A Wicked Thing

by Rhiannon Thomas

SIXTEEN

  AS SHE GOT READY THE NEXT MORNING, EVERY ONE of Aurora’s muscles screamed the same word at her, over and over: run.

  I could do it, she thought, as Betsy tugged in her waist and straightened her skirts. I could run. Tristan had offered her a way out. She could leave the castle behind, hide out in the inn, and never worry about fate or duty or promised love again. Until she was caught, at least. Until his rebels murdered everyone in the castle. Until the king’s men fought back or the whole kingdom descended into civil war. Her stomach lurched, and she pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth to hold back the wave of nausea that rushed through her. She could not leave. The risk was too great.

  Rodric waited in a large chamber, empty except for a single table and mirrors along one wall. He blushed when he saw her, and his hand jerked up to rub the skin behind his ear. “Princess,” he said. She gave him a nod that was almost a curtsy, and he bowed in return. “You look beautiful.” He was a good person, she told herself. But she did not love him, and every beat of her heart thudded through her, telling her that this was wrong, wrong, all wrong.

  The queen had given her an old-fashioned dress, with long, flowing sleeves and a tiny lace-up waist. It was something out of a dream, a picture of life as it had been in “the olden days.” Her hair hung loose around her shoulders in a shower of curls. She brushed one back from her face and ducked her head. “Thank you.”

  “I brought you something,” he said. “A gift. For our engagement.” He pulled a necklace out of his pocket and held it up. A chain of diamonds, running in a loop and then dropping down to a star that glittered in the light. It looked like a jewel snatched from a treasure trove, ancient and magnificent. Clearly an heirloom. Had the queen told him to give it to her? “Do—do you like it?”

  “Yes,” she said, all far-off, perfected politeness. “It’s wonderful. But I cannot accept it.”

  “Nonsense.” The queen swept into the room. Her hair was piled on her head in a bunch of elaborate twists, decorated with tiny glints that might have been diamonds too. “It will suit you.”

  “May I?” Rodric said. Aurora nodded. With a gentle hand, he lifted her hair. A few strands tumbled down to scratch her neck. He placed the necklace around her throat and fumbled with the clasp. Not so much as a whisper of his skin touched hers. The chain was heavy and cold, dragging her shoulders forward and pressing on her already tight chest. When Rodric released her hair, it tickled her skin.

  “Let me have a look at you,” the queen said. She grabbed Aurora’s hands and held them out in front of her so she could scrutinize every crease and curl. She raised her arms higher, so that Aurora had to stretch up on tiptoe like a dancing doll. “Perfect. The people will love you.” She tightened her hold on Aurora’s hands, as though trying to squeeze every last drop of beauty out of her. Aurora fought back a wince. “Smile, my dear, and everything will be fine.” A threat nestled in the words.

  The queen released her hands, and Aurora’s heels dropped to the ground.

  “Rodric, do you remember the speech I gave you?”

  The prince nodded. His skin had turned pale.

  “Good.” The queen looked as smooth and unruffled as ever, but tension darted through her features as she turned away. “I have a couple of final things to attend to. A guard will fetch you when we are ready.” She marched away without another word, leaving Rodric and Aurora alone.

  Aurora followed the edge of her necklace with her fingertips, following the cut of the jewels. Every nerve stood on edge, and her breaths did not seem to fill her lungs. At least the ceremony would be outside, away from these stern walls. Rodric shifted from foot to foot, his mouth running through his speech, lips tracing the same words over and over until Aurora felt dizzy watching him. Her legs itched to run. She clutched her skirts in her fists to steady the shaking, forcing back the threatening tears with a gulp of air.

  “Prince Rodric, Princess Aurora?” A man in a bright-red uniform stood by the door. “Please come with me.” She glanced back at Rodric. He looked almost green with nerves, but he nodded once and held out his arm to her. She rested her hand over his elbow, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. She was not sure she could walk forward alone.

  The guard hurried them down corridors and around to the front entrance of the castle, the place where Aurora had been presented to the people. The hum of the crowd grew louder and louder with every step, and over it, the king spoke in his booming, jovial voice. The words bounced off the walls, blurring together into meaningless cheer.

  The guard led them toward an alcove to the left of the main doors, tucked out of sight. The space was so narrow that Aurora could almost feel Rodric’s chest rise and fall beside her. Beyond the open doors, she could hear the crowd, thousands of voices muttering and cheering and pressing in, all there to catch another glimpse of their precious princess.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  “They love you,” Rodric said under his breath. Was he talking to himself or to her? The lie cut into her, and something like panic bubbled up in her throat. They could not love her. No one could, not here, not really. Not the prince, not the crowd, not anyone. They were all deceived, by her face or her silence or their own desires. Her whole body tingled, as if tiny needles were diving into every inch of her skin.

  She reached out and clutched Rodric’s hand. He squeezed, his fingers warm around hers. She tightened her hold until her knuckles strained white, but he did not let go.

  “Aurora—” Rodric began, but the guard stepped forward before he could finish the thought.

  “It is time,” he said. He ushered them out of the alcove, sweeping them toward the doors. They paused on the threshold as a fanfare blared and a herald stepped ahead of them.

  “Presenting Prince Rodric and Princess Aurora.”

  The crowd roared in approval, and Aurora and Rodric walked through the doors, hands clutched together. People clambered on the walls and sat on roofs, shouting and cheering and waving banners that whirled in a flash of color. Aurora stretched her lips into a smile so wide that her face felt it might tear in two. The frenzy of excitement snatched her breath away, and she looked down at the stone steps, struggling to steady her spinning head. She felt sick with the lie of it.

  Keep smiling. She sank into a curtsy, her head bowed, and the roar increased. Her eyes skimmed over the crowd, trying to take in the eager faces, the delighted grins. One woman was not smiling. Tall and thin, with long blonde hair and a familiar, heart-shaped face. Her ice-blue eyes seemed to burn into Aurora’s skin. Aurora took a step backward, slipping on the smooth stone.

  Rodric tugged on her hand, and the shouts of the crowd broke through the haze, rattling in her ears. Her lips ached, like two fingers were yanking them apart.

  “Kiss her!” shouted a boy. The crowd laughed and cheered in approval, and soon the cry had been taken up by every voice. “Kiss the princess!”

  Rodric’s smile was almost apologetic, and his face burned as pink as ever. Hundreds of eyes seemed to scald Aurora’s cheeks, and she knew the queen’s were among them, judging their performance. Aurora’s heart constricted, each frantic pound screaming run, run, run, but she had nowhere to go. The moment lingered on. She could not leave, could not turn her head away, but neither could she bring herself to stand up on tiptoe and touch her lips to his, declaring their love for everyone to see.

  Slowly, Rodric pressed a shaking hand against her cheek. It was hot—or maybe that was her own blushing skin—and then his lips brushed hers.

  She closed her eyes and counted the seconds. Her heartbeat did not slow, and the roar of the crowd did not fade.

  One. Two. Three.

  An explosion rocked the courtyard. The cheering turned to screams. Aurora, her ears ringing, leapt away from the sound in time to see a spray of golden sparks bursting from a shell on one side of the steps. The thing skidded across the stones, spitting fire. The crowd squealed and shoved one another to get away, but Aurora did not mo
ve, her eyes fixed on the flame. It burned like panic, like fever, cutting through the numbness in her fingertips.

  The shell exploded again, louder than the first time, and the sparks were blinding red. Aurora screamed this time too and leapt backward. The sparks burned into the stone a few feet from where she stood.

  Another explosion came from behind her. People screamed again, and Rodric grabbed her hand, pulling her back to the castle. Guards poured out of every crevice, seeming to step out of the air itself. They pulled out their swords, and people scrambled farther away as they caught the glint of the steel.

  “Fireworks in honor of this joyous day!” The cry carried over the chaos, echoing from somewhere in the very midst of the crowd. The guards plunged toward the voice, shoving people out of the way. Some leapt back from the gleam of the blades, but at the back of the square, others pushed closer to watch the show. The crowd jostled back and forth, rippling and buzzing, elbows flailing. A girl fell in front of a guard. He kicked her in the stomach and drew his leg back again to toss her aside.

  “Stop!”

  Rodric’s grip on Aurora’s hand slackened, and she wrenched herself free. She ran forward, down the steps, and grasped the guard by the arm. “Stop!”

  The guard swung his blade. She jerked back, and the tip caught her side, cutting through her dress as if it were air. In the time it took the guard to blink, the square went still. No one screamed; no one struggled. No one moved at all, except for Aurora. She collapsed onto the hard cobbles. The guard stared at her, horror spreading across his face. Red stained the corset of her dress. She pressed her fingers over the wound. Hot blood pulsed between them. The world twisted sideways. She raised her fingers in front of her face and stared at the blood, bright red against the whiteness of her skin. It dripped down the palm of her hand, stroking her wrist and disappearing under her sleeve. Blood burned in her ears. It raced through her fingertips.

  She pushed herself to her feet. Everything was distorted, faraway, except for the red.

  A hand grabbed her arm. “Princess!” Rodric said. “Come on.” She pulled her arm away, but he did not let go, so she spun around and shoved his shoulder backward, anger racing up out of nowhere. Another explosion, loud and fiery red, burst around them. The prince jumped backward, his feet dancing away from the scorched stone. His hair smelled of smoke.

  Her whole body shook. A bright red handprint stuck to his tunic. She clutched the spot on her arm where he had held her. That would be stained too. It was only a little blood, she knew that, she knew, but she felt like it was spilling all over her, staining every little patch of skin. For a wild moment, she wanted to smear it over her face, hide that oh-so-beloved beauty under a taste of her messy insides.

  Rodric stared at her, his eyes wide, as though seeing her for the first time.

  “That’s right,” she said. “You don’t know me.” She could not tell if he heard her. She did not care. The fire was in her veins now, all that tension, all the fear, pounding and chasing and burning through her.

  “Princess, please forgive me. I didn’t know—” The guard moved forward, but several others grabbed him, jolting him to a halt. Aurora stared at his desperate face, her lips slightly parted. As quickly as it had come, the strength and wildness dropped out of her, and she swayed. The world spun. She shook her head. “Are you all right?” she asked the girl she had rushed to save. The girl was standing up now, pressing backward into the crowd. When she looked at Aurora, her eyes were full of fear.

  “It’ll be all right,” Aurora said, but the girl’s eyes flickered between Aurora’s bloodstained dress and the scorch marks below Rodric’s feet, and she stumbled back again, as though anything would be better than facing Aurora in this moment.

  Off to her left, the blonde woman still watched her. Her eyes were filled with hunger.

  Another shout echoed over the crowd. “Long live the Useless Prince and his Bloodstained Bride. May they sleep together always.”

  She knew that voice. She turned, searching the crowd, even as the guards swept them backward again. Another hand—she did not know whose—grabbed her and tried to lead her up the steps, but she refused to turn. Not until she saw.

  He was perched on a roof at the very edge of the square, watching. Their eyes met.

  Tristan nodded and ducked away.

  SEVENTEEN

  “IT IS ONLY A SHALLOW CUT,” THE HEALING WOMAN said as she pressed a cloth to Aurora’s side. The wound stung under the pressure, but Aurora refused to wince. “It looks a lot worse than it is.”

  “Good,” the queen said. She stood behind Aurora, her face pale. “What needs to be done?”

  “Very little,” the woman said, and she peered at the cut again. “I will clean it and bandage it, and as long as she doesn’t do anything strenuous over the next few days, it should heal fine.”

  Aurora nodded. What strenuous things could she possibly do? Move the furniture around her locked room? The light poured in through the queen’s high windows, making the room look unnaturally cheerful. Aurora felt cold and faraway. She had to wait up here until the healer gave her permission to move, until the square had been emptied and the guards had searched the castle, hunting for any lingering threats. Rodric had been swept away as soon as they reentered the castle, leaving Aurora with her fretting future mother-in-law. The queen’s lips were thinner than Aurora had ever seen before, and she seemed to be having trouble standing still. She paced the room frequently, and even when she stood in one place, she twitched her skirts every few seconds.

  “Will it leave a scar?” the queen asked.

  “I do not think so, Your Majesty. But perhaps.”

  They talked back and forth, the queen sounding increasingly peevish, but Aurora stopped listening. She glanced toward the sunny windows. Had the guards caught Tristan, or was she the only person who had seen him, watching the scene from the rooftop?

  She had been such a fool to trust him. Even after he had told her his intentions, she had done nothing to stop him. She had not thought he would hurt innocent people. She had not thought he would hurt her.

  The healer dabbed a wet cloth against Aurora’s side, cleaning the blood away.

  The queen continued to pace the room. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her skirts.

  The healer tied the bandages in place. They covered Aurora’s whole stomach, crisp and white against her pale skin.

  “Thank you,” Iris said as soon as she was done. “You may leave us. Please attend the princess again this evening.” The healer curtsied and shuffled away.

  “Do you believe me now?” Iris said as soon as the door closed again. “I knew something like this would happen.”

  “Yes,” Aurora said. “I believe you.”

  “There will have to be some new rules,” she said, sweeping across the room to look out of the window. “This cannot be allowed to happen again.” Now that the only other witness was gone, she did not even pretend to be calm.

  “What’s going to happen?” Aurora asked. “Is there still to be a wedding?”

  “Of course there is still to be a wedding,” the queen snapped. “We are not going to let a few noxious weeds destroy the most important day this kingdom has seen in a hundred years. But we are going to need to take extra precautions to ensure your safety.” She spoke quickly and precisely. “Once the castle has been properly searched, you are to remain in your room until further notice. No walks in the garden. No afternoons with the court. No brunches outside. If you must leave, you will be provided with a guard to accompany you at all times.”

  “But—”

  “Do not interrupt me, Aurora.” Iris’s face turned red. “You must listen and be silent, for once. Do you understand me?”

  Aurora nodded.

  “Good,” the queen said. “I am glad you will cooperate.” She stepped away from the window. “I wish they had given us more guards here,” she said. “We really do not have enough. We must search every inch of this castle, and in
terrogate all the people they caught in the square—”

  “Is that necessary?” Aurora asked. She did not want more innocent people arrested or punished because of her.

  “Do you think we would be making such a fuss if it were not?”

  “It’s just—” She looked down at the ground, remembering the people huddled by the city wall on that dark night, their faces blank with hunger. “They must think what they’re doing is right.”

  Aurora half expected Iris to snap at her, call her a naïve idiot of a girl, but instead, she sighed. “I was once like you,” she said. “Trusting. It didn’t work out well.”

  “What do you—”

  “Four years ago was our last big rebellion,” she said. “The biggest one since my husband became king. Drunken crowds stampeded the castle. They killed our guards. Our servants. Innocent people outside were crushed in the rush. My own personal maid was murdered in the street, just because I sent her out on an errand. They are animals, Aurora. They don’t have morals. They want to ruin us, and they don’t care who else they destroy in the process.”

  Aurora swallowed. She could not stomach the thought of Tristan’s involvement in something like that. In murders and mobs screaming for blood.

  Someone rapped on the door.

  “Come in,” Iris said. A messenger stepped into the room.

  “The guard who attacked the princess is in the dungeons,” he said. “We have arranged a public execution for tomorrow morning.”

  “No!” Aurora said. She stepped forward with a jerk, and her side throbbed in protest. “It was an accident.” She did not want him to die for her.

  “He was reckless,” Iris said. “We cannot have people hurting you without consequence.”

  “Then choose a smaller consequence.”

  “Do not talk about things you do not understand,” the queen said. “A smaller consequence is no consequence at all. If we show leniency, this will happen again.”

  This is my fault, Aurora thought. If she had not run into the crowd, the guard would be safe.