Page 69 of These Vile Hearts

The cursed prince scans me with hungry eyes, a flaxen brow lifting as a smile unfurls. “You must be Maddox. I’m guessing you’re here to see King Castor?”

Archer’s mouth widens, and the prince shoots him an annoyed glare. “You’re dismissed, Archer.”

“Your Ma—”

“Pleasant morning to you,” Prince Durian interrupts pointedly.

A hurried bow and Archer disappears around the corner. Well. This is awesome for me.

From the depths of the room, a dazed giggle can be heard. Peering over Durian’s shoulder, I spot a colossal bed with white silk sheets and a million decorative pillows.

And there’s a girl tied to the bars of the headboard.

Everything about her screams mortal, from the blunt bangs clinging to her sweat-soaked forehead to the anchor tattoo on her rib cage. Judging from the grin on her face, she doesn’t seem to be in pain. Quite the opposite, actually. But whether that is tieg wine or because she genuinely enjoys being tethered by the cursed prince is unclear.

Prince Durian takes note of my wandering gaze and steps into the hall, closing the door behind him. “Allow me to escort you to my brother. Archer works for me, so sometimes he gets confused, the poor bastard.”

I swallow the biting comments crowding at the back of my throat. Insulting a cursed prince who plays with mortal women in his free time wouldn’t be the best of my ideas—though I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst either.

“I’m Durian, by the way.” He motions for me to join him down the guard-lined hall. “Though it seems you already know that. I’m sure my brother has told youallabout me.”

“Your name may have come up,” I admit, smirking despite myself. There’s something about being near someone so supposedly dangerous—someone who kills anyone who falls in love with them—that turns me on a little. Typical.

His wide grin falls and he turns his attention to the ground. “I’m sure you’ve been warned to stay away from me.”

“Well, luckily, I don’t usually listen to the warnings of others.”

“Thatislucky.”

The prince leads me into a circular sunroom with a glass ceiling covered in dark vines. Shards of sunlight break through, casting a fractured spotlight on a fountain in the sunken middle of the room. Within the fountain stands a life-size marble statue of a dryad woman with antlers. A stone mortal man kneels at her feet, fists clasped before him as if he’s been pleading for his life. At the baseof his head, the dryad’s left hand tangles in his hair, pulling back, and in her right hand she holds a dagger. A weathered gash across the mortal’s throat spurts water in a wave of colorless blood. The final seconds of his life play out in an endless morbid display. The burbling sound of the water turns my stomach. Like he’s forever choking on his own blood.

“A gift,” Durian says, stepping to my side, “from the Myrtle Queen.”

Every muscle in my body stiffens. It’s as if the Myrtle Queen planned this moment out for me. An image of what I’ve been sent here to do. Only backward. The dryad killing the mortal.

I can practically hear her whisper.This is what you’re meant to be doing right now, Maddox, darling. Ticktock goes your mortal clock. My, how you love to waste time.

“How…thoughtful?”

“Our two kingdoms have a sordid history.” Durian reaches toward the statue, cupping his hand beneath the mortal’s slit throat, letting the water slide through his fingers. “But I must say, I have always admired the Myrtle Queen’s flair for the dramatic.”

“Do you see much of her?”

I recall what she said about the prince being useless and cursed, about his new interest in mortals and his nickname in the Myrtlewood. The one-night-stand prince.

“She attends the occasional Sylveris Council meetings but merely examines her nails as the rest of us discuss matters of importance. Last I actually spoke with her directly was at my brother’s heartwood memorial.”

Durian pulls his hand away from the water, flicking his fingers at the statue’s face. His emerald eyes turn on me, an ember of dark amusement in their depths. “She’s always rather hated mortals, you know.”

“Has she,” I say evenly.

“It’s something we’ve never seen eye to eye on. I happen to be rather fond of them myself.”

The way his eyes drag down from mine to rove hungrily over my body makes me take a single step back. Castor’s words about what his brother does to the mortals Archer captures for him reverberate in my skull—women Durian has his way with before he wipes their memories and leaves them dazed in the forest.

None of those Sovereign guards outside would bat an eye if he wanted to do something to me in here. The weight of my weapons reminds me I’m not a helpless mortal woman under a tieg wine trance. I could parry any advance with a sharpened blade.

I may be able to get away with killing one royal brother. But only one…and these blades are meant for the king.