The pain from earlier is gone. I cried for Rune, for the future we planned and lost, and somehow, in the peace of the afternoon sunlight, the wound that I’ve concealed deep in my chest began to knit.
I stand, dusting off my gown, pulling bits of grass and leaves from my hair. My shoes click against the cobblestones. I glance back at my garden before I shut the door and make my way down the winding steps. I have no idea what time it is—judging by the lack of people loitering the halls, it must be late.
“Where are the king’s chambers?” I ask a guard.
Surprise washes over his features, but he quickly masks it. “Shall I take you there, Your Majesty?”
“Please.”
He leads me through the halls, up several flights of stairs, until we reach a chamber flanked with two more guards. They eye me as we approach, curious.
“What time is it?” I ask the guard by my side.
“Just after three, Your Majesty.”
I nod and step through the doors, not bothering to wait for the men to open them for me. I almost expect protests, but I receive none. The doors shut behind me with a soft click.
A fire crackles in a sitting area, casting enough light for me to guess my way. Beyond, lies an antechamber, and then a set of carved doors bearing an image of the Golden Stag, just like the bronze in the village.
I pause outside the grand door. Before, I was fueled with determination, but I draw my hand back, trembling.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to run away now,” Conrad says from a chair by the fire, startling me so badly I jump. “Not when you’re this close.”
I clutch my hands to my chest, laughing just a little. “I didn’t see you.”
“I gathered that.”
He wears a simple white shirt, open at the neck, and his trousers from earlier.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask, my heart in my throat.
“Haven’t tried.”
I glance around, my mouth growing dry. “You’re just sitting in the dark?”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“No.”
My eyes adjust to the dim light, and now I can see him clearly. He looks at the flames, studying them. “I was in love once, long ago. Her name was Louisa, and she was a scullery maid. Her father was a drunk. She worked every day of her life, from sundown to sunup, to feed her five younger siblings.”
Uncomfortable, I shift my weight, unsure what to do with my hands.
“My father died when I was seventeen. I was crowned the evening they laid him in the ground,” Conrad continues, oblivious to my discomfort. “My advisors suggested I marry—said it would be good for the kingdom. I asked Louisa for her hand, and she agreed. Not twenty-four hours later, she took ill and died of a disease no doctor could name.”
When Conrad realizes I’m still standing, he motions to the chair across from him. Grateful, I sink into it and clutch my hands in my lap.
“Jeannine was thirty-one and a widow,” he goes on. “She was also the ward of King Merrick of Breckbane and a good political match. We entered into an engagement two days after I buried Louisa. She was brazen, loud, bawdy. She also fell into bed with the Duke of Murlmars a fortnight before we were wed.” He meets my eyes. “My advisors ordered her hanging the night the pair was discovered.”
“Conrad—”
“My third wife-to-be was sixteen years old, the youngest princess of Leant, and madly in love with a knight from her court. She poisoned herself hours before we exchanged vows, deciding death was preferable to me.”
“Please,” I beg softly. “No more.”
“Two days before I was to marry my fourth fiancée, the fair Lillian of Grendel, it was discovered she was a spy for her noble king and queen and was filtering our defense secrets to their militia. The day she was executed, there was an army camped on our border, ready to attack.”
I press my lips together, sensing he’s not finished.
“Do you wish to hear about my fifth?” he asks, meeting my eyes, not bothering to wait for an answer before he continues. “She’s a peddler’s daughter with no political ties. I’ll never forget the first day I laid eyes on her. It wasn’t her beauty that caught my attention, though she was lovely. It wasn’t her grace or her femininity, though she had both those as well. It was the helplessness in her eyes, the fear. I recognized it—that knowledge that your life isn’t your own, that no matter how you try to stop it, it’s barreling down a path of someone else’s choosing.”
I clasp my hands tighter, and I’m unable to look away from him.
“Three nights, she spun gold from straw. On the eve of the second day, after they’d reaped the rewards, my advisors decided she was dangerous—a witch with unimaginable power. They plotted her execution.”
I swallow, and my palms grow sweaty. The soft chair suddenly seems too hard, the room too hot.
“But I fought them, announced I would marry her that very day. How could I not? I would have rather died myself than see the girl whose eyes mirrored my own struck down by my corrupt, wicked court.” He shakes his head slowly. “That was before I realized that to the girl, marrying me, becoming my queen, was a fate worse than death.”
I breathe in slowly, processing his words. After several long moments of studying him, I let out a soft laugh for the first time in what seems like forever. “That was a dramatic end to your tale.”
Conrad almost smiles back. “It was meant to be.”
“I am truly sorry about Louisa,” I whisper.
“And I’m truly sorry about your elf.”
We fall silent, but the lull isn’t awkward, not this time. We study each other, questioning, wondering. After several long moments, I whisper, “You built me a meadow in the middle of your castle.”
The king watches me, his dark eyes depthless, his handsome face solemn. “Believe me when I tell you that I would build you a hundred gardens, each larger than the last, if you would only turn from your tower window and look my way even once.”
His words steal the breath from my lungs, make me tremble with fear and something warm.
“I’m looking now.” My voice is quiet in the dark, silent room. The words hang between us, heavy, poignant.
And they make me feel like I’ve betrayed Rune.
Before Conrad can answer, I sweep past him, out the doors, into the hall, past the puzzled guards.
Chapter 22
Greta walks past, her ladies-in-waiting trailing her. They give her plenty of room, never getting too close. She’s not cruel to them, just distant. As she is with all of us.
Half the courtiers are terrified of her. She’s a will-o-wisp, an ethereal shadow of the woman I met in the woods. Even still, castle life has agreed with her. She wears her hair long, half pulled up, and it catches the light in a way that’s not entirely natural. Sometimes I wonder if I was wrong, if she is part elf after all.
But then I tell myself she’s simply beautiful and leave it at that.
My thoughts land on her far too often. She’s torturing me.
It’s a slow process, one that guts me every time she walks by and barely looks my way. At least she acknowledges me now, allows our gazes to meet. Sometimes I swear I feel her eyes on me, but when I turn, she’s staring into the distance.
We can’t go on like this. I feel like a gnarled old witch from a tale, trapping something lovely for my enjoyment when it deserves to be free.
“Sire,” a man says, pulling my attention from my haunting specter of a wife. I turn and find my huntsman.
He begins to bow, but I wave my hand, requesting he skip the formalities. He rarely comes into the castle, so he must have something on his mind.
“The Golden Stag is in our forest,” he says, standing straight. “My son spotted him while scouting the western borders, seeing if the game has returned for the season.”
I stare at him for several long moments. “Are you certain?”
“Positive, Your Majesty. Knell is levelheaded and would not rep
ort it if he weren’t sure of what he’s seen.”
The Golden Stag.
He’s the symbol of our kingdom, and he graces my family’s crest. His likeness hangs in tapestries throughout the castle, and bronze tributes stand in every village square.
He’s a beast of legend, of magic and lore. He roams the kingdoms, making himself known but rarely. If you find him, if you get close enough to touch his flank, he will give you a wish—whatever your heart desires.
People have wasted their lives looking for the stag.
But he is real nevertheless.
“Thank you,” I tell the man, dismissing him. I cross my arms, mulling the words over, and my eyes once again cross the hall, landing on Greta.
I could make her love me. I could ask the stag to warm her affection, make her care. Just the thought of her turning to me, looking at me the way she did when we first met, before I destroyed her life…
Or I could find the stag and relinquish the wish to her, fix everything that I’ve broken.
I could give her back her elf. He still lives—a fact that haunts me every day. The elf might be quick, but I caught a glimpse of him when he stumbled through the window on the morning of the third day. He was wrong. That last night of turning the straw didn’t kill him.
But even the thought of giving her up makes me sick. She’s my wife, my queen. He could have fought for her that day instead of slipping out the window, but he didn’t. He left her to me, abandoned her.
But somehow, I know he didn’t, not intentionally. Because how could he? If I had Greta’s heart, I could never walk away from her.
What became of him? Why didn’t he at least attempt to stop the wedding?
I might never know, but one thing is clear. Greta will never be mine, not the way I want her, while his memory hangs between us. Yes, she may use her wish to find him. Or, maybe, just maybe, she’ll let him go, choose me. Choose this life. Either way, there will be closure—which is something she and I both desperately need.
As if feeling my eyes on her, my wife turns my way. She holds my gaze from across the room, and I grow warm.
What kind of fool man would give her the chance to flee? If I open her cage door, she’ll fly away and never look back.
She wears a gown of blood red today. It brings out the deep, dark chocolate in her hair. The crown of my kingdom rests upon her head. She’s everything I want. Without her, life will be hollow once more.
After a moment, she turns from me, glides from the throne room, her maids trailing her like chicks.
“Your Majesty?” my steward, a new man to replace the last, asks after I beckon him forward.
“Prepare my hunting lodge. I wish to travel there in two days’ time.”
The man tilts his head to the side, his expression questioning. “It is very early in the season, Sire.”
“So it is.” I wave him away. “Do it anyway.”
Chapter 23
Breakfast is always a royal and tiring affair. All of the courtiers currently present are here, as are their families. Conrad sits at the elevated table at the front of the room, and the seat to his right is empty, waiting for me. People watch as I walk into the grand hall, bowing their heads to me as I pass.
But it’s Conrad’s eyes I feel. We pass each other in the halls, living like strangers, sharing glances that last a moment too long. Even in his absence, he’s in my garden, where I spend most of my days. He’s in my tower, in my mind.
Winter, and its snow and ice, is coming to an end. It’s almost been three months, an entire season, since I married the king of Morgenbruch.
We share meals and a throne room, I attend events and many of the meetings with his new advisors, and though we exist as king and queen, we do not live as man and wife.
“Your Majesty,” a red-jacketed steward says to me as I ascend the stairs to my place by my husband’s side.
The nobles murmur to themselves after I pass, but I’m growing used to it and care little. Let them talk.
“My lord,” I say to my husband, lowering myself into a curtsy that almost feels normal. At the same time, I studiously avoid his gaze.
There have been no more late-night visits between us, not since the first, but I no longer feel animosity toward him.
“You’re late,” he says, brushing a kiss over my knuckles, an absent gesture for the sake of those around us.
“My apologies.”
A ghost of a smile flickers over his face, and he leans close. “I have come to realize that you enjoy making an entrance.”
“Or perhaps I simply dread these breakfast affairs and wish to shorten them as much as I am able.”
“Perhaps,” he says as if my answer amuses him.
I thank a man as he fills my goblet and brings me a platter of assorted pastries, far too many to choose from.
“I have decided we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Leaving?” I pause, my hand halfway back to my plate with a sugared roll.
“The weather is clear. We’re going to the hunting lodge.”
I glance out the window, taking in the patches of white and gray snow that still linger in the shade. “This early in the season? Why hunt now when the animals are lean from the winter?”
He waits until I meet his eyes. I’m hesitant to oblige, but finally, I give in. The king watches me, his expression unfathomable. “My huntsman sought me out yesterday. He’s heard a rumor.”
“And what rumor might that be?”
“The Golden Stag has returned to our forest.”
It takes me several moments to process his words. “The Golden Stag?”
He nods.
“What is it you wish for?” I ask.
“It’s not what I wish, Greta. It’s what you wish.”
I frown. “And what is it I wish?”
Conrad stands abruptly, making his chair screech loudly across the stone floor, drawing the attention of all in attendance. Oblivious, or perhaps uncaring, he extends his hand to me. “Walk with me.”
I glance at the people watching us, but then I nod, abandoning my meal, and join him. We walk from the grand hall, leaving the courtiers to their breakfast and gossip.
If I thought Conrad would make small talk before he reached his point, I was wrong. He pulls me into a nook, a recess of the main castle with a large window and several settees.
“You are unhappy,” he says bluntly. “Don’t deny it.”
I fidget with my hands and frown.
“If it’s in my power, I would like to fix that.”
“You’ve already built me a garden.”
“What if I could give you the life you wanted?” He steps closer. “What if you could close your eyes and think of the reality you imagined, and it came true?”
My heart begins to beat faster, and my head becomes light. “What are saying?”
“I will find you the stag, no matter what it takes, and you may wish for the thing your heart desires more than anything.”
Rune.
I step back, my head reeling. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“Why?” I demand, almost hurt. When he built me the garden, I thought he cared. Does he want to be free of me already?
Frowning, he steps forward. Almost hesitant, he places his hand on my cheek, fully prepared for me to pull away. “How many times must I tell you, Greta? Making you happy is the only thing that makes me happy. Believe me when I say it’s an entirely selfish gesture.”
I pull away from him as my emotions get the best of me. “But we’re married.”
“I know.”
I look back, my eyes flashing. “You’d just let me leave?”
“I’ll fake your death so you can go without worry or fear.”
Hugging myself, I turn from him once again. “What if I wish for him…and he doesn’t want me?”
Conrad comes up behind me and sets his hands on my bare shoulders. The touch sends a shiver down my spine—one I hope he assumes is from stand
ing so close to the window and not his proximity.
“He will,” he says, confident.
“How can you be sure?” I whisper.
“Because he’d be a fool to turn you away.”
I whirl around, so close to stepping into his arms. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
The king shakes his head, irked with either me or himself—maybe both. “I am the greatest fool of them all.”
He turns on his heel and strides down the hall, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Chapter 24
“Are you sure you’re well enough for this?” Eva asks, her hands fluttering at her stomach. Finally, she presses her palms together and rests them against her gown—another human creation, sapphire this time.
I stand, fully dressed, boots on, cloak around my shoulders, still weak but stronger than I’ve been in months. “I’m sure.”
I head to the doorway, and she follows, her own leather boots clicking on the stone floor as she walks. “I can come with you.”
“I’ll be fine.” I turn back to the duchess. “I’ll return before evening.”
Before I’m out the door, she clasps my arm, pulling me back. Her eyes search mine, hers worried, mine impatient. “Rumpel, what are you hoping to accomplish with this outing?” she asks, and then her voice softens to an almost whisper. “She’s married.”
I know that; I do. And it’s been several months.
“I need to know she’s being taken care of, that she is well.”
Part of me hopes I’ll find her happy, see that she’s moved on. Another part wants to find her in misery. That’s a selfish part, and I try not to dwell on its desires too often.
Eva nods once, dropping her eyes, and removes her hand.
We haven’t had another scare since the first, though we nearly starved the week after, as I demanded she stay in our shelter until our supplies were fully depleted. Then the frigid days of winter descended, sending the beasts looking for shelter, and Eva was free to leave our sanctuary once again.
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