Page 21 of Not Another Happily Ever After

He should be so lucky.

“Step forward, Sunday.” Father orders, drawing my attention toward the center of the chamber where he now stands, his sharpened blade hanging loose in his hand.

The gilded cage rattles as I step closer, its anxious occupant eager to be freed.

“See it done.”

My gaze snaps to Father, who’s waiting, blade outstretched expectantly.

“Father, no. Please?—”

“Innocence for a lie. This is what the curse calls for.”

I slowly shake my head, my chest tightening. “Please, you can’t make me do this. I beg of you?—”

Another loud crack bounces off the weathered stone walls as I tumble to my hands and knees.

“Oh, do get up, Beastie.” The prince’s dry laughter makes my stomach curl inward, but I don’t dare show it. I remain motionless on the checkered floor, my bruised and battered body used to the biting cold of the marble.

“This is pointless,” he groans, digging the toe of his boot into my ribcage. “There are other ways to take her innocence. If she won’t?—”

“She will,” Father snaps, unwilling to entertain Thoren’s dark and deluded fantasies. If only he valued my life as highly as my virtue. It’s all I can do to hide the flicker of disgust from my face.

“She will. For the sake of her people. The very ones paying for the air that fills her lungs,” Father adds, his tone decided against the rebellion thundering in my heart. “She will see this curse done. Will you not, Sunday?”

Not a question. A challenge. One we both know I have not the strength to fight.

I nod, but do not rise from where I’ve sunken to all fours, pleading for the life that’s been cast before me. So little. So afraid.

So like me.

Sharpened metal sings across the unfeeling marble, startling the little white rabbit as Father’s blade slides into view, its hilt hitting my knuckles. If only they could stop what’s yet to come.

Father’s voice fills the temple, detached. Indifferent. He cares not for the life he’s asked me to take. He does not wish to save me from ruin but would rather deliver me to it himself. “For the realm.”

“For the realm.” The royal council members echo.

Hot tears stream down my face as I curl my cut-up fingers around Father’s blade. “I’m so sorry, little one,” I sob as I rise on shaky legs above where the creature is cowering. “May death be kinder than man,” I whisper.

And then I bring the sword down.

Hours passwith council members parting one by one. Father and the royals of Riches are among the first to leave the bloody cavern, their faces scrunched in displeasure as they pass where I’ve taken to my knees. As if it weren’t their words that weighed heavily on my shoulders. As if their swords weren’t partly to blame.

I want to hate them.

I want to see them on their knees, struck down by grief.

But how can I? When the real beast in the room is me.

I stare at the little white rabbit, whose fur is white no more. I will it to breathe, simultaneously hoping it won’t.

“Please leave,” I whisper to the pair of boots that have stopped just behind me. “I can’t bear to look upon your face.”

“I don’t understand.” Riven draws closer, the unnatural warmth of his presence offering me more comfort than I deserve.

Every fiber of my being wants to lean into the embrace he’s offering. But I can’t. Not when I’m the very person keeping him from the ever after. Where I pray this poor little soul is now running free. Far, far away from here. From me.

“You need to leave.” I order with far more resolve than I feel.