Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
LINDY
Lindy wasn’t sure how many days had passed in the windowless cell, only that enough time had passed in the outside world that her jailer had deemed her worthy of dry bread and water three times.
Each time he delivered it with a kind of gleeful anticipation, as if expecting her to balk or turn up her nose at the meager offering.
Instead, she smiled, accepted the plate as serenely as if she had been offered a tray of rich, decadent food at a royal feast, and took great satisfaction in the frustrated scrunch of his brow.
She refused to let him see her weakness, but her bravado lasted only until the heavy door slammed behind him.
With one such plate in front of her, Lindy slumped to the cold, damp floor and leaned back weakly into the wall of rough stone.
The rash on her hands had subsided, but though some of the blisters had scabbed over, the worst of them had turned hot to the touch, with angry red streaks extending out like wicked sunbursts.
She picked up her bread with the heels of her hands and nibbled at the hard crust, thankful to have something to distract her mind from the throbbing pain in her fingers and the equally excruciating pain in her chest.
For the first few hours after her imprisonment she had stood by the door, firmly believing that one of the princes would come to release her.
When that didn’t happen, she held out hope for her giant.
She regretted asking him to stay behind, but surely once he realized that she was delayed, Atlas would come for her.
His promises couldn’t have all been empty words.
But as time stretched on and no one but the vindictive guard appeared, Lindy began to accept the fact that no one was coming for her. Corbin had Elise, the rest of the princes had their human bodies, and Atlas had his goose. They no longer needed her.
She was alone.
A key jangled in the lock and she startled, not expecting to have another visitor so soon after her meal was delivered.
The thought crossed through her mind that she should stand, but just as she decided that she didn’t much care anymore what the guard thought, the door creaked open and Corbin stepped into the cell.
He blinked, no doubt adjusting his eyes to the almost non-existent light that seeped in through the narrow barred window at the top of the door. “Lindy?”
“I feel I should be offended that you didn’t dress for dinner. I have obviously failed in my duties as a mother.”
He let out a low curse as he finally registered her presence and dropped to his knees beside her.
She tsked and shook her head, unable to summon the energy to lift it from the wall. “And now you’re swearing like a common sailor. I should have my motherly duties revoked. Oh. Wait.”
“Lindy, I’m sorry. They told me they were treating you well.” Corbin’s voice was filled with regret.
“I’m sure they are treating me just as well as they would any other prisoner. There might be a little extra animosity in the bread, since I’m sure Haldrick still has them believing that I killed their king, but other than that, it’s likely standard treatment.”
“But they…you’re not…” Corbin shoved an angry, frustrated hand through his hair. “You didn’t actually do anything wrong.”
Lindy hummed and dropped her bread, and it clanked like a rock as it fell back to the plate. “I did curse you.”
“Which was an accident, and it wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t been such…bird-brained ninnies.”
She snorted softly. “Very creative. I like the theme.”
“I’m serious, Lindy. We were horrible to you.
We were all angry at Father for remarrying, and Pierre and Jacques were still broken over losing their mother, and I let things get out of hand.
I told myself that the rumors were true, that you were looking for a kingdom after having been edged out of your own and that you must have either seduced Father or else put some sort of spell on him to make him marry you. ”
“Again, I applaud your creativity.”
Corbin’s shoulders slumped. “It made me angry when you put up with all of Jacques’ pranks.
Nothing we did or said could ever get to you.
You were always poised and beautiful and untouchable, and I convinced myself that you were just biding your time, plotting all of our downfall.
Then Father died, and I took out all of my grief and anger on you.
I never stopped to consider the fact that maybe you put up with all of our torment because it was better than whatever you left behind, or that you were untouchable not out of superiority, but because you had become that way to survive. ”
Lindy blinked furiously, willing her tears not to fall. For once, she was left without a biting comeback.
“It wasn’t until your giant pointed things out that I started actually watching and listening, and it made me reconsider a lot of the preconceived notions I held about you. I’m sorry.”
He reached for her hand, and Lindy sucked in a sharp hiss of pain as his fingers brushed the infected blisters. He grabbed her wrist instead, holding it up so that he could see the injuries in the dim light. “Lindy…” Corbin’s whisper was hoarse and broken.
She gently pulled her arm from his grasp and set it back down in her lap, willing the throbbing, pulsing agony to cease. “It’s fine. The curse is broken, isn’t it? You can finally kiss Elise without worrying about beak breath.”
He blew out a long exhale. “She gave me quite the lecture that day.”
Lindy raised a brow. “Ellie did? You must have made her really angry, then.”
“I did. She had similar words as your giant did, though she wasn’t quite as harsh as Atlas in wishing for my continued swanhood. But she did say that she wouldn’t agree to marry me until I could own up to my part and admit that I had been wrong about you.”
The wounds in her heart that had only started beginning to heal cracked open again. “Ah. So this is the pre-marriage proposal apology.”
He shook his head. “No. This is the apology that I’ve been wanting to make since I saw the first blisters on your hands and realized just how far you were willing to go to save us, even when, at that time, there was no benefit in sight for you.
Even when you likely believed with your whole heart—and with good reason—that I would be throwing you into this dungeon the moment I was freed, you still kept going.
Even when Atlas offered you a way out, you kept sacrificing. For us.”
“Well, the dungeon part did turn out to be true,” she pointed out wryly.
“Yes, but not through any doing of mine.” Corbin leaned back. “Even after hearing from all seven of us, Haldrick still has a majority of the court convinced that you must have messed with our minds. That you transformed us back only after compelling us to do your bidding.”
“He’s even more creative than you are.” Lindy rolled her eyes. “So it’s the stake for me, I’m guessing?”
“I don’t think Atlas would leave a stone of the city—much less castle—standing if we were to allow that to happen.”
Her heart ached with longing at the mention of his name, but she stubbornly pushed the feelings to the side. “I don’t think he’ll actually do that. He’s too kind. Besides, I would have guessed he would have been here by now if he actually cared.” She shifted. “I think your castle will be safe.”
“Lindy.” There was enough authority in Corbin’s voice to make her instinctively look at him. “I’m not going to let them kill you.”
She shrugged, accepting her defeat. “Maybe it’s not entirely bad if they do. At least once I’m gone, Haldrick won’t be able to claim that I’m manipulating your mind any more. I’ve been offered up as a political sacrifice before. This time will just involve actual fire.”
He stilled, frozen for a moment before asking slowly, “Do you trust me?”
Lindy hesitated, remembering all of the times that he had been at the helm of her torment, but then recalled the flowers, the bear, and all the small ways he had started showing his acceptance and support. Her answer tumbled from her lips, surprising her with its honesty.
“Yes.”
Atlas
The axe head cut through the wood with a splintering crack, and Atlas paused just long enough to turn the log and line it up for another strike before swinging the axe up and over his shoulder again with enough aggression to send the split pieces flying as the blade sank deep into the stump of wood he used as a chopping block.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and glared at the pile of wood still needing to be split.
His extended absence had put him ridiculously behind on his chores—a fact that wouldn’t needle so much if not for the fact that the reason he was behind was still at the bottom of the mountain, apparently without a thought of him on her mind.
He had waited, as she asked.
Waited until night fell, and then through a second day.
Waited until both he and Phoebe had become so restless that they carved a path back and forth along the shore as they paced.
Waited until he was forced to come to the conclusion that perhaps Lindy had realized that she did want to be a queen after all, and that she wasn’t coming back.
He couldn’t blame her—she was quite literally born for it. She was meant to command a room, to grace a throne with her beauty and wit.
She was certainly a better choice than those birds.
But even knowing that didn’t take away the ache of wanting her, of looking over to catch the tilt of her brow at something ridiculous Phoebe did, or waiting with anticipation for the sun to set because he knew he would be able to hear her voice.
It took everything in him not to march to the castle and carry her away, and it was only the fact that he had promised to respect her wishes that he didn’t.
Phoebe honked at him from where she sat proudly atop the pile of split wood. From the open door of the kitchen, he heard Ms. Fumley’s voice carry through the air in a surprised greeting.
He scowled, shouldered his axe, and marched to the house.
I don’t have the patience for this today.
“Is that the sound of my next meal?” he bellowed. “I’ve worked up quite an appetite.”
He stopped short as Ms. Fumley arrived at the kitchen door, followed by a man only a few years his junior with dark hair and well-tailored clothes that had obviously not been made for climbing the Beanstalk.
The man’s right shirtsleeve was torn, and a second white sleeve peeked out from underneath the dark blue linen.
Atlas looked him up and down. He was taller than average, but still at least a foot and a half shorter than he was. “Eh,” he grumbled. “Looks stringy.”
The stranger lifted his brows in amusement.
“Atlas!” Ms. Fumley hissed through clenched teeth. “This is the crown prince.”
“I see.” Atlas rocked back on his heels as his heart sank. “I guess Lindy’s counter-curse must have worked, then?”
Prince Corbin held up his right arm, letting the ripped sleeve fall open. “Mostly.” What Atlas had mistaken for fabric before was a layer of soft, white feathers. “One of the shirts wasn’t quite finished.”
“I would offer my condolences,” he drawled, “but honestly, it serves you right.”
The prince surprised him by agreeing. “It does. And every day that I see myself, it’s a reminder not to take people at their face value, to look below the surface.”
Atlas shifted the weight of his axe on his shoulder. “How inspiring. I take it there’s another reason you’ve climbed up here and disturbed my peace, other than letting me know that you’ve acquired an ounce of human decency and morality?”
“Atlas!” Ms. Fumley hissed again.
Prince Corbin waved the words away. “Lindy’s been arrested.”
“WHAT?”
“Haldrick still believes her responsible for my father’s death, and, unfortunately, he’s convinced a majority of the court that I’m not of sound enough mind to vouch for her innocence. He wants her executed.”
Atlas gripped the handle of the axe until his knuckles turned white. He gritted his teeth together. “No.”
Prince Corbin fixed Atlas with a purposeful stare. “Do you love her?”
“Yes.” He answered the question more easily than breathing.
“How do you feel about storming a castle?”
Atlas dropped his axe, already on his way to the Beanstalk. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”