne into the water and kicked his way to shore.
“Nocturne, boy, it’s me. Can you tell it’s me?”
The horse gave a little happy whinny, the same one reserved for when the oats were about to get delivered to his bucket.
“I have no oats for you, my friend,” Riven said, hopping close and raising his green hand to stroke Nocturne on his nose.
Nocturne blew hot air on his face, which was far more powerful on a frog than a human. “I worry over Bella. Is she safe?”
The horse blew out his lips, which told Riven nothing.
“I am grateful you are here, my friend.”
His steed gave him a gentle nudge, which Riven took as a sign to hop back into the muck before the curse punished him further.
Another hour of wasted labor later, and Riven felt the ground vibrate with dozens of footsteps, all heading his way.
No team of horses led the mob, no Phillippe in sight, no visible nets to be seen, just tools like shovels and buckets.
Not a single face looked familiar, and all Riven could think of was his mother’s promise of a crown to anyone who could return her son to the castle.
Nocturne, perhaps, sensed some ill will heading their way, for his loyal steed maneuvered himself between the pond and the posse and lowered his neck. His ears flattered backward as he waited for them to approach.
Riven glanced up to his throne and decided against sitting up there in full view. He would be too vulnerable.
He dove to the bottom of the pond and waited.
The sense he got was that they intended to dig him out and trap him in a bucket for the reward money, which Riven knew would not work.
If he was doomed to die today, he would go out on his own terms.