Chapter 25 #4
My lips curl cruelly up on one side. “You are good at dodging questions and hiding from the truth, I’ll give you that.
” I slide to the edge of the island and hop off, not even bothered by my lack of skirt or pants.
Feels kind of badass to walk around in only a bodysuit, bloomers, and a weapons belt.
Tamarind moves to stand in front of me, his voice rising in decibel. “I’m not hiding from any truth.”
“So you’re saying you don’t care at all for the king? That he is nothing more to you than a royal bastard you protect from mortals like me?”
“Well, no—”
“So you do care about him, then.”
“I mean, of course I care about him, but not—”
“More than care. You love him, don’t you?”
I’m not sure why I’m going in so hard on this.
Probably because this dryad, this ever-present grim reaper, is the reason things have gotten this far.
The reason I care about the king now. The reason I am still doing this ridiculous dance, why I’m not already cured and out of these fucking woods.
Because spending a week with anyone will make it difficult to murder them if you aren’t completely heartless.
Spending a week with Castor, though, has… well, it’s fucked me up.
Tamarind sputters, tripping over his words. “No, I do not—”
“Just admit it, Tamarind,” I say half playfully, half cruelly. “You love him.”
“I won’t admit that.”
“You love him, don’t you, Tam?” His chest rises and falls rapidly. I step closer, right in front of him. “What’s wrong? Why won’t you just say it?”
“Because I don’t—”
“Say it,” I repeat more forcefully.
“NO.”
“Oh my God. Just SAY IT, Tamarind.”
I’m yelling at him now because I may be a little drunk myself.
Because I’m in pain and exhausted and nearly out of insulin.
I’m yelling because my blood sugar is high, and it won’t come down.
I’m yelling because I’m terrified that I can’t do what I came here to do.
That no matter how many times I get the king alone, I’ll never work up the nerve to sink my dagger into his heart.
Which is why there’s a bottle of poisoned wine waiting for him back at Magesté, and I’m terrified I won’t even be able to give him that, knowing what it will do.
I just need to yell at somebody, whether they deserve it or not.
Because it feels good. Because if I don’t yell, I’ll cry.
“JUST ADMIT YOU LOVE HIM. WHAT ARE YOU SO AFRAI—”
“Bleeding trees. OKAY, I love him.” Tamarind’s breath crashes against my face in tortured rage. “I do. But not in that way. Before he was adopted, he was my best—” His voice cracks, and he stops speaking. Tears spill down his cheeks.
Rather than satisfaction, I’m consumed with nauseating regret. What is wrong with me? I am such a fucking monster.
A horror-struck expression distorts Tamarind’s features. He lifts a shaking hand to his forehead. “What have I done?” he whispers. “What have I done?”
“I won’t say anything to him.” I reach out a hand. “Look, I’m sorry I—”
He flinches away from my touch, fixing me with a look of revulsion. “Stay with him. I have to go for a bit.”
“Okay, but—”
“Just stay with him,” he commands in an unsteady voice.
As he storms from the room, I hear him stifle a sob. It’s this sound that makes me realize that the only unlovable person in this forest is me.
Because who could ever love someone so selfish?
So cruel. A word spat by so many of my exes.
I know how to trick people into loving me, how to say just the right things in just the right way.
But, eventually, when someone knows me long enough, they see right through me.
The iron walls of my house turn to windows, so I leave before I become completely transparent.
Before they crack the sugar coating and reveal my poisonous core.
The front door slams behind Tamarind, and I make my way into the room with the vanity of drugs and the slumbering king. My focus trails from his still figure to a small knife beside the plate of cheese and apples.
This is what I wanted. I’m alone with the king. No guard. Easy escape.
I take one step toward the vanity, then another, kneeling beside it. I run a finger along the knife’s silver handle. Suddenly, Castor mutters something and rolls onto his back. I look over with doe-wide eyes. I grasp the knife’s handle, my whole arm shaking, a lump forming in my throat.
Castor stirs again, then he speaks one word on a sleep-drunk breath. “Maddox.”
The image of me on the piano with him in the hollow of my arms slinks into my mind.
Cups of coffee with steam rising and curling.
My sleepy mortal town with crashing waves seen from above.
From his vantage point. Silver paper and a ruthlessly perfect gift.
Blackened smoke spilling to the ground and rotting the creature that nearly killed me. The ferocity in Castor’s eyes.
I drop the knife.
Instead, I tug at the drawstring pouch at my hip, fill a syringe with several more units of fast-acting insulin to combat my sky-high blood sugar, and stab it into my stomach, pushing down on the plunger.