Throughout the meal, I felt Alain’s concerned gaze returning to me, questions forming behind those blue eyes that I couldn’t answer without endangering us both. The warmth of his attention both comforted and confused me. I shouldn’t crave it. Shouldn’t respond to it. My heart belonged elsewhere, with three princes trapped in a hell dimension, depending on me for their very survival.
Yet with every gentle touch of his hand to mine, every protective shift of his body when his brother’s gaze lingered too long, something bloomed in my chest that had no right to exist.
Attraction. Connection. Possibility.
And beneath it all, the crushing knowledge that none of it could matter. I was claimed thrice over, marked by teeth and magic and blood oaths. I had princes to save, a curse to break, and a destiny that had nothing to do with the man beside me whose kindness threatened to unravel my resolve.
I couldn’t afford to forget who I was or what waited for me in that forest castle. Not even for a prince whose eyes held more warmth than I deserved.
forty-two
Alain
My father’s study always smelled like regret. Aged leather, bourbon, and the lingering stench of political schemes laid bare behind closed doors. I closed the heavy oak door behind me, watching Theron sprawl in one of the high-backed chairs, already three fingers deep into whatever bottle Father had opened.
The amber liquid in his glass caught the firelight, reminding me of eyes I couldn’t stop thinking about. Isabeau’s eyes,wide with barely concealed terror at the mention of Gaspard Coventry’s name. Something had happened there, something that made her fingers tremble against the fine silk tablecloth. Something that made me want to punch the smirk off my brother’s face when he’d stared at her like she was meat to be consumed.
“Finally decided to join us,” Father remarked, not looking up from the parchment spread before him. Maps of neighboring kingdoms, no doubt. Always planning the next conquest, whether of land or allegiances. “How is your forest maiden?”
The possessive phrasing made my jaw clench, but I crossed to the sideboard and poured myself a drink before answering. “Exhausted. The dinner was too much, too soon.”
“Seemed sturdy enough to me,” Theron drawled, swirling his drink. “Filled out rather nicely for someone supposedly at death’s door weeks ago.”
I took a long swallow of bourbon, letting it burn down my throat before trusting myself to speak. “Her recovery has been... remarkable.”
That much was true. Isabeau’s transformation from the skeletal woman I’d rescued to the vision in gold who’d graced our table tonight defied natural explanation. But I’d seen what she could do. The poison being drawn from Thibaut’s body like water from a well, her own flesh absorbing the deadly toxin without succumbing to it. Whatever power ran in her veins, it was unlike anything I’d encountered in all my years patrolling the kingdom’s borders.
“That’s one word for it,” Theron snorted. “I’d use ‘suspicious’, myself.”
Father glanced up, setting aside his quill. “Does it matter? She saved Thibaut when our best physicians couldn’t. That makes her an asset, not a threat.”
“For now,” Theron muttered into his glass.
I settled into the chair farthest from my brother, closest to the fire. The flames cast dancing shadows across the room, reminding me of the forest that might have claimed my sister and nearly claimed Isabeau as well. What secrets did those trees hide? What darkness lurked between those ancient trunks?
“Did you know,” I began carefully, keeping my tone casual, “about Thorndale’s Harvest Moon sacrifice?”
Father’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers stilled on the parchment. “Of course. All the border villages have their... traditions. Superstitions, really. Ways to explain away the dangers that come with living so close to the Forbidden Forest.”
“You’ve never tried to stop it?” I pressed, watching his face for any flicker of conscience.
He shrugged, a dismissive gesture that encompassed the entire concept of caring about peasant lives. “Why would I? It keeps them feeling safe, feeling protected, and I don’t have to station men to die. One life a year in exchange for the forest leaving them alone? Seems a fair trade from where I sit.”
My stomach turned. Thatone lifehad been Isabeau’s father. Thatfair tradehad left her vulnerable to whoever had taken her in afterward. Whoever had hurt her so badly she’d fled into the very forest meant to claim her village’s sacrifice.
“Why the sudden interest in border folklore?” Theron asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Does it have something to do with your littlewitch?”
I kept my face neutral, though my fingers tightened around my glass. “She’s not a witch.”
“Then what is she?” he pressed. “Those eyes aren’t natural, brother. And those marks on her shoulder...” He trailed off, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. “Unless you’ve seen monsters with human teeth.”
“Her father was Thorndale’s sacrifice this past Harvest Moon,” I said, ignoring his baiting. “She was left alone afterward.”
The room fell silent. Even Father looked up, surprise briefly flickering across his weathered features before being replaced by calculation. Always calculating, my father. Always weighing the political value of every revelation, every connection.
“And what happened to her after her father was taken?” Father asked, his voice carefully neutral.
I shook my head, draining the rest of my drink. “She doesn’t talk about it.”
