Not sure why Sir Sweeps-A-Lot is being dragged into this. “I do.”
“Then you are her.”
I am her, who? I shake my head as I stand. “No, I cannot be anything more to anyone else.” I have enough going on.
“You cannot choose who you are,” the spider declares. “It is destiny.”
Theo swings his sword in a wide arc. “Screw destiny.”
“What he said,” I agree.
Even though I have no training, I miss my sword. The technique appears simple. Point and stab worked well for me last time.
Excalibur materializes in my hands, and I groan. Destiny seems to enjoy being screwed and gives as good as she gets.
Hart snorts as he glances at the sword in my hand. “You were saying?”
I drag in a breath and step forward out of their protective circle. It’s time I stopped hiding behind others.
“What are you doing?” Nash mutters.
I lift the sword in front of me, feeling its comforting power flow through my veins. “Embracing destiny.”
Chapter
Eleven
“Try not to stab yourself,” Theo grumbles.
My lips twitch. “Nothing a spell in the healing pools won’t solve.”
“I’ll be holding her this time,” Malachi says.
My face heats at the thought. Maybe getting stabbed wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.
“Smart ass. Now she’s actively plotting to injure herself,” Theo snaps.
“No plotting required,” I remind them. “I’m lucky to make it a turn without injury.”
The spider’s legs stomp on the ground, kicking up dust. “She has returned. Creatures of Misery’s End assemble and welcome the maiden of my tale back into my bosom.”
A spider has a bosom? Where?
The doors of the huts open, and out pour a terrifying group of creatures. My broom hides behind my back, and the knights move to circle me once more.
“What have you gotten us into?” Hart asks. There is a hint of amusement in his tone that I haven’t heard before. He told the truth when he said he looked forward to my chaos.
The people creep closer to us. But these are no ordinary fairy-tale creatures—they’re a ragtag group of villainous villagers. Unidentifiable folks mingle with more obvious ones. A tall man in a tattered black cape mutters to himself as he kicks over a bucket of dirty water. A woman in a dress made entirely of ravens’ feathers scowls at the sun like it personally insulted her. There are a few witches with rainbow-colored skin and pointy noses, and a scowling man wearing a pirate hat with a silver hook sticking out from under his coat sleeve.
From the other side of the stream, a gnome-like man with a golden hue appears. A slow grin spreads across his face. “Pretty girl.”
“Avert your lecherous gaze, or I will remove your eyes,” Hart snarls.
Behind him is a beautiful woman wearing a crown. Her eyes narrow on me as she flicks her hair over her shoulder. “What is that?” she snaps.
“Ignore her,” the spider advises. “She is self-obsessed and hates the thought of anyone being prettier than her.”
I get it. In a land that holds the superficial ideal of outward beauty in high regard, it’s easy to get swept away with the social crowd. Sad, but true.
