I slide my eyes over to her, and see that she’s looking down at her piece of cake, pushing a few of the strawberries around on the top of the dessert.
“Mostly because of your wild spirit, wild curls, and wild ability to drive me crazy. Making it the perfect nickname for you.”
“Oh.” She doesn’t say anything further as she picks at her food, still not meeting my eyes.
I don’t know what to make of her slightly bashful reaction to my words, so I decide to change the subject.
“So what’s your agenda?”
“My agenda?” There’s a hint of amusement in Azalea’s tone. I relish the way she’s let her guard down. I can only hope I don’t end up being the reason she inevitably puts it back up.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I sound desperate. It’s pathetic. I was never the type of man who needed any kind of validation, but when it comes to her, I can’t help myself, and my mind refuses to believe she could actually be enjoying herself. Not after all this time.
“You know I am actually a nice person. I don’t go imprisoning people in giant castles.” Though her words are harsh, she lightens the blow with her playful tone.
“Right. Well, you must admit, as far as places to be imprisoned go, you could have done worse.” I offer, making my tone equally as light.
She stops for a moment, her forehead creasing before she puts an overly sweet smile back on her face. I’m losing her. I can see it happening right in front of me, and my entire body tenses with the desire to make it stop, to pull her back to me. The semblance of peace she was feeling for a moment is slipping. I slide closer to her until the edge of my hand brushes against hers. The contact is a shock to my system, and I can’t stop myself from taking in a sharp breath.
“It doesn’t matter how beautiful the prison is,” she whispers, lifting her glistening brown eyes to meet mine. She’s never let me this close. She’s never been this honest with me. My heart and my head are warring with each other as they try to figure out if this is a trap. “A prison is still a prison,” she finishes.
I lean closer. I want to comfort her. I want to tell her the Sky Divined truth. And in my wishing to fix the horrible mess I’ve made and sanctioned her to, I lower my face closer to hers. She doesn’t pull back, and I’m able to feel her release her next breath as it washes over my skin. Something shifts in the air between us. She’s throwing out a lifeline, one that I would love to pull her to shore with. But I can’t save her. Not when I’m the cause of her destruction.
“I know.”
“Then let me go.” I’ve never heard her voice like this before. Desperate. Pleading.
“I can’t.”
She turns her face away from me, letting her curls drape over her like a curtain masking her expression. Her shoulders stiffen, and I watch as that unstoppable rage inside her returns.
“You can’t or you won’t?” She looks back at me, nothing but animosity lining her irises. Every soft edge she had allowed me to briefly witness has been sharpened again, and I fear if I keep letting myself get too close, I will get cut.
I scoff and shake my head, which was clearly the wrong reaction because she bounds to her feet, putting space between us again. Her glare is burning past my skin, beyond my bones and muscles, and piercing directly into my heart.
“You have no idea what it’s like. Being trapped like this,” she seethes. “I don’t care how beautiful your castle is. It. Is. Still. My. Prison. And for that, I hate it, and I will continue to hate it.” Every piece of her confession is coated with a deep-seated hatred, and I don’t blame her. Not when I’m the one who plantedthat hatred there. I sowed it. I watered it. I gave it everything it needed to thrive.
Nonetheless, I feel an overwhelming sense of irritation take over me. She has no idea what I’ve gone through. What I’ve sacrificed. What I’ve had to deal with. But she is always so quick to pass her judgment on me. I bring myself to my full height, and close some of the gap between us as I speak my next words through my teeth.
“Forgive me if I have a hard time feeling bad for the woman who has an entire castle at her fingertips. A custom library. Every dress you’ve ever asked for. You act like you’re living in squalor when you’re living better than most in the land. Would you rather I imprison you in the dungeon? Because believe me, I can take these luxuries away, and throw you down in the darkest depths of the castle.”
Her lip curls. “You don’t understand it because you can leave!” she yells. “It doesn’t matter what you give me. Nothing here is on my terms. I’m not stupid. I understand the luxuries that I’ve received. I understand they’re comforts I would give up if I went home. What I’m telling you is, I would still give them up, because they cost me my choice and freedom. They’re a consolation prize for a curse I should have never been a part of in the first place.”
“Well, many don’t get the consolation prize that you did, so maybe you should be grateful,” I practically snarl, crowding her.
Quick as lightning, her hand connects with my cheek. I feel the stinging burn spread across my skin. When she raises her hand to do it for a second time, I catch her wrist before she can make contact. Using my grip on her wrist, I yank her closer to me so that our bodies are flush together and dip my face so that it hovers over hers.
“If you wish to leave marks on my skin, Wildflower, all you have to do is ask. I can think of a thousand ways you can mark me as yours.”
Her breath hitches, and my eyes dip to her perfectly pouted lips that are slightly parted. So inviting. So alluring. And I want them to be mine.
I dip my head, bringing our lips closer together, but not touching. She doesn’t move away from me, even though I’ve since dropped her wrist back at her side, where it now hangs limply. I’m not sure if I’ve put her in a state of shock, or if she wants this as badly as I do, but she isn’t stopping me.
I hear a twig snap in the trees behind us, and the sound is so foreign it catches my attention. It’s a sound I haven’t heard in a long time. The realization of why that is clears the lust-filled fog distorting my thoughts. I step away from Azalea to look behind us.
Another snapping of a twig has the hairs on the back of my arms rising. Part of the curse is that Azalea can’t leave the castle grounds, and intertwined in that detail is that no one, human or animal, can come onto the grounds either. So now I’m left wondering what the fuck is causing the twigs to snap behind us.
“Go inside,” I command, not turning to look at Azalea.
