Page 9 of Not Another Happily Ever After

I whirl toward him, ignoring the overwhelming urge to sink toward the checkered stones and weep until there are enough tears to drown in.

“You want me to free adeadman?”

Because carving my own heart out is not enough.

“No. I’ve already entertained this conversation for far too long. I can’t hear anymore. I won’t. This is my life, Galahand.” I gesture, arms wide toward the crumbling walls that surround us, their once polished faces now split by thorny, cobalt vines. In some places they’ve burrowed so deeply the plant and stone almost appear fused together.

I stare at the walls of my home, the castle that once stood as a testament of our people’s strength. Now it’s little more than an ancient black monument being slowly devoured by something cold, cruel and rotten.

“This is not a fairytale story for you to twist and turn at your leisure,” I hiss. “I neither need nor want your false hopes. I refuse to spend what little of this life I have left believing that the people who bore me into this world are the reason I won’t ever get to be a part of it. I just—I cannot.”

Defeat is but a whisper away when a brusque voice rings through the hall.

“My lady?”

Galahand’s fingers drop away, his mournful gaze turning guarded at the sight of my guard running toward us. Gally takestwo cautious steps to the side, leaving a wide berth between us where his words now lie.

I quickly follow suit, swiping away the tears of a crushed spirit from the hollows of my cheeks.

“Is everything alright over here?” Rhidland asks, not missing the smudge of black makeup now coloring the back of my hand. His closed fist comes to rest on the hilt of his sword.

He eyes Galahand warily, looking ready to cut him down at a moment’s notice, while the old man does all he can to become as little as possible, shrinking against the damp wall. His hardened gaze locks on the floor despite the shiver of panic rocking his frail bones.

My stomach rolls at the sight of him, cowering and afraid. Why did I shout at him? He’s clearly unwell. Who would it have hurt to just ignore his delusions? Delusions, that if heard by anyone else, will most certainly see him imprisoned. If not worse.

No. I can’t let that happen.

I won’t.

“My lady?” Rhidland presses, taking another slow step toward the old man, his fingers flexing around his pommel.

I think fast, sputtering out the first thing I can think of that might excuse my tears. “I’m bleeding! Down there…I’m bleeding.”

Both men blanch, the despair almost disappearing completely from Galahand’s features as he mirrors the horror overtaking my guardian’s face.

“Galahand was just…well, this time of the month can be so hard for a woman. I was just seeing if he had anything to help with the…you know.” I lower my voice, leaning closer to my statue-stiff guard. “The cramps.”

“Oh! Alright. That is…” Rhidland shudders, making an apologetic sweep of his hand. “Please forgive my intrusion, mylady.” He clears his throat, looking woefully uncomfortable as he slips his half-drawn sword back into its sheath.

That makes two of us.But if a little humiliation is the price I have to pay for peace, so be it.

And thankfully it seems to have worked. The threat of death is no longer a blade’s sweep away.

At least not for Gally.

“Well, if you’re finished here?” My guard nods, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him. “I’ll be taking you the rest of the way.” I don’t miss the lingering suspicion bracketing his darkened eyes, or the way his hand still hovers close to his sword.

He trusts me, but he doesn’t seem to trust Galahand. And that alone is enough to make me put one foot in front of the other, if only for the old man’s sake.

“Goodbye, Gally.”

I expect to see that familiar scowl reappear. But it never does.

His guarded expression remains perfectly in place, but there’s a subtle urgency in his tone as he says, “The next time you fall, may the truth give you wings. For what a wonderful way to pass through the place where flowers once bloomed.”

Another one of his riddles? I rack my brain to solve it, when he does the unexpected. Linking his thumbs together and extending his four fingers on either side, he creates a butterfly at the front of his chest. A gesture I’ve never seen done in person before, one reserved for only two occasions.

The rise of a monarch.