Page 32 of Not Another Happily Ever After

If only he knew he’s just delaying the inevitable.

I huff, peering around his large form, expecting to find the prince’s features pinched with rage, his fists bound tight. Instead I find something far more unsettling.

Thoren stands before us, smiling. Every pearly white tooth is bared in a grin that never reaches his eyes. A deep, bone-rattling laugh tears from his throat, ricocheting off the crumbling walls.

I shrink in the knight’s shadow, willing my stiffened limbs to move. To reach for the reprieve of the castle’s darkened, windy halls. But my mind remains a prison, and I haven’t got the key.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll fall onto the dark knight’s sword.But just as my hopes stand at the precipice of new heights, the laughter stops. And once again I am at the heart of cruelty’s attention.

I dare to meet Thoren’s eyes, searching for any trace of reason that may linger somewhere within their amber depths. But they are just as hollow as the first time I saw them all those years ago. Devoid of feeling. Merciless.

The only difference now? His hatred wears a smile.

“I wouldn’t get too attached to this one, Beastie.” He shakes a finger at Frog. “Or, do.” He smiles, his lingering gaze suggestive. “’Tis not my heart that will be left broken.”

Chapter

12

I fear she may have taken all my sense of

reason with the tenderness of her touch.

Breathing seems like such a simple thing to do, until the sound of your heart racing, air slipping through your busted lips, is all there is between you and enduring. This is what I think as I step through the castle’s large metal doors for the very last time.

With Xander called away by Father, there’s only Frog to accompany me to the carriage. Which in truth, is more than I had expected. Though I do wish he’d say something.Anything.

I’ve nearly chewed my cheek raw replaying Thoren’s warning over and over in my head. Clearly, he’s misread Frog’s intentions. Then again…

Frog’s fingers graze mine as he delicately slips the frayed bag from my hand into his, and I swear I hear his breath hitch beneath his iron mask. Now even I’m wondering which it is that dominates his mind. Fear? Or something else entirely.

I watch as he disappears around the carriage to load the bag in the trunk, waiting and wondering if he’ll return to my side. The answer lands heavily in my chest when he strides off into the fog, back toward the castle.

I’m not left lonely for long. Merrek is quick to step into the empty space beside me, filling the silence with stories about a girl whose heart he broke—who lives somewhere on the other side of the realm. I wouldn’t doubt his jokes are attributed to at least half of that heartache. That or she wasn’t impressed by the old family cornbread recipe he’s shared with me. Twice.

I close my eyes briefly, putting any misplaced delusions laid by the prince to rest and then give the young bachelor the conversation he’s clearly been denied by his band of brothers, all of whom have made their exasperation evident.

Their dynamic is an odd one. How they’ve made it work thus far is a mystery I cannot wait to uncover.

“So, do you know any recipes for cake?” I smile, chuckling at Myrrdin’s silent pleas for his brother’s endless yapping to stop.

Merrek ignores him, of course, his eyes alight with glee. “Do I ever!”

I spend the next ten minutes listening to him tell me all about this baker’s daughter and all the different cakes she taught him how to bake. Apparently, a great deal of pounding breaks were needed, which I find rather surprising. I always thought dough to be on the softer side. But I have been wrong before, and his enthusiasm on the topic leaves little room for doubt.

“How about the piping method? You know, the one where you pipe down and leave the princess be?” Myrrdin grunts from somewhere atop the carriage.

Honestly, their bickering is endearing, if not a healthy distraction. I’ve barely just noticed the drizzle of rain already soaking through the thin plain cloak Peony slipped me as I was all but thrown toward the front doors of the castle.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I look back on the walls that hold all my memories, and yet, hardly any at all. I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since I’ve gotten lost in a conversation. Five years. It’s been five years.

It’s nice. Entertaining even. Well, at least for me. Poor Myrrdin looks absolutely mortified by his brother’s utter disregard for things like social etiquette and personal space.

“Or, and here’s a fun idea, I could teach her how to make soup…using stick bugs.”

Before I can question it, Myrrdin appears standing on the ledge of the carriage, his sword drawn. “Over my dead body,” he seethes.

Merrek cocks a grin, leaning in so that he’s all but whispering in my ear. “He keeps one for a pet.”