8
G iselle was munching on an apple when I rejoined her in the potion making room.
“Don’t wait up for me, I’m staying a little longer. I’ll see you tomorrow for your dress fitting,” she said. “Oh, and the horse is outside.”
When we finally emerged onto the street aboveground, we had to make do with Giselle’s rented horse. The carriage was a one-time luxury, it seemed, and Bennett did not deem it safe to call a chaise so late at night.
I took a deep breath, the air cool and scented with spices from the witch market. Witch Village was an impressive imitation of the world above, but the night felt more open here. Bennett shifted on the saddle behind me. He was dressed in the linen shirt and plain trousers Giselle had provided. The simplicity was so unlike his usual attire.
“Let’s go home, then,” Bennett said, his breath ruffling the top of my hair.
I nodded. He flicked the reins and we clip-clopped down the road at a leisurely pace. Riding astride with Bennett behind me felt cramped and awkward.
His chest alone was nearly the width of my shoulders. I never noticed how small I felt in his presence recently—in size and in significance.
Bennett reached for my hand. His palm was warm and dry and utterly engulfed mine. I let a stone gate on our left pass before pulling away.
“You may lean on me if you like,” Bennett said after a moment. “You must be tired.”
My muscles were tense, but I didn’t indulge his invitation.
“Cissa.”
The saddle creaked as he shifted. I begrudgingly turned to look at him. The crease between his brows had dissolved, leaving his face unbearably earnest as he gazed down at me with shadowed eyes. The gas lamps illuminated them for a moment, green and amber flecks flashing before returning to darkness. “Are you unhappy with me?”
“No.” I turned back.
“Stoicism is usually my thing,” he said. I heard the smile in his voice.
The back of my eyes burned with tears. We approached the fork in the road. The right led to the palace. Its pointed turrets rose high over the silhouetted buildings of the city, an icy blue in the moonlight. Inside, he would be the crown prince again, formidable and dutiful. My better in every way. He would avoid my kisses. Gossip would fly and all I’d be able to do was bear it and try to follow in his footsteps when he had already left me far, far behind.
To the left was another mile until Greenwood Abbey.
I took the reins.
Bennett released them. “Cissa?”
I jerked the horse to the left, urging it into a canter. Wind whipped back my hair as the buildings blurred past us.
He grabbed my waist. “Where are you going? We have to go back home!”
I ignored him.
“You are upset with me. Cissa! Slow down, please,” Bennett said. His hold on my waist tightened. I was being reckless, but I couldn’t stop.
“It is you who is unhappy with me!” I burst out. My tears fell. The darkness and our speed made me feel like I could rage at him without consequence. “For the past month you’ve been acting like...like we haven’t even met! Why don’t you treat me like you used to?”
“How did I treat you before?” Bennett asked, bewildered.
“Like you loved me!”
Bennett sucked in a breath as I broke into a sob. He reclaimed the reins. I wiped my face quickly as we slowed down.
“I want to go to Greenwood Abbey. Don’t...you... dare turn around,” I demanded, gripping his wrists.
But my forbidding words were dulled by the tremor in my voice and the tears that streamed down my face in rivulets. My breaths came in and out in shaky gasps. I had never dared to cry for long under Mother’s watch—but now it was as if every childhood tantrum I had suppressed burst to the surface.
It was horrid and unladylike and utterly unbecoming.
Bennett gently extracted himself from my grasp. “I won’t.”
He said nothing after that. We continued down the road at a sensible trot. His silence made my throat seize. Somehow it was even worse than if he had reprimanded me. Mother had not been kind after my tantrums. I didn’t expect Bennett to be either. Was he thinking that he had held me too high in his regard? That I was not fit to be his crown princess after all?
Minutes passed, and my swollen eyelids grew heavy. We passed the open field that separated Delibera from Greenwood Abbey, populated by dirt roads and tall grasses beginning to turn yellow from the summer heat. The night was cool, however, and I grew cold even with Bennett’s warmth at my back.
It wasn’t long before Greenwood Abbey’s low stone walls and iron wrought gates came into view at the top of a slight hill, the solid structure familiar and comforting. Father wasn’t expecting me back for another month at least. I wondered if he’d be disappointed in me too.
Bennett stopped us beneath the large elm tree before the gates. The branches hid us from view of the guards standing watch.
I began to dismount, but Bennett placed his hands on my shoulders. I stiffened.
“Cissa,” he said. “Don’t go.”
A part of me wanted to melt into his arms. But I thought about the palace. How lonely and cavernous it was there. How within those walls, it was no longer just me and Bennett. He was the crown prince and I was merely his shadow—something that dissolved into insignificance the moment the sun rose. And besides, did he really want me to stay even after everything I said?
Bennett gently squeezed my arm. “We have to be back for the Ambassadors Ball.”
“Why is that all you talk about?” I sobbed.
“Cissa—”
I threw his hands off. “That’s it. Don’t touch me.”
I swung my leg over the saddle and dismounted gracelessly onto the grass. It was barely light enough to register the stricken look on his face.
Good , I thought angrily. Let him be hurt the same way I am.
I turned my face away. Despite everything, I loved him too well to mean it.
I started for the gates, but something yanked me back. The horse whinnied in protest. The hem of my dressing gown was caught in the stirrup.
Great .
Bennett dismounted and went to it immediately. But my pride was too wounded to let him play the chivalrous prince. I fumbled with the hooks and eyes of the dressing gown and tore it off of me. The night air bit at my arms as Bennett glanced at the discarded pile of silk incredulously, then at my nightgown. His cheeks flushed.
“Cissa, you can’t wear that inside,” he shouted after me as I marched toward the gate. The dried grass scratched my ankles. I barely made it five paces before a loud rip followed, then rapid footsteps.
Bennett threw the dressing gown over my shoulders and stepped forward to face me. His hair was in disarray, his expression bewildered.
“Please, Narcissa,” Bennett said. He reached out to touch my cheek, but seemed to think better of it. “Let’s...let’s just go home.”
“I am home.”
“But—”
“The palace is your home, not mine! You’re not mine.” I swallowed another sob, but the tears fell anyway. They dripped from my cheek to Bennett’s still outstretched hand. He stared at them, his lips parted.
I fled.