I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t mean to.
But I woke up, and my brain was itchier than it’s ever been. Usually, I can soothe the feeling by being near the Prince of Thorns, but this was like prickles planted in my mind.Howcould Heidigog forget about her bloomies? She talks about them nonstop. Water lilies on ponds, daisies in a meadow, even the fuzzy catkins on willow trees. She might miss the flowers of the surface more than I miss the sun?—
I don’t. I don’t miss it. Don’t miss anything. And I’ve made himmad.
A wail escapes me, and I try to help him, pulling at my own briars. Thorns snag my flesh, and blood runs down my hands.
“Stars sake, Rosalina,” the Prince of Thorns snarls and dashes over to me. He falls to his knees and snags my wrists, examining the torn skin. With an exasperated sigh, he rips two ribbons of fabric from his shirt and binds both of my palms.
I sniff. “I–I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
He doesn’t let go of my wrist. “Why did you do this?”
“Last night, I mentioned flowers to Heidigog. And…and she couldn’t remember what they were. But we’ve talked about them before. When I woke up, I had the feeling that I couldmakea flower and show her. And if I showed her, she would remember… But when I started, it…it…”
“It what?”
“It felt so good I couldn’t stop,” I whisper. “It was like…stretching after being cooped up in a seat for hours.”
The Prince of Thorns lets loose another sigh and shakes his head, tendrils of black hair falling in his face. “This magic of yours—it’s dangerous. Do you understand? You could hurt yourself.”
“I don’t care,” I wail. “I have to use it, or I might die?—”
“You could hurtme,” he snarls, and his eyes flash with phantasmal green. “You must promise me you won’t do this again. Promise me.”
A buzzing sounds in my head, like a hive was just turned upside down in my brain. My lip curls, and I avert my gaze. I don’t want to look at him right now. He can’t make me promise that. He can’t, he can’t.
He yanks on my wrists hard. “Rosalina, listen to me. You must promise?—”
“No,” I snarl.
The Prince of Thorns goes still. Very still, like the soul has left him and there’s only a husk. The shadows in the room gather around him like a cloak. Warmth seeps from my blood.
I try to pull away from him, but he tugs my wrists again. “Listen to me, Rosalina O’Connell. You aremine. Mine to control. Mine to do with as I please. Youwillobey me. Do you understand?”
He’s right. I am his. I belong to him.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He continues to slither before me. “So if you will not make me a promise, then you will do one better. You will make me a bargain. By thorn and shadow, by oath and will, you are bound. No magic shall stir in your veins, no power shall rise at your call, unless I grant it. Swear it, and let the bargain take hold.”
Shadows coil around me, cold as the light of his eyes. The air seems to still, to wait.
I am his. To control. To do with as he wills.
“By thorn and shadow, by oath and will, I am bound,” I breathe. “My magic is yours to command, unless you grant me leave.”
Now the air quickens, then hums. Two black steel cuffs materialize around my wrists, carved with thorns and roses.
His smile is slow, dark. Victorious. “Good girl. How I love when you obey.”
With a sweep of his cape, he exits the room, leaving me with my briars and my cuffs.
The Prince of Thorns took something from me. But he gave me something greater.
My full name.
Rosalina O’Connell.
