Page 34 of These Vile Hearts

A mortal with the Sight who fancies herself a connoisseur of dryad parties and plotted to dance on the lap of the king. My grip on her blade tightens. How very presumptuous of her.

“Did you know the last king was murdered by a mortal?” I take slow steps forward until I am standing inches from her.

At last she betrays a hint of panic: Her breathing stutters, eyes flare just millimeters, shoulders stiffen. Tamarind watches me from over the mortal’s shoulder. I know, with one order, he would cut her throat with his scythe. He’d do anything I asked him to.

“He cut down the king’s heartwood in the dead of night and left like a soul escaping a corpse,” I continue. “There were no guards stationed along the candelabra branch then. Not like there are now, unfortunately for you.”

The girl’s invisible mask has returned. “I didn’t come here to kill you,” she says carefully. “I told you. I was merely protecting myself.”

What a beautiful liar. No change in tone. No shifting or avoiding eye contact. Almost as if she believes it. I might believe her, too, if I couldn’t see the fire deep within her gaze, a smoldering funeral pyre built for me.

I offer her a smile sparkling with condescension, tilting my head as if she’s a sapling who’s done something particularly ridiculous butadorable all the same. I toss her golden dagger in the air and catch it by the hilt for a second time. Then I place the tip beneath her jaw, lifting it as I whisper, “Are you saying you are afraid of me?”

Her red lips part, but no words come. She breathes in, then lets the air slowly out before her teeth capture her full bottom lip. “No.”

“Is that so.”

After several beats, she finally speaks, calm and careful. “I understand if you don’t trust me. You have no reason to. But Iamtelling the truth.”

I step away from her. Strolling around the chaise longue, I lean my forearms atop the high back, spinning the golden dagger like a maple seed. “Why should I trust you?”

“If you let me live, I can show you. I’ll…I can work for you. Clean or cook. Whatever you desire.” Her words are slow, careful.

“Brave of you to offer so much to a king you felt the need to protect yourself from. Or perhaps foolish.”

“Something tells me you aren’t as cruel as the rumors claim. That mask you always wear is just armor to protect you from things you don’t want to feel.”

Every muscle in my face responds to her words. My brows lift at the innermost corners, mouth flattens, cheeks sink. Fire brighter than her hair sizzles in my veins. Damn her. Damn her words. Damn the truth in them.

If any mortal deserves to be chosen as my lover, it is this one.

“Perhaps,” I admit, “some of what you say is true.”

Silence settles over the three of us as I pretend to consider her offer, pushing away from the chaise longue and pacing slowly across the floor behind it. If she’s to fall in love with me, she must stay in the Redwood Court, but Durian will be a minor issue. Seeing as how she believesIam the king. Oh, the fun my brother would have if he found that out.

“All right, mortal,” I drawl. “You may—”

“Maddox,” she interrupts. “My name is Maddox.”

“Is that all?”

“It’s all that matters.”

I do not push the issue. Mortals’ surnames are drenched in bloody history, dirty deeds, and money—or lack thereof. Dryad surnames are connected to the tree on which their heartwood has grown. Before I was adopted, I was Castor Azalea, the only sapling born from an abandoned tree on the outskirts of the Nightshade District. Then Cyperus made me a Sempervirens…and the Sovereign Tree made me a cursed prince. Names mean nothing.

“And what should I callyou?” she asks. “Your Highness? Your Majesty? Your Eminence?”

I stop pacing. “You don’t know my name?”

“I know you as the Redwood King.”

“My name is…” I begin to sayDurian, but then I picture the girl before me whispering my brother’s name into my ear, and I nearly heave up the tarts I ate earlier. “Castor. My name is Castor.”

“King Castor,” she says.

Better than Cursed King, I’ll admit. But still enough to turn my stomach sour.

“All right, then, Maddox. I suppose I will allow you to prove your trustworthiness in lieu of execution.” I gesture toward Tamarind with the golden dagger. “Let her go, Tamarind.”