Page 67 of These Vile Hearts

“A self-imposed illness.” I laugh humorlessly. I’m not the most well-versed in our history, but what I have heard of it only made me wish to know less. “Dryad armies killing dryad armies when the mortals were taking our lands out in droves. And yet, even with this, it seems we’ve learned rather little from our past.”

Seemingly lost in thought, Maddox simply says, “Yeah, mortals don’t learn from our past either…But you have a peace treaty now, don’t you? The Myrtlewood and the Redwood?”

“Took a minute, yes, but eventually Amanita’s wrath over the loss of her sister Soleil was calmed by Cyperus’s promise to send Redwood sentries to watch over her lands as long as she kept the peace. They signed the peace agreement during the Solstice, which is why we now have the yearly celebration.”

A line forms between Maddox’s brows. “Interesting…”

“What’s interesting?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.Anyway.Even with all of that dryad drama, I still think that’s a ridiculous reason not to have a partner.”

“We can have partners. We just can’t marry them.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Why don’t you have one, then?”

Avoiding the question, I reach inside my cloak, retrieving the gift and holding it out to her. “I have a gift for you.”

Smooth.

“Oh?” Maddox takes it from me, cradling the thin, silver-wrapped box in her lap. “You’re a bit late, but I’ll accept it.”

“Late for what?”

“My birthday.”

“Is that…something mortals get gifts for?”

She traces her finger along the edge of the silver paper. “Some mortals do. This year I was given a layoff and an eviction. But we can’t all be royalty, I suppose.”

Bitterness joins the taste of nepenthe on my tongue. “You think because I’m a royal, my life is filled with only lovely things?”

“Well, I met you at an extravagant masquerade ball. And every day since, you’ve visited me at Magesté, drinking wine and chatting and relaxing. Smoking nepenthe. I’m sure there are unlovely things in your life, but I’ve yet to see any I would consider suffocating.” Our eyes connect, and I try to dampen the flame burning in my glare, but I don’t think it works.

I can’t blame her for thinking I’m nothing more than a spoiled king without a care in the world. That’s all I’ve shown her. Behind me, I can practically hear Tam’s screaming thoughts. I should say something to show her who I really am, open myself up, be vulnerable. But when she taught me how to lock myself down in this imaginary house, she forgot to show me how to get out.

“Are you going to open it?”

Maddox looks down at the gift, almost as if she forgot it was there. Digging her nails into the wrapping, she tears the paper away in one fell swoop to reveal the box beneath. A smile illuminates her features at first, but when she pries open the lid, they freeze and then fall. “Is this…a dagger holster?”

“And a weapons belt. I noticed yours was just tied on with a flimsy cord and thought you might like something a bit more secure.”

Maddox traces a thumb down the leaf and vine etching along theivory leather, fingering the buckles on the belt. There’s something almost forlorn in her expression.

Stomach sinking, I reach for the gift. “If you don’t like it, I can—”

She stops my hand with hers, fingers wrapping around, offering reassuring pressure. My hand comes to rest at her thigh. “No.” There’s an odd hollowness to her words. “It’s perfect.”

And somehow, it seems as though I’ve taken a step forward and back at the same time.

21

Maddox

If I could rewind time and redo last night, I never would have left Magesté with Castor. Not only did his stalker guard not leave our sight, but the mixture of seeing Arborfell from afar and the gift—thegift—and the nepenthe all just fucked with my brain. And, after the insulin overdose debacle, I clearly didn’t need that.

This morning, my eyes look more tired than ever before. No sleep for the wicked, I guess. Waiting for Castor to come to me—guard in tow—clearly isn’t working. Time for plan B.

I tug on a knee-length dress of buttercup yellow and tether my new weapons belt underneath, sliding the golden dagger into the holster. This blade is beginning to feel like yet another instrument I can’t leave home without. On the other side of the belt, I affix my throwing axe. Tucking a syringe filled with insulin into the bun on top of my head, I leave through my bedroom window once again. Locked and fucking loaded.