Page 127 of These Vile Hearts
Drosera and Atlas trail the queen, leaving me alone by the tower of tarts. The golden light of a nearby lantern makes the sugar crystals atop the pastries shine like glitter. My mind returns to the last time I stood in this very spot, seeking a remedy to my low blood sugar. The night my tart was stolen by the same man who sits upon the Sovereign Throne now. My mistaken king.
Everything has changed since that night. If I’d known then what I know now…would I still follow Castor up those spiral stairs?
I take a tart in my hand, bringing it to my lips.
The smell of buttery pastry, sharp tang of sour berries, and almost-burnt scent of caramelized sugar wafts up in an intoxicating wave. Yesterday, I would have needed at least three units of insulin to cover this tart. Even then, it probably would have raised my blood sugar to obscene heights.
Glancing up, I note Queen Amanita’s amused smirk cast back at me, reveling in her newpet Sinclair. Every single ounce of hatred in my blood boils for her. If only I had Castor’s rotting power or Durian’s choking vines. I would end her right here and now.
My fist closes on the tart in my hand, but instead of crumblingto bits, it turns sharp and hard. An inexplicable heat pulses in my veins, pooling in my palm like cupped fire. Frowning, I slowly uncurl my fingers to reveal a tart made of obsidian, the sugar sprinkled on top now sparkling black crystals that shimmer in the golden lights. A slow grin unfurls.
This will do.
41
Castor
Isit upon my throne wearing a crown made of onyx thorns.
The Sylveris Solstice passes in tense silence. Hardly anyone smiles. Tears are wept for Durian. Poor King Durian. The golden king. No curses are thrown my way. No glares or angry words. No words at all, in fact. Just silence and shifting eyes.
The throne feels cold, like it hasn’t warmed to me. Like it never will.
I take a sip of wine, but the angry edges of my world don’t soften. A feast has been laid out. A smorgasbord. Roasted meats and glazed vegetables, piles of fruit and greens, mounds of seeded bread and acorn clusters. Then there is the table piled high with sweets. Bowls of jams and jellies. Pastries, pies, and other sugary confections. A memory of a sugarberry tart and glinting silver eyes flashes across my mind.
Despite the absence of my “curse,” my heart feels more raw and empty than ever before. Like Maddox had been using it as her metaphorical house, keeping it full and safe and secure. Locked up withher inside. Now she’s fled from it, left the doors and windows flung wide. Vacant and vulnerable.
“Always so glum,” comes a smooth voice. “Careful or they will dub you the Melancholy King.”
“Better than the Cursed King, I suppose.”
The Myrtle Queen stands beside me, looking out at the quiet crowd. “You are thinking of the girl, aren’t you?”
My hand tightens around the stem of my glass. “Did you cure her?”
“She told you of our pact, did she?”
“Is she cured?” I ask again.
“Don’t you worry, dearest. Maddox will not have to deal with her mortal affliction ever again. But you’d do best to forget about your time together. I am not so cruel as your brother was, but I do not do well with sharing my things.”
I cant my head in her direction. “Sharing what things?”
The queen slides a long-fingered hand across my shoulders, stroking in slow circles at the top of my back. “Maddox, silly. She’s all mine now.”
Slow creeping dread slithers in my gut.
I shake my head, trying to rid my ears of her words. “What are you talking about, Amanita?”
“You’ll see. Would you like more wine? Perhaps a sugarberry tart?” she asks in a saccharine voice. “I’ll have my newest lady-in-waiting fetch it for you.”
She snaps her fingers.
At the table filled with food, a dryad with hair like fire reaches for one of the sugarberry tarts and a flagon of wine. This queen certainly has an infatuation with redheads. Though I suppose I am certainly not one to talk.
I catch the Myrtle Queen’s assessing stare on me. There is something in her expression that hints at glee.
“What precisely is so—”
