Page 98 of These Vile Hearts

One of the glasses on the tray tumbles to the ground as I break into a run.

Memories chase after me. Coffee and wine, accidental brushes of the hand. More than a few times I’ve obsessed over how those fingers felt raking down my skin on that piano. Back when I still hated him. Back when I only knew him as the heartless Redwood King. Back when this pact felt like an open door rather than bars and chains and blood on my hands.

I nearly crash into Castor’s door, slamming my fist against the wood. “Castor!” I shout, waiting a couple seconds between knocks. I try the handle, but it’s locked. At least a minute goes by as my fists and heart thunder. “CASTOR! FUCKING. LET. ME.IN.”

“He’s probably passed out,” a voice says behind me.

I turn to see Archer leaning against the wall, watching me with his tree-sap gaze.

“I need to talk to him. It’s urgent. Do you have a key?”

He takes in the stitched cut along my jaw, the tray of brandy in my hands. Then he nods, dark green hair falling across his forehead. “This is the second favor you’ve asked of me.”

“Yeah, after I kept your weird foot-rubbing fetish from your guard friends,” I snap.“Please.”

“If I let you in, you will owe me another favor someday.”

It’s a terrible thing to agree to. I know better than to say, “Fine.” But I do.

A grin twists Archer’s lips, and he steps forward, pulling a key from his belt and unlocking the door. “Don’t murder him. That would get me in some serious trouble with the king.”

I can practically feel the blood drain from my face as I slip inside. The interior of Castor’s branch is not unlike his Nightshade home. Muted shades of gray, black, deep brown, and ivory. Theatrical architecture. It reminds me of a fancy New York flat that you might see in a drama series about a lonely man who comes from wealth but has more alcohol than friends. The front door opens into a sprawling living area with an open kitchen. Firelight flickers in a room to the left.

Clutching the tray of brandy, I lock my terror in the basement of my metaphorical house. I lock everything down, holding the panic inside like a caged animal. “Castor?”

Nothing.

The glasses on the tray clink together from my trembling hands as I move like a reaper searching for my latest victim. I cross the threshold into the sitting room identical to the one in his Nightshade home. I take in everything at once. A vanity filled with substances and drinks and a couple of dozing wood sprites. A fire lit inthe grate. The bottle of oleander-soaked wine—open and half empty—on a wooden side table. A glass with only a puddle of the dark liquid sits beside the bottle.

And lying on the couch, arm draped to the ground and head turned to the side, is the cursed prince.

My heart crawls into my throat and the tray of brandy shatters to the ground as I sweep to his side. “Fuck. Castor.Castor.”

Falling to my knees, my hands bunch in the material of his shirt, forehead pressed against his chest. Tears burn my eyes as a sob escapes my lips. “What have Idone?”

A rumble in his chest vibrates against my head. “Knocked me out with that wine, that’s what.”

I nearly choke on the air that catches in my throat as I jerk back to look upon Castor’s face. His dark eyes, glazed in the firelight, are open. The lazy grin tugging at his lips turns into a frown. “Are you crying? What happened?” he asks, more seriously, reaching for my face with a gentle hand. “Were you hurt?”

I ignore his question. “There was…” I gape at the half-drunk bottle. “There wasoleanderin that wine.”

“I know…” He sits up now. “Who did this to you?”

“How are you—? Oleander is extremely poisonous.”

“Not to dryads. Just puts us to sleep.” His words are distracted. “What hap—”

“I had a run-in with a tree siren, okay? I’m fine now. Areyoufine?”

Shaking his head with a half-amused, half-impressed expression, he plops back on the couch. “Yes, Maddox, I am perfectly fine. What, did you think you’d accidentally poisoned me?”

Accidentally.

My heart doesn’t know whether it should race or shatter or stop, so it just palpitates. I clutch my chest as I try to find a lie to cover my mistake. “I—I hadn’t realized what was in it until I ran into,uh—Fern, and she told me it had oleander in there and, well, oleander is extremely poisonous to humans, so I just ran off before she could say anything else about—Whyare you laughing?”

Castor’s laughter softens as he runs a thumb along my cheek, an attempt at comfort.

I bat his hand away, climbing to my feet. “It’s notfunny, Castor. I thought you were—I thought—”