“It’s alright. Try again.”
Then we’re moving again. I glance down at my feet awkwardly shuffling beneath me.
He tilts my chin with one finger, and I meet his gaze, as blue and dark as a bottomless pool. “Look into my eyes,” he says. “The rhythm is there.”
Silence stretches between us. Not heavy, just full. Eyes locked, we dance. I begin to ease into the rhythm, but panic rises in me at the sheer intimacy of it, and I look away, stumbling slightly.
“Trust me,” he whispers, leaning in close, bringing my gaze back to his.
And I do. For reasons I cannot comprehend, just for this moment, I trust him.
We fall into a slow rhythm. My steps are unpracticed, but he adjusts to match my pace, covering for me. Guiding me.
“Who taught you to dance?” I ask. “You’re definitely a better teacher than Marb.”
The gardener cracks a smile. “Fairies, for all their gifts, forget what it’s like to have feet. Always fluttering, never grounded.”He twirls me once to the left, then brings me back to him.
My cheeks burn. “I suppose you’ve figured me out, then.”
“No,” he says softly, then answers, “My mother taught me.” And if it weren’t for the moonlight casting its silver shadow across his features, I might not have noticed the faintest flicker of sadness in his eyes. A look I know all too well.
“I’m sorry.” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “I lost my mother, too.”
He blinks in surprise. “How did she die?”
“She fell ill while carrying my brother. When it came time, she… Well, neither of them survived.”
His thumb grazes mine in a soft, soothing motion. My heart squeezes at the unexpected tenderness. “I’m sorry, Fire.” His voice is so soft, so full of compassion, that it takes everything in me not to lean further into his touch, to allow myself this small moment of comfort.
Instead, I take a deep breath, and the dance continues in silence.
Two orphans dancing in a cursed garden, I think. What a pair we make.
“What happened to your mother?” I finally venture to ask once I’ve steadied my mind.
“She was murdered.” His voice is quiet. He clearly doesn’t want to explain any further.
That’s okay. It seems we’ve both had enough sorrow and loss for one lifetime.
Then he tosses me a small smirk and says, “Now that we’ve established I’m a better teacher than a fairy, the next thing I’ll have to convince you of is that I’m a better match than a king.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I tease. “I’ve heard the king is breathtakingly handsome.”
“Breathtaking?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. And I believe a certain gardener told me he was a man of great wit and charm. Irresistible, even.”
His eyes darken, dropping to my lips. Suddenly, I’m overcome by the desire to know what his would feel like pressed against mine.
“Fire.” He says my name like a prayer. Or a promise. Like a caress.
And that’s when I remember his words.Everything in this place belongs to the king.
Even me, I finish silently. The words slam into me like a blow.
It doesn’t matter if I’m beginning to like the king’s gardener. I am the property of the king, cursed and cruel though he may be. What kind of husband would he be, the man who sends a monster to collect brides from across the land every other year, brides who never return home?
And based on the fact that the king still hasn’t married any of them—and that the six of us brides seem to be the only mortal women left in the keep—there’s a very real chance I won’t make it out of here alive.
