A short, low laugh escaped me. I would never again doubt the power of a heart.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I slipped back into the shadows. I turned away, vanishing into the corridors of thecastle. I had felt it. The very place where the pain was rooted, where Zelda had clenched my heart in one of her fits of rage. The beats called to me.
I tore off my gloves, letting them fall upon the marble, and descended into the deepest dungeon of the castle, where Cursed after Cursed drew from me to become monsters.
My heart awaited me.
And this time, it beat for someone.
33
Some hearts are made of sugar and spice. Others are forged in blood and ashes.
LEMPICKA
Snow was falling on the witch’s castle.
No. Not snow. Sugar.
It drifted in the air, crystalline, glittering, dissolving on my skin like spun glass. A sweet taste lingered on my lips. Warmth pulsed in my chest, spreading through me like sunlight melting ice. A breath strangled in my throat. Colors burst behind my eyelids, too vivid, too intense, as if I had just woken from darkness. I wanted to cry. To laugh. To scream. To eat.
By the golden apple tree, I wasstarving.
For food. For life. I pinched my arm, half expecting my fingers to sink into caramelized sugar. But under my nails, I found only flesh. Solid. Real. A laugh escaped me. I spun in place, ready to throw myself into Arawn’s arms, to bury my face against his chest, to touch him without poison seeping under my skin?—
But Arawn had already disappeared.
That was the plan. I was the distraction, while he slipped away to accomplish the reason we had come: to reclaim what had been stolen from us.
Our heart.
Had he succeeded? Would the ground crack beneath us, unleashing some monstrous stag dragon in a clash of wings and shadow? Arawn had conjured me a magnificent dress tonight. It would be a shame to ruin it.
“You are a most singular confectioner.”
The voice yanked me back to the present. I blinked. I had forgotten the white-haired prince standing before me. He had recently compared me to his late pink turtle, and I had taken it as a compliment. It meant he loved the Cursed too.
He was pleasant to look at, with harmonious, angelic features and green eyes shining with a softness almost too perfect. Too smooth. Nothing like Arawn, who was all angles and shadows, sharp lines, a face carved mercilessly by suffering and will.
“Mademoiselle?” he prompted.
“Yes?”
I forced a smile, but my gaze strayed to Zelda on the other side of the terrace. Rigid, imperious, the witch scanned the crowd, barking orders with a flick of her hand. Beside her, massive reptilian Cursed of no clear breed slithered among the guests, towering heads unnoticed. They were hunting someone.
Arawn.
“I would like to persuade you to work for my kingdom,” said the prince, bowing slightly.
A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. Murmurs slithered through the air like silk threads, eyes sliding toward us. Of course. A woman of sugar turned flesh again. A miracle. An aberration. The windows sealed. The velvet curtains drawn. Cursed guards everywhere. No exit.
“Too late,” I whispered, my throat tightening.
The prince frowned. “Too late? But I haven’t even begun to list the benefits?—”
I seized his hand and pulled him into a dance. Around us, the guests closed in, a circle of bodies. No one spoke. Not a breath disturbed the air. They were waiting. Puppets on invisible strings, suspended beneath Zelda’s piercing gaze.
The witch lounged on her throne. Her smile stretched, venomous, as docile suitors crawled at her feet, bending until their backs bowed under her weight, transformed into nothing more than human footstools.
