1
Azalea
Iwonderwhatitwould feel like to stab someone. No. Not someone.Him.Prince Braxton Carter of the Emerald Grove. As I twirl the serrated knife I’m holding through my fingers, I give him a saccharine smile before stabbing the blade into the hunk of meat on the porcelain plate in front of me.
Wrapping my fingers tighter around the hilt of the knife, I use it to lift the food to my lips and animalistically start gnawing it. When I feel some of the juices from the meat dribble down my chin and drip onto my dress, I don’t make any attempt at wiping it away. Similarly, Braxton does not attempt to conceal exactly how distasteful he thinks I’m being. Well, if he wanted a fucking lady, he should have cursed someone else. I continue shooting daggers at him with my eyes, wishing they could do the damage of a real blade.
“I can see you’re in a mood,” Braxton quips, returning his attention to his own meal.
Dropping the meat back onto my plate with a loud thunk, I grasp the stem of the golden goblet filled with wine, carelessly sloshing it and spilling on the black and gold embroidered clothrunning along the length of the solid wooden table. I take a generous swig, letting the small drops of red wine mix with the juices still glistening on my chin before finally grabbing the red satin napkin in my lap and wiping my face clean.
I never used to drink, always feeling the need to stay sharp around him, but I soon realized that was a feeble effort. It made no difference how focused I kept myself. At the end of the day, I was imprisoned in these castle grounds, so I figured I might as well start making my “stay” worthwhile by taking advantage of some of the better aspects of being in the castle.
“Maybe it’s because I miss my family, or my life, or really any semblance of normalcy before you cursed me to live in this skyforsaken castle with you out of a petty vengeance.”
“Yes, yes,” Braxton drawls, swirling his own wine in his cup. I don’t know why he bothers having it in front of him. We both know he never takes a sip of it. But then again that suits Braxton, I find he does a lot of things for show. A wicked grin of amusement lifts one of the corners of his mouth. “I know I’m the big, evil monster, but you’re the one who is making it intolerable to sit through a single meal together.”
“I’m supposed to sit here with you and play nice when you pulled me away from my family, from the man that I love?” I can’t stop my voice from rising an octave. My blood is pounding in my ears at his entitlement, though I know I shouldn’t be surprised. He sees me as no more than a piece of property, one that he owns, thanks to a debt my father had to pay.
His lips spread deeper into an amused smile, and I have to clutch the crimson napkin tighter in my hand to keep from hurling something at his smug expression.
“Love is such a trivial word, don’t you think?”
I slam both of my hands on the table and shoot to my feet. He remains seated, his expression falling into one of placated boredom, and the fact that he is so unbothered by my outburstonly angers me more. I can’t fathom how he can sit there and look so uncaring. My hate for him is borderline all consuming. I do my best to portray every ounce of that hatred I have for him as I stare into his hazel eyes.
“The one thing that gets me through each day with you is the knowledge that eventually I will die, and then I will never have to look at your miserable face again.” I spit, leaning forward on the table.
Upon hearing my words, I swear I see the slightest flicker of pain in Braxton’s eyes before he looks back down at his plate.
Good.At least I’m not the only one hurting then.
Twirling on my heel, I move to leave the room. Even with the scarlet napkin still clutched between my fingers, I can feel the prick of my nails digging into the skin on my palm.
“You’ve barely eaten your dinner,” he says, his voice tight.
I love hearing that tiny bit of strain enter his tone. It means I’m getting under his skin exactly how he gets under mine, and if I can’t kill him with my bare hands, I might as well do my best to drive him insane.
“I’m not hungry!” I snap, refusing to spare him a glance over my shoulder.
“Don’t expect your food to be here when you’re done throwing your temper tantrum,” he snarls, and I smile at hearing how grated his patience is.
The other week I was actually able to get him to bolt to his feet so abruptly that he knocked his chair down behind him. That was a personal win for me, but I haven’t been able to get a similar reaction since. I don’t know why I care so much about seeing some reaction come from him, preferably one of annoyance or frustration, but it does bring me a sick satisfaction when I can break through his mask of indifference.
Turning back around, I face him again, needing to see how bothered he is. His knuckles have gone white as his fingers wraptightly around the cutlery in his hands, and I mentally claim the small victory. My eyes flit up to his face to realize his are boring into me.
One of the things I dislike the most about Braxton is how undeniably attractive he is, which explains why he thinks he can get away with acting the way he does. His inky-black hair is somehow always perfectly tousled without looking slobbish. Which is fairly accurate to Braxton as a whole—messy without being a slob. It’s infuriating how perfectly kempt he always makes himself look. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen a single wrinkle on any item of clothing he’s worn, or a scuff on any of his shoes. His hazel eyes harden as he continues staring at me. Those stupid eyes that look like vast pools of wonder, spotted with the perfect amount of golden flecks to make any girl melt. Too bad he went and cursed the one girl who finds his moral actions so repugnant that she dries up like the Wisterian Desert every time she looks at him.
“Expect any kind of chivalry from you?” I finally say, my lip curling. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
His nostrils flare, and my lips lift into a gloating smile. Turning my nose up, I spin back around and stomp out of the dining hall. I head to the singular place where I can find an ounce of peace in this abandoned castle—my room. When I make it there, I slam the door. But that isn’t good enough, so I yank it door back open and slam it again before throwing myself on my bed with an audible groan.
My actions are childish. I’m well aware of that. I never even acted that immature when I was in my younger years, and now I’ll soon be 32, but something about him makes me feel insane. I hate the way he can burrow himself under my skin until I act unlike myself. Though lately, I’ve been wondering if this side of me has been living dormant, waiting for the right push to bring it out. The right push to make me violent and cause my outbursts.The right push to make me the worst version of myself. That’s what he excels in, making me the worst version of me.
I should have never gone to dinner, knowing there was no hope for me to remain civil after he locked me out of the library, which leaves me to wonder if I only went to cause a fight.
Prince Braxton is unbearable on his good days and today was not a good day. Today was one of those days when he quietly wandered around the castle, continuing to find himself in my space. I swear he does it on purpose if only to remind me that no matter where I go in this castle, he will be there too. I much prefer the days when he holes up in his study doing whatever it is that he does, and leaves me alone.
Prince Braxton is my curse. Or at least, he’s the reason I am cursed. In truth, I don’t fully understand why I’m here or why he picked me. Yes, I know that my father owed some kind of debt, and Braxton refused to accept any payment besides me, but that is everything that I know. I don’t know why my father ever agreed to me being collateral in whatever deal they made, especially when the parameters for the curse that became his form of payment included me never being able to leave this castle without it directly killing everyone that I loved. I don’t know what could have caused my father to make a bargain with such an awful man. After my mother passed, he always dreamt of the day he would get to see me find a love like they had. His once-in-a-lifetime love, he would call it. And I had that with my fiancé, so I can’t imagine what could have been owed that he would be okay with ripping that away from me. Obviously, Braxton couldn’t care less about what I lost having to come here because he was too focused on what he gained. Me.
