Hart huffs and spins on his heel before stomping past his brothers and out the door. It slams closed behind him. The heavy ball of anxiety that sits in the pit of my stomach tries to take a grip. I squash it down.Don’t worry, Gwyneth, no knight is coming to your rescue. I will do one better, a devoted sister that loves you. We needed no one but each other before. Nothing has changed now, just the arrogant and bossy Hallowed that believe they can manipulate our lives.I flop down onto the bed and begin hatching a plan. Just me, my genie, my mirror man, Eugene and Hamish. What could go wrong?
ChapterTwenty-Five
The guys thrash out a hundred unique plans to rescue Gwyneth from Charming’s clutches, but they continue to reach the conclusion that he would tear the realm apart looking for her because it’s clear that he is, in fact, infatuated. I lay on Hart’s bed and drift in and out of sleep. The chaos of the previous diurnal has taken its toll. I don’t even rise when I scent food in the next room. My eyes stay closed when Malachi sits on the bed next to me and tries to coax me out of bed with promises of sausage. I’m not happy with their conclusions that Gwyneth needs to just suck it up and marry Charming. It’s not an acceptable plan; it is no plan at all.
The sun dips below the horizon, and the chambers become quieter. Only the soft clucking of Hamish and Eugene breaks the silence. Hart is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’s found solace in the bed of a damsel not plagued by clumsiness. I sigh, feeling more exhausted than when I laid down a few turns ago and frustrated at having no workable plan for rescuing my sister. According to the knights, I can’t even attend the ball where her fate is to be sealed. I like my eyes in my sockets.
I lift my arm over my head and blink at the shadows playing on the ceiling. I grimace at the stench wafting from my armpit. Ugh, no wonder Hart is staying away. He could probably smell me from across the other side of the palace.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I explore his room and find his bathing chamber complete with yummy smelling wash products. I strip, leaving my clothes in a heap on the floor and take a long and hot shower. The steam is so thick I can’t see my hands in front of my face. But the dirt, grime, and sweat has leached from my flesh and been driven down the hole in the floor. Where does it go? The dirty water? Back into a drinking source? That would be nasty. Perhaps the ocean? Again nasty, but at least it would be diluted. My sweat would be a literal drop in the ocean.
I shut the water off and grab a big fluffy dark blue towel. Drying off, I eyeball my pile of dirty discarded clothing on the floor. My skin crawls with the thought of redressing in them, I would be better off naked. I scan the bedroom as I exit. Hart could return at any moment. Perhaps being naked isn’t the best option. He would no doubt have many scathing remarks to make about my body, and I don’t have it in me to verbally spar with him right now. I yank open the top of a chest of drawers, finding immaculately folded breeches. I close it and pull the next drawer open. I grip one of his shirts and shake it loose. It would come to my knees and be soft enough to sleep in. Dropping the towel, I pull it on and hum in satisfaction, which has nothing to do with the fact it smells like Hart.
Next, I find a wide comb on top of his dresser and pull it through my tangle of curls. It’s not a great tool for the job, but it is better than leaving them in knots, which would produce a great difficulty at sunrise.
Creeping from the bedchamber, I find a silver domed covered tray with a note on the top scrawled with my name. I flick it open. It’s from Malachi and tells me to eat and keep up my strength, for the time ahead is always worse on an empty stomach. He knows me too well. As I lift the dome, my mouth waters at the platter full of meat, cheese, and fruits. My hand scoops it up and I scarper back to Hart’s bed chambers. I don’t want the guys finding me mid bite, looking grateful when I am still mad at them.
The carafe of water helps to swill down the yummy food until my belly is full and limbs are once again heavy. Lifting the thick blankets from the bed, I debate which side I should sleep on. It’s not clear from the room which one Hart prefers. There’s no open book on one side of the bed, or wrinkled bed sheets, compressed pillows. The whole thing is perfectly made.
Shrugging, I decide to roll into the middle of the enormous bed. That way, if he returns, both sides are available. A loud yawn stretches my mouth and before I know it, I’m drifting into the land of dreams, except they are filled with cruel princes and eyeless maidens.
My fate is holding me hostage, showing me a future that is all too close and real.
“Daphne,” a masculine voice rumbles, hard enough to chip diamonds but attractive all the same. Charming brandishes his sword at me, and Gwyneth spins, her belly swollen with his child. Oh no, that can’t happen. Charming launches forward, his sword aimed not at my breast, but at my face. He means to maim me, take my eyes—which are said to be the window to your soul. So if you have no eyes, no one can see your soul. I don’t want to keep it cooped up inside of me, never to see the light of daybreak.
“Daphne,” the hard voice snaps again. Gwyneth’s gaze hardens at the sight of me, as if I am some inconsequential stranger that has appeared to sully her life and she can’t wait to be rid of me.
“Now you see the world clearly,” Charming sneers. “You were holding your sister back from her happily ever after. Without you, she is fulfilled, free and full of my seed.” Ew. His words are gross but also play on my fears.
The world rattles and my eyes snap open, finding Hart positioned over me. “Are you awake?” he snaps.
I blink into the darkness, broken by the pale glow of the moon streaming in through the window. I suck in a few breaths at the power of the dream. It combined all my worries into one mess of a premonition. If I wasn’t so sure of Gwyneth’s hatred of Charming, I may have been swayed by the warning. Whatever happens next, my sister will be free to choose, but it won’t be at the whims of a petty prince.
“Are you awake?” Hart repeats. Suddenly, my awareness snaps taut. His body is pressed along the length of mine and his arms are beside my head, caging me in.
“Yes,” I whisper, glancing around the room. The door is now closed, suggesting he’s been in here for a while.
“Good, now stop crying and whimpering in your sleep. I need some rest also.”
“I was not crying.” My hand touches my cheek. It’s wet. Okay, so I was crying—but it was while I was asleep, so it doesn’t count.
Hart tilts his head and sighs before rolling to the side and over onto his back. His arm comes up over his face. This is the moment I notice he is shirtless. My tongue darts out to lick my lips. He might be cold and heartless, but he is still damn sexy.
“Stop staring at me,” Hart mutters.
I roll onto my side and let my eyes trace the contours of his face, from his arrogant nose to his powerful jaw, then down his throat and over his chest. He’s magnificent. I squint as I spy a few silvery scars on his muscles. They look like burn marks which have faded with time and are only visible because of the moonlight and how close I am. My fingers reach out and I trace the closet one. His hands snap around mine and he grips it.
“What are you doing?”
My breath stutters in my chest. I shouldn’t be losing myself in any of the brothers, not when they have resolved to allow Gwyneth to become Charming’s wife. I squeeze my hand closed. It doesn’t matter. Come sunrise, I will find a way to save her and escape with our freedom. The land of So Far Away has been revealed, and it is nothing to be truly feared. The folks there would welcome victims of the narrative the Idols pinned us to. I just have to get her out of the ball and whisked away under the light of the moon before anyone realizes we are missing. Easy peasy. Which means tonight is the last time I will be surrounded by the knights who have taught me I am worth saving.
“How did you get these?” I ask. “They are burn marks, because I have enough of my own to compare them with.”
Hart sucks in a breath and his grip on my hand loosens, allowing my fingers to trail the story etched into his flesh. He licks his lips. “Theo hasn’t always had the amount of control he does now.”
My fingers stall in their exploration. He presses his hand against mine and holds my fingers hostage against his flesh. “Theo did this?”
“Not exactly,” he says as his eyes fall closed. “My father understood our bond was stronger than the kingdom had ever seen before. He gleaned it early in our childhood and made moves to wedge a block of distrust and hatred among us. He had his wizard in residence force Theo to turn. He was five–dragons usually shift once they hit puberty. Theo was unprepared and overwhelmed. He spat tiny balls of fire in his panic. My father identified me as the most likely to slay the beast, so he had me bound to the walls in the dungeon deep below the castle.”
