Page 29 of These Vile Hearts

She turns her sockets on me, and I feel as though every last secret has been sucked to the surface of my skin, tattooed there for her to read. “It is only now beginning,” she answers in a voice that sounds like the wind. With this cryptic declaration, she descends the stairs.

“Took you quite a while,” Durian says to me between hand grasps and greetings. “Loitering by the wine casks, were you?”

“No need. I made sure to hire plenty of servers to dole it out.” I hold up my glass in salute to him. “You’re welcome.”

He flashes a smile at the next person in line, thanking them for attending, before he stands. His guards step between him and the waiting guests, forming an X with their golden spears.

“Take my seat for a moment, will you?” he says. “You can pretend it’s yours while I enjoy the festivities. As long as you don’t try to steal it.”

“Ah, no need to worry about that. This seat is far too uncomfortable for my delicate derriere.”

I can’t imagine how many wads of spit I’d have to dodge if I were the king. I wonder if they would dub me the Cursed King or the Crybaby King. Both have a nice ring to them, I suppose.

Durian smirks, his evergreen eyes glittering brighter than his gaudy crown. “Enjoy your hunt tonight, brother. Plenty of mortals here just dying to fall in love with you.”

“Ah, see, you already made that joke, and it is even less funny the second time.”

Ignoring me, Durian approaches the edge of the dais, spreading his hands wide as he addresses the line of people. “I am afraid I must step away from my throne for the time being. I look forward to meeting and thanking each of you for joining us on this magical night. In the meantime, Prince Castor will greet those of you who wish to stay in line.”

My heart starts up an irregular rhythm.Yes, please, everyone come closer so I can see the precise moment your pupils dilate in fear.Lucky for me, the majority of those in line exchange glances before retreating down the dais. Those remaining seem merely curious to get a closer look at the prince whose curse killed the previous king.

Sending an amused glance over his shoulder, Durian descends the staircase flanked by his guards.

I sink onto the throne, deflating. Tamarind stands on my right side, hands clasped before him. His presence usually calms me—by a fraction, at least. But right now, I feel electric, every nerve ending sizzling with unease.

Those who remained in line stay long enough to ogle me before scurrying back to the party. I try not to imagine kicking them down the dais stairs…but I don’t try very hard.

“He doesn’t look cursed,” one of them whispers.

“Did you see his heartwood tree?” the other retorts. “It’s not his outside that’s cursed. It’s the inside.”

My back curves against the throne. My left hand swirls the remainder of my wine. There’s no telling how long Durian will leave me up here. He’s been known to disappear all night, stealing one of the mortal pets away to his rooms and doing unspeakable things with them.

Golden wine swirls and whirls around my glass as I agitate it. I wish I’d passed a waiter carrying cherry wine instead. I am so very sick of golden things.

Then, as if my thoughts conjured her, the mortal girl from the smorgasbord of sweets saunters into my line of sight. She wears golden vines braided through her crown of fiery red hair, a golden brocade gown hugging every curve right up to her gold-dusted décolletage, and a delicate golden mask. Sharp golden cuffs make pointed her mortally curved ears. If I didn’t know better, I would say this girl was dressing to catch the eye of the king.

Odd. She appears to be entirely alone, no dryad or arborfae by her side showing off the pet they adopted for the night. I watch her promenade through the room, very unlike most of the mortals dazzled by everything new and unimaginable. Part of their wonderment comes from the tieg wine they’ve been tricked to consume—the drink that hazes their brain and makes themseethe things they were unable to before. But this golden girl slinks like a feline seeking its prey. Aware, alert, clear-eyed, and tense.

“Tamarind,” I say loud enough for only him to hear.

“Your Highness?”

“Look at that mortal girl, all in gold. At the far edge of the dance floor. Do you see her?”

He scans the massive crowd with knitted brows then frowns. “With the pointed ear cuffs? Wasn’t she the mortal you were speaking with by the confections?”

“That’s the one. What do you think of her?”

Something in his expression shifts. “For your pact, you mean?”

“No, Tam,” I deadpan, “to butcher and hang above my fireplace as a lovely trophy.”

His brows rise. “Really?”

I cradle my forehead in my hand. “Honestly, Tamarind, sometimes I worry for my safety with you as my guard.Yes, for my pact.”

“She looks…difficult. But is that enough to sentence her to death?”