Chapter 23
Castor
Durian’s little game is rapidly unraveling.
Or perhaps that’s me.
What was meant to be a prolonged dinner designed to humiliate me has transformed into a full-blown night of torture. I played along as he ordered his servants to dress me up, as he instructed his guests on how to behave, how to treat him as if he were the cursed prince.
I acted as though I found it amusing. Grinned as he showed them how to leap out of his way if he got too close. Then I bit my tongue as he swept Maddox under his wing. A grand performance to paint me as the fool I am.
With each casual remark, pieces of my poorly made armor splinter and fall away. The wine isn’t helping like it should, and the smoking room doesn’t contain near enough brandy to take the edge off Durian’s calculated quips.
I’ve had an unswallowable lump in my throat all night and ducked away to the bathrooms for a brief panic attack.
Everything is fine. Completely and utterly fine.
As we enter the cavernous room of dark wooden walls and claret-colored furniture, the other guests shuffle in behind us, taking their places at redwood card tables and in clusters of armchairs, playing their parts effortlessly.
I lead our trio to a table in a darkened corner. If I must be humiliated by my brother, the fewer witnesses, the better. I may be playing king, but everyone—save for Maddox—knows who holds the true power here. Everyone knows what could happen if I step too far across the line.
“I do not suppose you would enjoy some brandy?” Durian says to Maddox, settling into the seat to her right as I take the one on the opposite side. “I fear it’s rather strong.”
Maddox’s chin lifts. “I would love some brandy, actually.”
Durian smiles and snaps his fingers. A woodling hurries over with a bottle and a crystal glass, filling it with the caramel-colored liquid. Maddox takes a sip, not looking away from Durian for a moment. I shift in my seat.
“That is…definitely brandy,” she says.
I wouldn’t know whether she liked it or not if her eyes hadn’t gone all watery from the burn of the alcohol.
“The best in the kingdom,” Durian says with a pompous smirk. “Aged in redwood barrels for nearly a century.”
Frowning thoughtfully at this, Maddox glances about the room a moment before querying, “How do you have so many wooden things if you don’t cut down trees?”
Durian chuckles. “Not all trees die by being cut down. Plus, we have a whole team of dryads who scour mortal shops and antique stores for genuine wood pieces, which are reclaimed and brought back here.”
What Durian doesn’t mention is that several of the felled heartwood trees in our kingdom are connected to dryads who have broken Redwood Law. That they were killed on his orders. Fortunately, he doesn’t, because it would make me look even worse in her eyes than I already do.
I hold my already empty glass out to a woodling to refill.
“The rarity of redwood is part of what makes our aged brandy so valuable. Not that I care so much about that, of course. I’ll admit I drink more than my fair share of the kingdom’s wine and spirits regardless of their quality,” Durian continues, his focus turning briefly to me.
“It’s how I prefer to spend my time. That is, when I’m not sending people to an early grave for getting too close to me. Isn’t that right, Your Majesty?”
Maddox shifts uncomfortably, folding her hands in her lap.
The amber liquid in my glass sloshes as I set it on the table, keeping my fingers wrapped around the base, pretending it’s Durian’s neck.
“A bit of an exaggeration, but not wholly untrue.” Seems Durian’s new acting role is bringing out words he has wanted to say, perhaps, but has kept to himself all these years.
“Would it also be an exaggeration to say it’s my fault our brother is dead?”
My hand tightens around my glass. I swear I can hear it crack. So there we have it. “No. That’s not an exaggeration.”
Maddox looks from me to Durian. “How is it your fault your brother died? He was killed by…” Her sentence drops off and she bites down on her bottom lip. When she speaks again, her words come out several decibels lower. “I thought a mortal killed him.”
I arch my brow at her. “A mortal did kill him.”
“Because of my curse,” Durian adds, sneering in my direction. “Isn’t that right, brother?”
“Yes.” I throw the contents of my glass down my throat, reveling in the burn. “That’s right.”
Maddox shakes her head. “That’s ridiculous.”
“What is ridiculous?” There’s the slightest edge to Durian’s tone.
“It’s ridiculous to believe your brother died because of your curse when he was killed by a mortal man who made the conscious decision to kill him,” she says.
“And the curse itself is ridiculous and unfair. Why should you be rejected for being adopted? It should be a good thing. It means you’re wanted.
Family is family, whether you share blood—or bark—or not. ”
An unfamiliar sensation blooms in my chest. The corner of my mouth begins to tug upward, but then I see the dangerous glint of rage in Durian’s stare, the sizzle of tension along his sharp jawline.
“I was wanted as a sapling,” he says, “until my curse started killing everyone who cared for me. Then I wasn’t so wanted anymore.”
“But people kept getting close to you anyway—”
“Because they didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.”
Frown lines form between Maddox’s brows and beside her mouth. “Well, cursed or not, you belong here now. Cyperus must have adopted you for a reason.”
“There was no good reason to adopt me,” Durian snarls, a rash of angry red spreading up his neck.
“I should have been left to die. Unwanted and alone. That’s where I belonged.
My brother was a softhearted imbecile who cared too much about the wrong sorts of creatures and not enough about those who mattered. ”
An appalled expression twists Maddox’s face. “Surely you can’t believe—”
“That’s enough,” I say sharply. “The Sovereign Tree possesses magic you could never begin to comprehend, Maddox. The prince was cursed because his heartwood never belonged on that branch.”
“Yes, but when—”
“It is nothing like your mortal experiences,” I interject, pumping as much venom as I can into the words.
“There is no comparison, so don’t try to find one.
Growing up without a stable family does not give a mortal like yourself the right to criticize or question the very foundation this kingdom is built upon. ”
Fire blazes in her eyes, showing me how many steps back I’ve just taken.
She looks as though she is near erupting into a fit of fury.
But, instead, she leans back in her seat, narrowing her eyes in thought before she lets out a long, slow breath.
“I just don’t like to see people cast aside for something they never asked for. ”
“No worries, darling,” Durian purrs, calmer now. “My brother has been known to have a bit of a temper. But the king is quite right. I am cursed because my heartwood belongs back in the neglected forest from which it came. Because I will never—ever—be a true member of this royal family.”
Every word is another thorn added to my crown, cutting into my temple.
Maddox looks obliquely in my direction, as if waiting for me to hurl more cruel words her way.
“Well,” she says slowly. “That’s quite a shame. Life is lonely without a family.”
“Trust me.” He flashes a wolfish grin. “I never find myself lonely for long.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Maddox simpers. “It’s not as though you’re insanely handsome or anything.”
Durian notes the flirtatious cadence of her voice and smiles more widely. “Yes, I know. It’s a shame my brother got all the good looks.”
Maddox laughs much too hard at this for my taste, pressing her hand to his shoulder as if he is the humor king of the redwood forest.
Fire and lava and every burning thing fill each vein and ventricle. My fist closes over the armrest and black rot begins to seep into the wood. Immediately, I lift my hand, taking a steadying breath. I lay my cloak over the ruined armrest to hide the damage.
Maddox glances to the piano currently playing a lively tune. “How do your instruments play on their own?”
“Enchanted.” Durian swirls the brandy in his nearly full glass as I accept another serving from a passing woodling.
“How does that work?”
“Anything made from natural materials is enchantable by a dryad.”
“But how?”
“How does anything work?” Durian says. “I’m sure your mortal scientists could study us and come up with a formula to explain why. But what difference does that make? I want the piano to play, so it does. Don’t ask why or how, just enjoy the music.”
“Dryads can influence natural things to do what they wish,” I interrupt. “That is how. The piano is made of wood and ivory, and a piece of the dryad’s soul lives on through the wood. That is why.”
“I thought only druids could speak Sylvan,” Maddox says, not looking my way.
“Sylvan is more of a two-way communication,” I say. “Dryad magic is like…a mortal giving a dog a command.”
“Ah…”
“What an incredibly dull conversation this is.” Durian leans toward Maddox now, ignoring my presence entirely as he speaks in a voice that makes the brandy I just swallowed crawl back up my throat. “Can you play the piano, Maddox?”
Her eyes flit briefly to me before moving back to him. “A little.”
“Can you sing as well?” he asks. “I’ve always found mortal voices rather enchanting.”
Maddox glances down at her lap with the trace of a frown tugging on her lips. “Sort of. Not perfectly.”
“Luckily, there is no such thing as a perfect mortal song. That’s what makes them so lovely.” He places a hand on her forearm. “You should sing me a song to cheer me up. I’ve been dreadfully melancholy lately.”
For the first time, Maddox looks truly panicked. “Oh, I don’t think—”
“Come, now, darling,” he interrupts. “Entertain us.” Durian sits back, waving a hand around the room of gentlemen pretending not to listen in on our conversation.
“No, really.” Maddox shakes her head, clutching her glass of brandy to her chest. “I’m so out of practice—”
“Sing.” Durian’s voice takes on a commanding tone. “I insist.”
Maddox’s gaze moves to mine, as if seeking my counsel for once. I dip my chin into a slight nod, if only to get her away from my brother and the clawlike hands inching closer and closer to her thigh.
She swallows the rest of her brandy, setting the empty glass on the table. “I suppose I have no choice, do I?”
“There’s a good girl,” he purrs before calling out to the others in the room, “Quiet, gentlemen, quiet. Miss Maddox has generously offered to grace us with a performance.”
Her jaw tightens at his words. She approaches the piano no one ever touches, and the gentle plinking of the keys ceases the moment she sits down.
Sitting there on the wooden bench, a slight curve in her back like an elongated S, Maddox looks like she belongs anywhere in the world but here.
In this place with these dryads who lord their coin and power over those who have less.
She looks like she belongs in a quaint mortal café with the coffee she loves so much.
Durian watches her with a predatory hunger. Despite the fatal end goal of this pact, there is no doubt that it’s the only thing saving her from being my brother’s entertainment tonight. He can try to meddle all he wants, but he cannot touch her. Not like that.
Testing the keys, Maddox’s face takes on a new quality I’ve yet to witness. Concentration and echoes of memories swirl in her features, softening the edges of them. The melody of the song is simple yet haunting all the same.
As her fingers feel their way across the ivories, her eyes fall closed. No one in this room can deny the mortal edge of imperfection in her beauty, the hint that the forest doesn’t flow through her veins.
Then the first note rings from her throat, and I realize her voice is the most mortal thing about her. Achingly, painfully raw and drenched with every emotion and feeling she’s held back over the past several days on dazzling display. Not a trace of a lie in her haunting words.
Her fingers stumble over the keys. But that’s what makes it beautiful, so very un-fae. The other men in the room look on, mesmerized. Durian’s piercing gaze doesn’t falter. Neither does mine.
Her eyes fix on me as she sings the last verse. A verse about love. How it is the greatest thing you could ever learn—to love and be loved in return.
The words are daggers and roses. Cruel lies and heartfelt truths. Slashes of claws and gentle caresses.
The final note rings out, and in this moment, I try with all my dark, demented soul to hate her.
To remember how it feels to loathe the red-haired viper.
But, among all my convoluted, muddled feelings, hate is not one of them.
At some point—maybe tonight, maybe days ago—her silver eyes turned from daggers to blazing starlight.
I don’t know how she did it, how she bewitched me into this state.
Through trickery, through carefully dosed poison, through some mortal magic of which I’m not aware.
But of all the cruel crimes Maddox has committed against me, making me see her as something other than a monster is most definitely the cruelest.