Page 22 of Not Another Happily Ever After

“But, I?—”

“Now,” I cut in, my voice already cracking.

He starts to retreat, but I hear the falter in his steps. He will always come back to me. That is his curse.

“Riven.” I swallow, choking on the words I must say next, knowing how deep they’ll cut. How deep they must go to set him free.

“You should have let me fall.”

Chapter

7

I thought I knew what hope was.

Then she reached her hand into my chest and set a brand new dream aflame.

Dinner drags on in a mutual exchange of backhanded compliments and the intemperate sipping of our kingdom’s finest reserves. Mother spends most of it regaling us with the days of her youth, when the kingdoms flourished with budding life. Even our vine-riddled garden had once been a colorful array of plant husbandry. Back when the sun and moon rose and set, and children played in the enchanted forest.

I can only wonder what life might have been like. Or I would, if the prince’s thumb wasn’t rubbing circles on my thigh.

I don’t know what I hate more. Him, or the unsettling sweeping sensation stirring in my core.

Both. Definitely both.

“So, Sunday.” Aurelia’s lips curl into the shadowed impression of a smile. Eerie. Forced. “Have you put much thought into what a life outside these castle walls might look like?”

Yes. Only every other day of my life.

“I can’t say that I have.”

“And why would she, Mother, when the Silverwoods have given her a life most women could only ever dream of having. Given the circumstances.” Thoren punctuates his arrogant excuse for praise with a dimpled smile. Much to my dismay, it works well in wooing my mother, even earning him a rare nod of approval from the king.

But I see the wolf hiding beneath his sheepish grin. I know the real Thoren Charming. The twisted version that takes way too much pleasure in seeing how far his hand can travel up my leg before I react to whatever game he’s playing. One I have no intention of letting him win.

He may already have my hand, but my heart? My body will be gone from this world long before he ever takes it.

If only my parents hadn’t traded theirs for greed and stature. Maybe they’d see the shipwreck they’re anchoring me to.

“We did the best we could,” Mother sighs between sips of what must be her fourth glass of spiced wine. “What we need—hiccup—is a way to break the curse.” Her words come out slurred. “In your letters, you had mentioned knowing what that final act might mean?”

Letters? What letters?My heart sinks as I follow Mother’s drunken gaze to Thoren beside me.This was his idea?

A twisted smile plays on the prince’s lips as he observes my surprise.

“Yes,” he answers coolly, as if reading my mind. “I had my pontiffs look up curses of old, and they believe that what is truly needed to complete the final act is a union.The heart of a daughter into the hands of the first-born son,” he recites, eyes narrowing into an unfathomable void where my worst nightmares dance. “I was born my mother’s first son. And Sunday? I believe Sunday was born to bemine.”

His?

No. Never. Absolutely not.

I turn away, concealing the shiver of terror racing down my spine with a long swig of wine. But mine appears to be the only heart full of sorrow. Around me, the kings and queens share in their excitement with a toast of their glasses.

How any of them could believe this rubbish is utterly astounding. Sure, rationally speaking, this plan makes some sort of sense. Certainly more than the very real alternative, which would rip the heart from my chest and into the hands of a twenty-four year old skeleton. But still, no half-dead self-respecting princess wants to marry this not-so-charming prince, even if the alternativeisdeath.

I take another generous sip, hoping to smother the frustration heating my cheeks with a light buzz.

“So thisisa proposal, then?” I’m going to be sick again, but the prince?