Lilith paused , as if deliberating her next words. “Call it intuition, I suppose.”
Amelia knew she could refuse him, yet her godmothers’ coos of admiration echoed in her mind, matched by her father’s all-too-rare nod of respect upon meeting him. No, love did not matter here. Even in fairy tales, princesses merely existed in stories that others wanted to tell.
CHAPTER 17
BRIAR ROSE’S COTTAGE painted a scene for the story she wanted to tell: tiny bells chiming at the door, a tea kettle blowing steam on floral wallpaper, sunlight casting sideways through windows. A quaint home where the oak floors were worn and ceramic plates were piled in a sink covered with moss. As Corin crossed the living room, she noticed the books were painted wooden blocks glued to shelves. The frosted cake on the kitchen table was covered in plastic film. The wooden ladles and metal pots hanging over the stove were paper cutouts. The clock was simply a painting on the wall, a permanent image where time stood still.
Pieces of this house were carefully curated. But they were not real.
That fact unnerved Corin as she found Briar in the kitchen, bent over a basket of strawberries. The fruits had a plastic sheen, like rocks painted red. The princess twisted the sink handle and let sparkling water pour into the basket, as if she were bathing the strawberries with stars and bringing them to life.
“We’ve met before,” Corin said, forcing Briar to look up at her. “Back in Winterland, you were going to shoot me.”
Corin could match the similarities between the girl she saw now to the girl she witnessed in the snow. Brown hair to silver, daisy petals to snowflakes, butterflies to nightingales. If Corin stripped those features away, who would be the real girl she’d see?
To her surprise, Briar let out a laugh. “You’re right. How awkward of me.”
“Why didn’t you do it?”
Briar stepped closer. Her fingers grazed Corin’s collarbone, shooting tingles down Corin’s chest. A pendant dangled in Briar’s palm.
“I was distracted by your necklace,” she said. “I wondered if there was a story behind it.”
Corin slapped Briar’s hand away by instinct, the strike of skin ringing loud in the kitchen. Briar stepped back and knocked her hip against the table. Strawberries fell to the ground, turning back into red blocks as they clattered. Silly props, like child’s play.
“That’s none of your business.” Corin kept her voice detached, even though the chain burned against her skin, a memory of her grandmother that she didn’t want to expose. Not to a stranger like Briar, whose lace dresses and floral crowns showed she knew nothing of the dirt and blood this pendant had survived over time.
The princess took the brusque response with grace and folded her hands together in compliance. Corin tried not to think about how the girl’s touch still left behind pinpricks of flesh.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have touched you without asking. I’m sorry.”
Corin’s face burned hot. She didn’t understand why she felt vulnerable, despite her efforts to remain impassive like stone. Both times she was around Briar, it felt like the girl peeled back her layers and found something to uncover. Perhaps it was thegaze in her eyes, the veiled thoughts that shone behind sea glass. But Corin was not something to be explored. She leaned against a counter, posture rigid, hands shoved in pockets, like her whole body could cave in.
Briar picked up the red blocks and washed them in the sink, as if it was her turn to play aloof as well. Corin sensed them both putting on a pretense, waiting for the other’s sheen to dim just slightly before the other one.
“Tell me, Corin,” Briar asked, “what did I look like out there?”
It took Corin a second to realize Briar was talking about the real world. That in her mind, the dreamscape was just like this make-believe house, small and contained and imaginary. The things they did and said only existed within this space, while the rest of the world kept turning.
“You were wearing a blue dress made of satin and a crown of moonflowers. You were sleeping in a bed that was decorated like a garden. There must have been a hundred roses wrapped around the bed frame, and they were in full bloom. The brightest one was pinned to your chest like a brooch.”
As Corin described the scene, the corners of Briar’s lips turned downward. None of the descriptions impressed her. “That sounds more like a casket than a bed.”
“Where I come from, people consider a casket full of roses the best thing that could happen to them when they die.”
“Roses are a bit outdated, though, don’t you think? I much prefer sunflowers.” Briar placed the basket on a windowsill and gazed at the sunflower field outside. Under the sun, her eyes shone like false coins. “Their faces are always pointed at the sun, as if trying to reach to the skies. But they never do. They’re always tethered to their stems, forced to be rooted to theground. Someday, I want to watch one of them reach far enough to become the sun itself.”
Corin held back from scoffing at Briar’s nonsense. The girl spoke in delusions and pixie dreams. Only people like her could turn their sadness into whimsy. Corin was not interested in words spun into gold, but the real thing. She tried steering their conversation onto the right path.
“It wasn’t just you I saw in the castle. I met someone else. A prince named Ezran, who said he promised to protect your treasure. He’s waited a hundred years. If I returned with it, I’m sure he’d consider his job finished.”
Briar turned to the frosted cake on the table and began stacking red blocks on top. They smoothed their edges into strawberries again, the plastic around the cake solidifying into white glaze. Frosting stained her fingers, and as she licked them off delicately, Corin figured the girl had to be toying with her.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m sorry,” Briar said. “I cannot give it to you.”
“Why not?”
“I abandoned many things when I fell asleep. My family’s treasure was one of them. It’s painful to think about, so I would rather not.”
