What I do know is that I will never stop trying to find a way out of this wretched curse that he’s put on me. That’s the only way I’ll ever be able to go home again, to see my fiancé again, and to get away from the thing I hate the most.
Him.
2
Braxton
Sheisinfuriating.Trulymaddening. Who gets up in the middle of a meal and just storms out? I didn’t even say anything to her. I didn’t even do anything to her… during dinner. My mind wanders to earlier in the day when I locked her out of the library, arguably her favorite room in this entire condemned castle besides her bedroom.
I had to, though. Azalea’s curiosity has been getting the better of her again. I noticed she started digging for answers to her curse, and that is something she can’t succeed in finding.
She has plenty of other places she can wander off to that are perfectly safe and won’t provide her with the truth that she so desperately seeks. A truth that, if discovered, would destroy us both. Though I can’t blame her for not wishing to wander the castle. To me, it feels like a graveyard made of empty echoing halls that torment me with what could have been—what used to be. I also don’t blame her for wanting answers, but I have to ensure that she never gets them.
My fingers release their crushing grip on the fork and knife I still have in my hands. I look down at the bloodied steak on myplate and suddenly lose my appetite. Sighing, I fall back into my chair and push the porcelain dish away from me. I run my hand down my face and groan as I think about how this is not how this evening was supposed to go.
Honestly, none of our evenings have been short of a disaster the past week. I can see her hatred for me growing with every day she’s forced to stay here. And I deserve every ounce of it. After all, I did this to her. I forced her here. I imprisoned her to these ghostly grounds. But dammit if I wouldn’t do it again to ward off the alternative.
I often find myself wondering how much easier this would be if she would give me a chance to show her that I am more man than monster. At least I used to be. Before. Now I’m not sure if I am so far off from the beast she envisions me to be.
My fingers ache to run across her smooth olive skin or through her soft chestnut curls. They’ve become as equally untamed as my beautiful Wildflower, making her all the more tantalizing to behold.
She’s growing her hair long right now, and I have to admit, it’s my favorite thing she’s done with it in a while. A few months ago, she kept chopping it all the way to her chin in what I could only assume was an act of rebellion. I think she believes that if she makes herself less attractive, it will have me release her from this curse. What she doesn’t seem to understand is that I could never find her as anything except absolutely breathtaking.
I often find myself fantasizing about wrapping my fist around her thick mess of curls, pulling her head back, exposing her neck to me. I shake the lust-filled thought away. The last thing I want to do tonight is have to pump these thoughts out of my mind in my bath chamber.
Even when her honey brown eyes are murdering me from across the room, I can’t keep myself from yearning for her. And I’ll be patient, though it hasn’t done me any good so far. Somedays I want to lock her smart mouth into a bruising kiss that steals away all the air she has left in her lungs, and other days I wish for nothing more than a civil conversation. With Azalea, though, I usually get neither.
I brush my fingers through my hair, letting out a regretful sigh. I start to play through everything I could have done differently to get her to stay and eat with me for once. It’s been so long since she sat here and actually had a meal with me, not taking a couple of small bites before inevitably storming out. I would wonder how her body remains so beautifully voluptuous, but I always make sure she gets fed, even if she won’t eat with me.
When I hear her door slam, not once but twice, I finally drag my eyes away from the empty door frame she stormed out of, accepting the truth that she won’t be coming back. Not that she ever does.
“I’ll be retiring to my bedchamber as well,” I say to Gravsley. He only nods in response. “Can you do me a favor and make sure Marita brings some fresh food to Azalea’s room?” I add, looking at her almost entirely full plate.
“Of course, sir.” Gravsley gives an encouraging half smile, the wrinkles etched around his eyes crinkling. Of all the servants that occupy this castle, I believe he hates me the least, which is why he’s my steward.
All of the servants love Azalea, which is no surprise. She is a wonder to behold. But, in their love for her, they, naturally, all blame me for this curse, as they should. This curse binds them to this castle just as it binds me and Azalea here. What they don’t know is that they blame me for the wrong reasons.
I’m the only one who knows the truth behind what I did and the malediction I created. And I will take that secret to my grave before I let anyone discover it and ruin my chances of getting what I want in this life. What I need.
Her.
3
Azalea
I’mnotsureifit’s the streaks of sunlight beaming through the poorly secured velvet curtains or the soft click of my bedroom door closing that rouses me awake, but I’m displeased either way. Mostly because the familiar scent of forget-me-not flowers wafts through the air and infiltrates my nose.
Groaning, I roll over in bed, my unruly curls falling all along my face and across my shoulders. For a moment longer, I let myself enjoy the blissful feeling of the luxurious down and goose feather mattress. Stretching my limbs, I listen the typical cracks and pops of my joints as I slowly rouse my body awake. As much as I hate being trapped here, I do love this bed. It’s big enough for me to sprawl my entire body across it and still have room. Blowing a few rogue curls from my eyes, I turn my head and see the giant bouquet of forget-me-nots sitting on the table beside my door right where I suspected it would be.
“Right on time,” I grumble, before pushing myself up and tossing my legs over the side of the bed.
This has been a Braxton tradition for as long as I can remember being here. I haven’t figured out what he hopes toaccomplish by gifting me an unwanted bouquet of the same pale purple flowers that grow all around the stone walls of the castle, but I’ve decided that I don’t like it, which seems to be a fair assessment, given that I rarely like anything the prince does.
My eyes narrow as I seethe at the vase of flowers taking up an unwarranted amount of space in my room. The tiny purple petals taunt me as they stay stagnant, bunched together in the glass pedestal vase. I want to pick them up and hurl them out the window. Seeing the small note that was tucked in between a few of the flower stems, my glare intensifies to such a magnitude that I swear if I had an ounce of magic inside of me, the entire bouquet would have caught fire. Padding over to the flowers, a look of disdain curls my heart-shaped lips. I pluck the note from the flowers before crumpling it in my hand. I never bother to read what Braxton writes me, mostly because I don’t care what he has to say, but also partially because I am not anything if not petty. Shoving the crumpled note back between the flowers, I turn my back on them, waiting for Rhoden, my handmaid, and the only person in this entire castle that helps keep me sane, to come do away with them as she always does.
Walking over to the single arched window that Braxton so graciously granted me in this room, I can tell by the mixture of sun and shadows cascading alongside the unyielding fortress I am to spend the rest of my days in that it must be late morning at the very least, and Rhoden is usually in here by now. My brow furrows at this realization, but I quickly shrug it off. As an almost 32-year-old woman, who prior to this, never had, nor needed, a handmaiden in her life, it wasn’t like I couldn’t get myself dressed for the day. Still, I felt my chest deflate ever-so-slightly at the thought. It wasn’t that I minded some time to myself. I liked my alone time as much as the next cursed and imprisoned woman, but unfortunately, I got more than my fill of it in this practically abandoned castle.
The only occupants of the Carter Castle are me, Prince Braxton Carter, and the handful of servants that help maintain the grounds, clean the castle, and cook for us. It didn’t take me very long to also discover that oftentimes, the servants of the castle are not particularly chatty, most likely due to their fear of what Braxton would do if he caught them not doing their work.
