“I wanted them to feel the same pain that I did.”
Lindy’s voice echoed in his mind as his attention drifted to the princes. Most of them had moved out to deeper waters, but there were still two sticking close to Lindy’s rock. His eyes narrowed, and he worked his jaw back and forth as he stomped toward her with the makeshift plate of berries.
“Lindy.”
She jumped at the sound of her name, which had come out harsher than he intended, and dropped the stem she had been splitting. It rolled off the rock and into the water, and she turned to glare at him.
“Sorry.” He gentled his tone and held out the berries. “I brought food. I’ll try to catch some fish later, but this should tide us over for now.”
There wasn’t room for both of them on her rock, so she gathered up her nettles and moved to the sand. Atlas sat beside her, putting the berries between them. Lindy ate while she worked, and Atlas watched her for a long moment before stating, “You said you wanted the princes to feel the same pain that you did. If you’re telling methey laid a hand on you, I’m taking those nettles and throwing them into the lake, and they can stay swans forever.”
She stilled and turned her head slowly toward him, eyes wide.
“Did they hurt you?” he repeated, curling his hands into fists.
Her eyes darted back and forth between him and the swans. She carefully shook her head.
That’s something of a relief, at least. But it also clearly wasn’t the whole story.Someonehas taught her to brace herself for pain when she sees a hand, and even if it wasn’t them, they certainly weren’t protecting her.
“But they did cause you pain,” he confirmed.
She bit her lip and turned back to the nettles. Tears gathered on her lashes, and it was all the confirmation he needed. With a muttered curse that would make Ms. Fumley smack him in the back of the head, he pushed himself to his feet and stormed to the water’s edge. Lindy scrambled to her feet and once again tried to throw herself between them.
Atlas stopped and looked down at her. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears and her lips trembled, but she lifted her chin defiantly. Guilt pooled in his stomach, heavy and nauseating, as he recalled how roughly he had treated her the day before when she stood in his way.
“I’m not going to hurt them.” His voice shook with barely controlled emotion, but he could at least make her that promise as he stepped around her. “But you don’t need to protect them. Not from this.”
The swans had congregated, staying just far enoughout on the water to be out of reach. Atlas fixed them with the fiercest glare he could muster, one that he knew from experience could make men turn tail and run. “Hey, knuckleheads—and especially whichever one of you is the fool that thought it would be a good idea to climb up the Beanstalk and steal my goose—listen up. If it were up to me, your curse would be permanent. You’re of more use to the world as swans than you were as men, if you could be called that.” One of them hissed and tried to bite his legs, and Atlas crouched down, keeping his voice low and dangerously calm. “A real man wouldn’t treat a woman, especially one in his own family, so poorly that she would end up cursing him by mistake. It took me less than 24 hours to look at that woman and realize that she carries scars from wounds deeper than you or I could even imagine. You had months. Months to protect her, months to help her learn that she doesn’t need to expect pain whenever a man gets too close. But you didn’t, because you’re a bunch of bird-brained knuckleheads, and now she’s willingly putting herself through pain to atone for a mistake that’s just as much your responsibility as it is hers. And what are you doing? Absolutely nothing.” He shook his head slowly, letting his disgust show plainly on his face. “If this is how you are as men, our country is better off with you as swans.”
He turned on his heel and marched away, muttering and shaking his head. “I’m giving lectures to birds now. I should have stayed on the mountain.”
And yet, when he caught Lindy’s eyes, full of watery, wide-eyed appreciation, he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret climbing down the Beanstalk.
Chapter Eight
LINDY
Sunset had never taken so long to arrive.
Lindy forced herself to finish the row of stitches after the sun finally dipped below the horizon, then wrapped up the damp, half-finished sleeve with the rest of the green, stringy nettle fibers and carried the bundle with her to the welcoming fire that Atlas had already started. He had four large trout turning slowly on a spit over the flames, and the smell made her mouth water and her stomach pinch with hunger. He had spent nearly the whole day crafting a fishing pole and line and catching their dinner, returning shortly before sunset. His mood when he left had been somber and tense, and despite the small smile he gave her when he came back with the fish, the tension in the air remained.
She stowed the knitting in her bag. “At this rate,” she announced, her voice sounding loud and awkward after a day of silence, “I should be done with the shirts before winter sets in.”
She sat down in front of the fire, holding out herstiff, aching joints to the warm flames. The itching had thankfully subsided quite a bit once she was no longer dealing with the leaves, but they were still red and inflamed, and her muscles were unused to the prolonged hours of knitting.
Atlas blinked. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“It’s true. I estimate two to three days for each shirt, maybe less as I get used to the process, which means I could be finished in less than three weeks. That’s well before winter.” She widened her eyes and fluttered her lashes innocently.
He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Did you spend all day coming up with that one?”
“With doing the calculations? Yes.” She opened and closed her hands slowly, stretching out the muscles. “I needed something to keep my mind occupied. It took me a while to remember the stitches and work out how to use the nettle, but after a few false starts, I think I’ve finally figured it out. They won’t be fashionable garments by any means, but they sure are shirts.”
“My offer still stands,” Atlas said gently.
“And I’m thankful for the gesture,” she answered honestly. “But I’ve got this. It’s my mistake, anyway.”
He grunted something unintelligible, then pulled the fish from the fire and transferred them to two flat pieces of bark. He passed her two of the fish. “You’re going to have to forget all your fancy, royal manners, I’m afraid, unless you happen to travel with forks?”
