by Emma Hamm
So instead of telling the truth, she bit her lip and shook her head. “No, nothing all that interesting.”
He stood, his clawed feet shifting in the snow and his wings spreading wide to keep himself balanced. She followed his gaze to the statue behind her, the one whose wings were feathered and delicate rather than leathery and heavy.
“I don’t remember this being here,” he muttered.
Amicia didn’t know what to say. Did she explain she thought the statue could move on its own? She said none of the thoughts that ran through her mind. “What did you need me for?”
“Hm?” He murmured the sound, still staring at the statue as though he might remember something.
It gave her the opportunity to stare at him, and the changes in his body. His eyes were no longer red, but a warm gold that drew her attention. His teeth looked more human and… were his claws shorter? They didn’t look so sharp.
She tried not to think of their almost kiss. The heat that had radiated from his body still lingered underneath her skin. Bursting back into full force whenever she thought of the look in his eyes and the way he had leaned closer and closer, as if he would do what she knew they shouldn’t.
A kiss with a monster? Amicia had never thought she would find herself in that position and yet, she had wanted him to kiss her. Even now she wanted to see what it would be like to kiss such a dangerous thing.
But that would change everything. They wouldn’t be able to be partners in research, and he had tried to kill her. Had killed her family and her friends. Perhaps not with his own hands for the latter, but his order had done so. She couldn’t be interested in him in any way other than as a beast who held her captive.
Then he turned to look at her, and all those thoughts fled from her mind. He didn’t appear as the King of the Dread any longer. He was Alexandre, curious about the details she might have found and the world around him. Desperately seeking more memories and attaching himself to her side because she reminded him of a different time.
She lost all the air in her lungs when he looked at her with that soft expression. His features changed from fearsome to kind.
“You’re shivering,” he said.
“I’m fine.” She couldn’t admit she shivered from the memory of their almost kiss.
“Amicia, you’re allowed to feel the cold. It’s not a weakness. It’s admitting you can feel something.”
“I can feel!” It was just the scarf around her shoulders making her cheeks red, not the frigid air. Besides, the fish were alive behind her. Surely, he could see life continued through the winter. “I’m not some delicate little thing, Alexandre. I’m fine.”
“Seated in the snow?” He arched a brow. “You’ll come back with frostbite.”
“Stop trying to baby me, please. I’m not your dear, precious Vivienne with her noblewoman sensibilities. I’m happier sitting in the mud than I am at the dinner table.” Well, that just made her sound like a pig, and that wasn’t what she’d planned on him envisioning her as.
Flustered, she remained frozen while he marched toward her. She didn’t say a word until he knelt beside her and slid his arms underneath her legs and back. “What are you doing?”
“Stop talking, petite souris.”
“Alexandre, put me down!”
He chuckled, his breath brushing through the strands of her hair. “Can you breathe without arguing on the exhalation?”
“Not with you.” But she let him shift her until he was seated on the scarf she’d laid out on the ground.
His hands on her body left scorch marks that only she could feel. Every imprint of his fingers left her breathless and confused. She needed to move. She couldn’t think when he moved her body as though he owned it. What was he doing, anyway?
He settled, then seated her between his legs. Two powerful thighs bracketed her, caging her in between the bulging muscles. He placed a hand low on her belly and tugged her backward. Then she was pressed against his chest, feeling the heat of him warming her entire body with every breath.
His fingers spread wide for a moment, pressed against her softness before he slid them away. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rough. “What are you reading?”
She held up the blue book, although he had known what she was reading. Apparently, they were both thrown off by the sudden position he had thought was a good idea.
Only one thing bothered her, however, and the words slipped out unbidden. “What about Vivienne?”
Alexandre stiffened for the fraction of a second before sighing. “Continue reading, petite souris. I’ll keep you warm.”
He flexed his wings, spreading them out to create a canopy trapping all the heat. She was infinitely warmer, even her fingertips found it easier to turn the pages. Blowing out a low breath, she stared down at the book and began to memorize each passage as she had the others.
To his credit, Alexandre didn’t look over her shoulder. Instead, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. She thought maybe he was listening to the songs of the birds, the burble of water, and the drip of melting snow.
His hands were braced on his knees beside her. She didn’t know what made her look at them, perhaps a sound or perhaps instinct. But as she stared at his claws, they grew shorter until they were nothing more than rounded tips.
She glanced over her shoulder at his closed eyes once more and decided not to mention a word of anything. He would see the changes, eventually. But for now, she would merely absorb his warmth for a little longer.
Chapter 30
Alexandre sat before the broken remains of a mirror in his room. He’d kept it covered with a sheet for many years, but now he wanted to see the damage to his body. He wanted to see what he looked like and how much he had changed.
He stared down at his hands as he had for the past ten minutes. Turning them slowly, he tilted the appendages that looked so unfamiliar suddenly. No nails curved out from them like a cat, sharp claws that could rend flesh from bone. Instead, these were the hands of a man.
They were still gray. Still stone-like in texture with calloused palms. But he could see the individual tendons of his fingers, the half moons of nail beds. Even lines across his palms he remembered having read once by a woman with wild hair and dark eyes.
He flexed his fingers, curled them into fists, then stared at his reflection in the shards of the mirror. A monster stared back at him. Horned, winged, and with cat-like eyes. But he had human hands.
Leaning closer, he pushed up his lip and stared at teeth he remembered poking from his lips in a near constant snarl. The teeth behind his lips were human now. Blunted and weak, they were… perfect.
Fear sparked in his chest like someone had sunk a dagger into his chest. If someone challenged him now, he would be at a severe disadvantage. He was still larger than any of the other Dread, some things hadn’t changed. And if Amicia’s observations were correct, he had grown even larger since she’d been here.
At first, he’d thought the curse was worsening. That her presence, him keeping her alive as the only human left in Little Marsh, had meant he would pay the price.
Now, he wondered whether she was his salvation.
The door to his room swung open, the offending Dread not knocking or even asking permission to enter. Only one Dread had such confidence.
He watched her approach in the mirror. One of the few female Dread, although he still couldn’t remember why there were no women here in his chateau. He couldn’t remember a lot of things. Vivienne might have the answers, however. She certainly appeared to remember more than he did.
“My king,” she said, her hips swaying with sultry purpose. “You’ve been hiding from me.”
He most certainly had. Once upon a time, he had found her irresistible. They had found pleasure in each other at night. Claws scratching, teeth biting, horns locked in battle until one of them had finally bested the other.
The memories only made him uncomfortable now. Her touch wasn’t soft, but abrasive. Her wo
rds always had a bitter bite to them as she tried to make him think less of himself. And still, he couldn’t send her away.
Not when she was promised to him. Not when they had so many memories they shared. She was as much a part of him as the curse. No matter how badly he wanted to free himself from them both.
Vivienne reached out and stroked a rough hand down his cheek. “You’re not yourself these days.”
He made certain his lips covered his teeth as he spoke. “Many of us are changing, so it seems.”
“The curse?”
“I can feel it is close to breaking. I cannot explain it, nor do I wish to disturb such a gift. It is long past time our people ended their suffering.”
He caught the shift in her expression, the way her mask slipped. Her brow furrowed, her jaw clenched, and rage appeared in her eyes for a moment before it disappeared. “Our people do not appear to suffer in the slightest. We’ve been given power and strength, my king. Have you forgotten already?”
“I’ve forgotten much in the many years we’ve fought.”
And he found himself tired. So exhausted of having to fight, to battle, to plan. Instead, Alexandre wanted a few years of peace. These months with Amicia in the chateau had been the best he could remember in forever.
“Alexandre,” Vivienne said, seating herself upon his knee. She brushed her hands over his horns, stroking down to his ears which she gave a soft tug. “The alchemists have called upon us once more. They will arrive soon and have requested we host a ball. Something splendid and wondrous in their honor. I replied since you were nowhere to be found.”
His gut twisted in something that felt eerily like fear. “You said we were in no place to host something so grand as a ball.”
“I said no such thing. The alchemists called. We are the Dread. We answer them.” She frowned. “I’m having the ballroom cleaned now. I thought you would be happy.”
“We haven’t had a ball since…” He tried to remember, but this wasn’t like sitting with Amicia. Being with Vivienne made his mind foggy and searching for memories was like trudging through quicksand.
“Since long ago.” She finished the sentence for him unbidden. Vivienne leaned closer, her breath whispering over his lips. “Come, my king. Shall we entertain ourselves while the servants work?”
He almost leaned in. He almost fell under her spell as he had a million times. But a single word stuck out, and his spine stiffened in response. “Servants?”
“We have servants,” she replied with a chuckle. Then she tugged his head down closer to hers. “Alexandre, I have missed you.”
He shook his head, dislodging her hands from his horns. “Would one of those servants be the human woman?”
“Of course.” Vivienne leaned away from him then, and rage turned her features ugly and cruel. “She is a servant. She even said so herself at the dinner table.”
“Amicia is not to be treated like a servant, regardless of what foolishness she claims.” He stood abruptly, dumping Vivienne from his lap to the floor. “She was injured and should not be working.”
“The girl seemed fine to me,” Vivienne snarled from the floor. “You have forgotten your place as king, Alexandre. Worrying about servants does not befit your station.”
He strode away. “It does, in fact, befit the station of a king, Vivienne. I am not king of the privileged. I am king of all. You’d do well to remember that.”
Alexandre stalked from the room before he said something else. Something far more aggressive and something he might very well regret. If anyone could challenge him, it was Vivienne. The only thing holding her back was her ridiculous and fanatic trust in him.
Once she lost that trust, he knew she would try to take the throne. And he had no doubt she could.
Frustrated, he made his way through the halls to the ballroom that had remained closed the entirety of his rule. He didn’t even remember what it looked like, only that there was a balcony upon which he could see the proceedings of servants.
As if Amicia was a servant. How dare Vivienne suggest such? Though Amicia wanted to be seen as one, it was merely because she felt out of place. The Dread were not her people. Well, they had been once, he corrected himself, but they were no longer. Which meant she would feel as though she was lesser. She was certainly smaller. One could assume a smaller stature meant she wasn’t equal to them, no matter how much he’d tried to prove she was just as important.
When he pushed the door open to the ballroom balcony, his rambling thoughts halted. Had the ballroom always been so grand?
The walls had once been wallpapered a lovely pale blue, the windows outlined by gold filigree and the in-between space of the walls decorated with more golden carvings. The ceiling was one giant frame painting of angels and humans consorting. Such a blue sky had somehow survived the years of neglect and was as vivid as the sky outside.
The Dread had hardly touched this room. Instead, it was as pristine as it had been long ago. He wished he could remember what it looked like when this place had flourished.
One of the Dread flew to the highest of the windows and brushed it with a—he leaned over the edge of the balcony—yes, the Dread was using a feather duster to clean. He didn’t have to look to guess who had given one of his army that particular weapon.
But look he did. Alexandre searched the throngs of servants to find Amicia. She threaded her way through the crowd, a gray gown hiked up to her knees and a cane supporting her movements. She limped by, a broom in her other hand and a grin on her face as she ordered the Dread around.
Had he ever seen her look so happy? He didn’t want to ruin the moment by shouting at her to get back to her room to continue with her research. Though he didn’t want her to be in the servants quarters or feel as though she must work for her room and board… she appeared to be enjoying herself.
One of the Dread nearest to her said something he couldn’t hear, but her laughter was loud enough to feel in his bones. She spun with the broom, as though she were dancing with a partner.
That was all it took. A simple movement and memory burst behind his eyes. He’d stood on this balcony before with hundreds of people spread out before him, each more glamorous than the last. Silk and velvet skirts twirled in shades of cream and gold. Masks covered their faces, but he knew each one as well as he knew himself.
He had stood above them, breathing in the smoke of burning candles and the perfume of so many women his head ached. They were all dear to him. And he was proud of what they had created together.
For him? The ball had been in celebration of him. Why had the humans been celebrating a monster?
The memory cleared from his vision, and he saw what the people had become. The vision of jewel encrusted dresses faded into granite skin and bat wings as the Dread balanced themselves to clean. All the people who had once thought so highly of him, he’d destroyed.
Each and every one.
Alexandre almost turned and left. The sorrow building in his chest threatened to swallow him whole, and he was not a strong enough man to suffer it in silence. Yet, his gaze caught on the little human woman who pulled a sheet off a pianoforte and ran her fingers down the keys.
All the Dread in the room froze and then turned as one toward the music chiming like bells. One of them called out, “Do you play, mademoiselle?”
Amicia smiled and shook her head. “No. I never learned. My father was more interested in science than the arts.”
Alexandre watched with rapt attention as one of the smaller Dread, a creature Alexandre had denied going out on raids with the others, approached Amicia’s side. It reached out with a clawed hand and touched a finger to the keys.
What was happening? The Dread shouldn’t remember who they were, as far as he knew.
But this Dread, who had not been around Amicia more than the time in which they had been cleaning, pulled the bench out and sat down at the pianoforte. It laid its fingers on the keys and began to play.
The song was familiar a
nd yet not, though it swirled through his mind like a music box. A haunting tune which, some winter long ago, he may once have danced to.
His gaze turned toward the Dread in the room and saw everyone had paused. Some of their eyes drifted shut, others swayed on their feet. Almost as if they, too, remembered this song. Remembered that once, long ago, there were words they all knew. Words they understood.
A small voice sang the words, quiet and yet pure. “Aimer c’est voler le temps…” To love is to steal time. She hummed the rest, but he remembered the lyrics.
To love is to steal time. To love is to live.
The sound of her voice and the song died, and the rest of the room held their breath in anticipation.
The Dread seated at the pianoforte looked up at Amicia and asked, “Will you be going to the ball, mademoiselle?”
She shook her head and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t believe so. I’d stick out like a sore thumb in all this wool and old dresses.”
Alexandre leaned over the balcony, wings spread wide behind him. “Find her a gown.”
The sound of his voice broke the spell of music like shattering glass. The Dread rushed to finish their work other than the few nearest to him. One ran from the ballroom to find the perfect gown, he assumed. The one at the pianoforte bowed his head to his king. But his brave Amicia stared up at him with fire in her eyes.
“I’m not going. Peasants don’t go to balls.”
He grinned down at her. “Ah, but you aren’t a peasant now are you, Amicia? You are the woman who tamed the Dread. You’re more like a knight, and knights go to balls.”
Her cheeks flushed bright red. Alexandre pushed himself away from the edge of the balcony and turned to leave, his chest puffed out with pride.
She would come to the ball, and he had made her blush. Perhaps today wasn’t so bad.