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I had to find it. I had to speak it.
“You don’t,” he said. “It will find you.”
“How? How when no one knows it?”
“Everyone knows his name. It knows no stranger. It is the wail on the lips of a birthing mother, the howl from the mouth of a grieving lover. It is the cry that breaks the night when death is summoned and the scream that echoes at daybreak when truth makes you ache.”
“I am not looking to solve a riddle,” I said, frustrated by his words but also processing them, feeling them. “I need a name.”
“You know his name,” said the mirror. “You have felt it.”
I considered what he had said and could acknowledge that I knew what it was to watch death arrive and steal away life. I knew what it was to wish through the night that it wasn’t true. I knew what it was to have my heart broken each morning at daybreak.
“I know grief, that is true,” I said. “But grief is not a name.”
“Anything can be a name,” said the mirror. “But you are right. Grief is not Casamir’s true name.”
We were silent for a moment, and then the mirror said, “Think on it, creature. You have four days.”
Chapter Sixteen
Love Me, Leave Me
I waited for my creature to come as I had called, just outside the entrance to the dining room dressed in my finest robes. I felt ridiculous and uncomfortable and the anticipation was driving me mad. It ate within my chest like a seething parasite. Why did I feel this way? I had seen her before, a hundred times, but this time was different because I had been inside her. I had given her pleasure and she had writhed beneath me, and I wanted that again even if she did not.
I was not prepared for her when she came into view. She had always been beautiful, but tonight she was exquisite. She wore a fitted gown, as thin as fairy wings. The colors changed as she moved, from pink to gold.
The elves in her wardrobe had done well, the best since she had arrived.
She stopped in front of me, and we stared at each other in a strange and uncomfortable silence.
“You look beautiful,” I said, and I hoped she could tell how much I meant it.
Her chest rose as she took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
I held out my hand for her. It took her a moment to accept, and when she did, I pulled her to me. Her eyes widened, and one of her hands pressed flat against my chest but she did not push me away.
I held her gaze and brushed a finger along her cheek.
“I want you,” I said, and the truth of it echoed in my bones.
“A letter,” she said, her voice quiet and her eyes lowered to my lips. “And you can have me.”
Anger twisted through me like a knife.
I wanted her to want me too. I wanted her to want me without expectation, though there was a part of me that knew I had done this when I had given her a letter this morning.
“A letter,” I said. “And you will serve me dinner. Naked.”
She pushed away from me.
“Fuck you.”
“I’d really rather not talk about fucking,” I said, scowling.
The mood between us changed rapidly, and a thick tension descended. I hated the feel of it, making me feel overdressed and on edge.
“You are despicable,” she said.
