Chapter 27
Maddox
Trying to leave Castor’s Nightshade home feels like the moment right before I gave myself my first injection. When my hand hovered over my stomach with the needle, almost jabbing it in but stopping right before. Because it felt wrong, purposefully causing myself pain.
Castor’s incessant fussing over me does nothing to help the matter.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“You don’t want to stay and rest?”
“I can make you some coffee.”
“Here, I’m making you some coffee—don’t say no.”
Then he does, of course. And when I ask how he learned to make this supposedly revolting mortal beverage he casually says, “I learned how so I wouldn’t have to sneak into Arborfell every morning to steal from them. There are plenty of books on the topic.”
My struck expression must make him think I’m horrified that he’s been stealing from mortals, because he flashes me a guilty smile.
When, really, I’m horrified because…fucking because.
Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Because he’s a dryad king, so this should have been simple. Because I hate dryads.
Except maybe I don’t?
Part of me wants to scream, Stop being so nice to me, you asshole.
I’m literally trying to murder you. And the other part of me wants to shut him up with my mouth, ask him if we can pick up where we left off.
Just the thought has me aching in a way I shouldn’t be.
The kind of delicious ache only cured by fingers and mouths and a feverish touch.
“Maddox?”
I’m standing on his front step finally, trying to leave so I can gather the poison I brewed for him. “Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you?”
My heart both leaps and sinks, a combination that leads to a flat line. “Yeah.” The word leaves my lips in the form of a sigh.
Almost as if it’s second nature, he takes my face gently in his hands, cradling my chin as he brushes a thumb along my jaw. He doesn’t kiss me, though. Just looks into my eyes.
“Not scared, are you?” I tease, hating myself for it.
A huff of a laugh. “Why are you so obsessed with me being afraid?” he says.
“Thought you wanted to kiss me.”
“I want to look at you first.” His fingertips move into my hair, dark gaze roaming over my face.
After a moment, his eyebrows lift slightly at the corners, tugged up by some secret sorrow that I don’t understand.
But Castor is just like that. He feels things, and when he does, they move across his face for everyone to see.
The opposite of me. It’s one of the most beautiful things about him.
When I met Durian, I thought he was the more handsome of the two brothers, and he technically would be if you asked a Hollywood plastic surgeon.
With his golden hair and perfect white teeth and flawless skin.
Beautiful like a brand-new car. But Castor is beautiful like a campfire in the middle of an evergreen forest. One that smolders as it dies.
“Castor, I—”
“I promise I’m going to kiss you, but I figured the longer I make you wait for it, the longer you’ll stay.”
I roll my eyes, but instead of pulling away, I use my hand as an anchor to tug me closer to him.
Wrapping my other around the back of his neck, I rise on tiptoes to press my lips to his.
He’s not expecting the suddenness of it, but his mouth parts to envelop mine anyway.
This kiss is nothing like our last—all fiery and full of hateful passion.
This one is soft and solemn, cradling my goodbye.
I apologize to the king with my lips. The only way I know how.
We break slowly apart. Then I walk away before he can watch me shatter.
Each step toward Magesté feels heavier and heavier, which isn’t helped by my profound lack of sleep and this morning’s low blood sugar.
If only Javen could see me now. He’d be disgusted. All of this to be cured of diabetes? I already know what he would say.
I mean, I know it sucks, Dox, but, like…you’re really going to murder someone? Damn, I knew you could be a coldhearted bitch sometimes, but this is some next-level shit.
Okay, he probably wouldn’t be so harsh. He’d probably get all introspective and be like, Can you live with that, Dox? Taking a life? Do you think it will be worth it? Which, to be honest, is so much worse.
Javen wouldn’t understand, of course. He has his new job and his perfectly clean bill of health.
Untethered and without any medical burdens.
If he’d lost his job and burned through his money and had no health insurance and couldn’t afford a place to rent, he could have slept on the streets and eaten food out of the garbage.
A shitty life, sure, but he could live. A mere chance at life is all I’m asking for.
Maybe if I’d asked for less, the Myrtle Queen would have lowered the stakes.
In a daze, I walk forward, sipping the coffee the king made me while I contemplate his death.
The leaves in the treetops crash together like a waterfall against sharp rocks as I travel back to Magesté.
It’s unseasonably chilly, and I pull the traveling cloak Castor loaned me more tightly around me.
He also let me change out of my bloodstained corset and bloomers into a white blouse and black pants. To whom they belonged, I didn’t ask.
Last night I was so preoccupied by Castor’s horrendous singing and the looming threat of blood nymphs, I didn’t notice how secluded it was out here.
No establishments or redwood homes to be seen.
Just rickety walking paths strung between trunks a million feet above the ground.
A tiny wood sprite crawls along the railing.
I think they like the smell of nepenthe or something.
The stench of it must be permanently stuck to me—especially after spending a night dozing fitfully on Castor’s couch.
The trembling in my limbs intensifies as I picture Castor sprawled out on that same couch with vacant eyes, an empty glass of poisoned wine shattered on the floor beside him. I squeeze my eyes shut a moment, halting on the path to take a steadying breath. Stop.
Guilt is for people who have a choice. These dryads made certain I would be robbed of that choice the moment they murdered my parents.
I’ve known Castor scarcely more than a week.
That isn’t enough time to feel this way.
I’m just getting too wrapped up in my emotions because I’m exhausted and terrified and my blood sugar is a wreck and I’ve never murdered someone before.
My head is clearly not in a great place.
It’s convinced my heart to feel things it shouldn’t.
I center myself and take a step forward that uncenters everything.
The plank of wood beneath my foot splinters and collapses in on itself. I throw my hands out to catch myself before I fall through, stomach swooping. My pouch of supplies clinks against my throwing axe and my leg dangles over hundreds of feet of air.
Suddenly, a soft lyrical song rings out in my ears.
Careful there, darling girl, a mesmeric voice croons in my mind. Mortals weren’t made to climb trees. Much less fall out of them.
I nearly let go of the other planks as a tinkling laugh travels on the wind. “Where are you?” I hiss.
Why, right here, lovely.
Glancing up, my eyes land on the most stunning creature I’ve ever seen—and, working at Magesté, I have seen many stunning creatures.
Perched on a branch several feet above me is a willowy female with pale lavender skin, striking aquamarine eyes, and long, silver hair that glitters like diamonds in the afternoon light.
Pulling my leg up, I scoot backward onto the wooden planks. “Who are you?”
“I am the Erlking’s daughter,” she says out loud. “Lorelai is what you may call me if you’d like.”
“Who is the Erlking?”
“My father.”
“No—yes, I figured that, but—”
The world fills with a burst of song again, an intoxicating, lyric-less melody. I close my eyes, drinking in the sudden calm sensation trickling through my body.
“You are troubled, my darling,” Lorelai says, her voice acting as a depressant to my nervous system, slowing everything down. “You are seeking something quite desperately. Come with me. I have what you need.”
I try to explain that she couldn’t possibly have what I need, but then she starts to sing again, and every bad feeling crumbles away. Maybe she does have what I need…In fact, I’m sure she does.
What am I even doing?
It’s so dangerous.
I could fall.
Come with me, Lorelai sings in my mind as she leans down, reaching out a slender hand. Come, my love.
I can’t remember why I didn’t want to go with her in the first place. There is nowhere I would rather be than in the presence of this enchanting creature. Adjusting my weapons belt, I stand again, stretching upward to reach for her.
Her fingers entangle with mine, the singing intensifying tenfold.
Then Lorelai smiles down at me with two rows of pointed sharklike teeth and inky smoke pours out of her throat, enrobing me in darkness.