“Well, that makes no sense at all! Since when does a poppy have a—never mind. Don’t tell me. Humans can keep their freezing swears all they like.”
His annoyance only makes me laugh harder, and soon I’m doubled over with it.
“Go on, keep laughing at my expense.”
I manage to recover my posture and risk a glance at the king through my tear-filled eyes. Expecting to find him glowering, I’m surprised to see the corners of his lips twitching as if my laughter is becoming contagious. I cover my mouth and try to hold my breath, but my next laugh comes out with a snort.
That is what breaks him. His eyes crinkle at the corners, mouth open wide as a deep, bellowing laugh erupts from him. This, of course, only undoes all my work at trying to settle down and has me in a fit again. The next thing I know, Elliot has closed the distance between us, standing just a pace away. “I don’t know what we’re laughing about,” he says, his voice rich with mirth.
“I barely recall the reason myself.” My tone comes out light and high, something I rarely hear from my own lips. It reminds me so much of happier times with Mother. My heart squeezes, but it isn’t painful; it feels more like a bittersweet parting hug than a clenching fist. Finally, I begin to sober.
Elliot’s eyes are still crinkled when I meet them. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, with just a hint of frivolity. “I like the sound of your laughter.”
My pulse quickens at that.
“It reminds me of wolf pups playing.”
Of course it’s wolves. I grin, but my bittersweet feeling remains. And if I’m being honest, the bitter has overtaken the sweet. Is it that I resent his hate for humans and his preference for wolves? Why should I? A wolf is his true unseelie form. It’s what he’s fighting for. What I’mhelpinghim fight for. Why does that give me a sinking sensation?
“Come,” Elliot says, shaking me from my thoughts. “There’s something I want you to see.”
24
Elliot leads me back toward the entrance to the garden, then down a path that takes us between a row of neat hedges. A few more steps and we enter a small courtyard I’ve only glimpsed from afar. It’s the king’s rose garden. I turn in a circle, taking in the poorly manicured shrubs that line the courtyard, brambles weaving through each bush. Finally, my eyes land on a blush of deep red—the final rose.
He extends his hand toward the flower, expression grave. “This is the rose that will either allow me to break the curse or kill me.”
What a morbid thing he’s brought me to see. And yet, I can’t deny I have questions about it, as his statement has left me a bit puzzled. I bite the inside of my cheek before I ask, “If the rose counts down the days until the curse claims your life, why do you say it could also allow the curse to break?”
His tone is deep and somber. “When the sacrifice is ready to be made, the one making it must pluck the rose and state aloud that they willingly and of their own volition sacrifice their greatest treasure. If there were more roses left, it could have been any of them. But now,” he glances again at the rose, “this one is my final hope. And my final doom.”
My stomach feels heavy, weighed down with dread. “Why did you bring me here?”
His eyes flick to mine, a frown tugging his features. “You shared something painful with me, so I figured I’d return the favor.”
That brings a sad smile to my lips. “That’s kind of you.”
With slow steps, he approaches the stone bench. Then, after bending down to brush a layer of snow off the surface, he takes a seat to one side. “I come every day to find my fallen petal, and each day I take my petal with me and keep it in a glass in my room.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I take a seat next to him. “Why? Isn’t it painful to watch the days count down like that? To collect them?”
“It is,” he says. “And yet every day I return, hoping that the countdown will slow and give me more time to break the curse. By some magic, however, the daily petal always seems to know when I’m here and is sure to fall right before my eyes, taunting me.”
“That must be very difficult for you.”
“Not as difficult as being in this body.”
Once again, a bitter ache floods my chest. “Why do you hate humans so much?”
He looks at me with a smirk. “You mean, aside from the obvious reasons you’d agree with?”
I give him a pointed look. “Yes, Elliot. Aside from those things. Why do you have such a strong prejudice against my kind? I’m sure humans have given you ample reason, but I want to hear what exactly those reasons are.”
His eyes fall back on his rose, then grow unfocused, his lips turning down at the corners. “I was but a pup when humans first came to the isle,” he says. “Back then, humans were visitors on our land, and they acted accordingly. They respected my kind. Revered us, even. But as time went on, more and more humans came, and they shifted from awed visitors to determined settlers. They built homes, claimed lands that were never theirs. Tensions grew more dangerous until they resulted in the first war.”
The first war. That was over a thousand years ago, from what I’ve heard. And to think Elliot was alive back then! This youthful man sitting at my side—but no. Despite how human he looks in his seelie form, heisn’ta man at all, but a separate species. As much as I know the reminder should unsettle me…it doesn’t. It amazes me.
Elliot continues. “I was what you’d call a teen back then. Somewhere between a pup and full-grown. My parents fought in the war, which spanned—” He pauses, blinking a few times.
