Chapter 2
Braxton
She is infuriating. Truly maddening. Who gets up in the middle of a meal and just storms out?
I didn’t even say anything to her. I didn’t even do anything to her…
during dinner. My mind wanders to earlier in the day when I locked her out of the library, arguably her favorite room in this entire condemned castle besides her bedroom.
I had to, though. Azalea’s curiosity has been getting the better of her again. I noticed she started digging for answers to her curse, and that is something she can’t succeed in finding.
She has plenty of other places she can wander off to that are perfectly safe and won’t provide her with the truth that she so desperately seeks.
A truth that, if discovered, would destroy us both.
Though I can’t blame her for not wishing to wander the castle.
To me, it feels like a graveyard made of empty echoing halls that torment me with what could have been—what used to be.
I also don’t blame her for wanting answers, but I have to ensure that she never gets them.
My fingers release their crushing grip on the fork and knife I still have in my hands.
I look down at the bloodied steak on my plate and suddenly lose my appetite.
Sighing, I fall back into my chair and push the porcelain dish away from me.
I run my hand down my face and groan as I think about how this is not how this evening was supposed to go.
Honestly, none of our evenings have been short of a disaster the past week.
I can see her hatred for me growing with every day she’s forced to stay here.
And I deserve every ounce of it. After all, I did this to her.
I forced her here. I imprisoned her to these ghostly grounds.
But dammit if I wouldn’t do it again to ward off the alternative.
I often find myself wondering how much easier this would be if she would give me a chance to show her that I am more man than monster. At least I used to be. Before. Now I’m not sure if I am so far off from the beast she envisions me to be.
My fingers ache to run across her smooth olive skin or through her soft chestnut curls. They’ve become as equally untamed as my beautiful Wildflower, making her all the more tantalizing to behold.
She’s growing her hair long right now, and I have to admit, it’s my favorite thing she’s done with it in a while.
A few months ago, she kept chopping it all the way to her chin in what I could only assume was an act of rebellion.
I think she believes that if she makes herself less attractive, it will have me release her from this curse.
What she doesn’t seem to understand is that I could never find her as anything except absolutely breathtaking.
I often find myself fantasizing about wrapping my fist around her thick mess of curls, pulling her head back, exposing her neck to me. I shake the lust-filled thought away. The last thing I want to do tonight is have to pump these thoughts out of my mind in my bath chamber.
Even when her honey brown eyes are murdering me from across the room, I can’t keep myself from yearning for her.
And I’ll be patient, though it hasn’t done me any good so far.
Some days I want to lock her smart mouth into a bruising kiss that steals away all the air she has left in her lungs, and other days I wish for nothing more than a civil conversation.
With Azalea, though, I usually get neither.
I brush my fingers through my hair, letting out a regretful sigh.
I start to play through everything I could have done differently to get her to stay and eat with me for once.
It’s been so long since she sat here and actually had a meal with me, not taking a couple of small bites before inevitably storming out.
I would wonder how her body remains so beautifully voluptuous, but I always make sure she gets fed, even if she won’t eat with me.
When I hear her door slam, not once but twice, I finally drag my eyes away from the empty door frame she stormed out of, accepting the truth that she won’t be coming back. Not that she ever does.
“I’ll be retiring to my bedchamber as well,” I say to Gravsley. He only nods in response. “Can you do me a favor and make sure Marita brings some fresh food to Azalea’s room?” I add, looking at her almost entirely full plate.
“Of course, sir.” Gravsley gives an encouraging half smile, the wrinkles etched around his eyes crinkling. Of all the servants that occupy this castle, I believe he hates me the least, which is why he’s my steward.
All of the servants love Azalea, which is no surprise.
She is a wonder to behold. But, in their love for her, they, naturally, all blame me for this curse, as they should.
This curse binds them to this castle just as it binds me and Azalea here.
What they don’t know is that they blame me for the wrong reasons.
I’m the only one who knows the truth behind what I did and the malediction I created. And I will take that secret to my grave before I let anyone discover it and ruin my chances of getting what I want in this life. What I need.
Her.