Page 95 of These Vile Hearts

My thoughts move so quickly, I can’t capture any of them. “You…”

Tamarind straightens to full height, resolute. “You were there when I lost my home and family. When everything was terrible and lonely. You and I never got ill from neglect or lack of love because, despite everything, we had each other. And just because you shut me out after you were adopted by the king doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. It didn’t mean I wouldn’t grow to love you again. Not in the way Jace loved you but like a brother would. But love is still love.”

I can’t hold the tears back any longer. They pour from my eyes like a tapped tree. “Why would you do that, Tam?You know how my curse—”

Before I can finish my sentence, a small pop rends the air, and for a moment I think it’s my curse coming for him like an invisible phantom. But it was just a wood sprite who’d been nestled in nepenthe leaves and evidently grew annoyed with our weepy tirade.

“I know you care about Maddox,” Tamarind says, taking advantage of my distraction. “Genuinely care, I mean. But she’s starting to care too. I saw it last night. I think you could actually complete the pact this time. The question is…do you still want to?”

My head bows and Tam moves to kneel beside me. “You don’t have to try to protect me anymore.”

“You’re still here,” I whisper, grasping at his shoulder. “If I complete the pact, maybe the curse will spare you.”

Tam’s features twist into a sad smile. “You know that’s not how it works, Cas.”

“Tam…”My breath catches in my chest, like I’m drowning in air.

A series of impatient raps on the door spares me a moment of torturous thought. I open it to reveal a woodling still fervently knocking. He’s holding a bottle of wine with a label hanging from the neck. “For you.” The bottle is pressed roughly into my hands asthe woodling stomps right past me to a bemused Tamarind. “His Majesty is requesting your presence in the infirmary. The citadel healer is unavailable. The king says it’s urgent.”

Tam follows him, then pauses in the doorway to look over his shoulder at me. “I’ll be right back.”

The door slams shut, leaving me with the mysterious bottle of wine. I inspect the tag and what’s left of my heart disintegrates.

For the king.

M

30

Maddox

Ireturn to consciousness in a room that’s much too cold and bright, lying on a flat marble table with two men standing over me. One of them is seated, his face right beside mine, needle and thread in hand as he mends the deep gash carved into my cheek.

Tamarind?I think but don’t say. Because I can’t physically speak. My voice remains trapped in my throat. I try to move my hand toward him, but it stays rooted in place.

“The citadel healer was unavailable,” comes a familiar voice to my right. Durian.KingDurian, I mentally correct. The recent memory of the tree siren and Durian’s choking vines comes flooding back so fast I nearly black out again. He keeps speaking as though everything that transpired on that floating meadow was too mundane to mention. “Tamarind was a healer before he was appointed the king’s head guard. You’ll be in good hands with him—just as your king is.”

If I could glare at him, I would. Why is he still playing this game when we both know what I know? Does he think I’ve forgotten? Or is he just that confident I won’t admit my mistake?

Gloved fingertips ghost against my jaw as Tamarind moves myhead gently to the side. I can hardly feel it. “I’ve dosed you with a tincture of mandragora and hemlock. It’s meant to slow the bleeding and dull the pain, but you won’t be able to move or speak until I give you the antidote, okay? That’s perfectly normal.”

There’s a hollowness to his voice that is pronounced enough to distract me from my spinning mind. The memory of the tortured look he wore the last time I saw him resurfaces. Right after I’d yelled until he admitted his feelings for Castor.Theprince whose curse kills anyone that loves him.

God, my exes were right. Iaman evil bitch.

If I just sentenced Tamarind to death, then I’m no better than the dryads who stole my parents’ lives. I try to communicate my remorse through my eyes, but he returns to his stitching as Durian steps closer.

“Thought we lost you for a moment there.” The true king brushes the backs of his fingers across my scarlet-soaked blouse. “You look like a gloxinia flower.” From the corner of my eye, I note the bloodstains vanish with his touch.

Everything feels like it’s in slow motion. My mind reels, repeating,Durian is the king. Durian is the king. Durian is the king.

Castor is the cursed prince.

Durianis the one I’m meant to kill. The briefest rush of relief courses through me before it’s replaced with fury.

I had him alone in that meadow. I was holding a throwing axe that I buried in the skull of a tree siren when my true target was mere inches away. If I’d been cleverer, put the pieces together sooner, all it would have taken was a shift in stance.

“I’ve always thought it was fitting to compare mortals to flowers, you know.” Durian moves his hand to my hair, twisting it around his finger. “Flowers are delicate, their lives fleeting. It’s poetic, don’t you think?”