Malice, Heather Walter [hardest books to read txt] 📗

I spend the drive slapping together a plan. What if Aurora has already awakened? A chill shudders through me at the thought of her standing at the altar next to Elias. The white ribbon binding her to the prince, as much a brand as the mark of the curse.

No. I will not let that happen. I’ll make this right. Destroy anyone who stands in our way—the Briar King himself if need be.

With the palace in a frenzy, no one thinks anything of another Grace sailing through the gates. The guards nod at me. One of them even winks at me. During the carriage ride, I’d altered my Shift slightly so that my illusioned gown is cut low and close, lending me the appearance of a pleasure Grace. And so it is easier than I imagined to stroll through the corridors and find my way to the royal wing.

At this hour, it’s mostly servants scurrying back and forth. But there are some early risers. Nobles already dressed in their formal satins and velvets, dealing out gossip like hands of cards. What snippets I catch have to do with the dress Aurora will be wearing and the length of time it will take her to become pregnant. My ears burn and I quicken my pace.

Preparations are already underway for the wedding. Carts overflowing with Grace-grown Briar roses, their petals bursting violet, then gold, then white, are trundled down the halls. Intertwined A’s and E’s, probably embroidered overnight by bone-tired maids, glare down at me from columns and balconies. I can just make out the first sleepy strains of cellos and violins warming up in the distance.

I ask directions from a passing servant, a broad-faced girl who trips over her own tongue in my presence. She hesitates at first, bobbing curtsies at me right and left, unsure whether she should divulge such information. But when I explain my purpose—preparing the princess for the nuptial bed—the poor girl blushes beet-red and stammers out a series of turns.

The main entrance to Aurora’s rooms is a set of doors carved from a pale, shimmering wood that looks like it’s been harvested from Etheria itself. An engraved dragon soars across the opalescent surface, its eyes picked out with glittering rubies. I approach cautiously, doing my best to keep my chin up and my shoulders back. To look like I belong.

“The princess is indisposed,” one of her guards explains patiently. The small kindness makes me flinch.

So they haven’t broken the curse yet.

For a heartbeat, all I can do is stare at him. What would a Grace do in this situation? Turn around and leave?

Rose wouldn’t.

I lick my lips. “I am here for that very reason.” I let my fingers drift to the lace at my neckline, noting the way the guards’ gazes follow the movement. “I’m told she suffers from an onset of nerves. And I am here to…assuage her.”

It’s enough for one of them to let out a snicker. The other guard clears his throat, shooting his partner a warning look despite the hint of flush beneath his stubble.

“We were given orders that no one comes inside without the queen,” he says. “And you’re not the Royal…” he fumbles. Clears his throat again. “Pleasure Grace.”

Damn. But I try not to let my confidence waver. Only widen my smile and make my voice huskier. “No. I was sent as a replacement. The Royal Grace is…otherwise engaged. I could tell you what room she’s in—if you need to check for yourselves.”

The guard’s color deepens. His colleague chokes and pounds his chest.

“Very well,” the first says, utterly flustered. And with a mumbled warning about being quick, he opens the door.

Little has changed since the night I snuck in through the servants’ entrance. Aurora’s sitting room is tomblike, the veiled spinning wheel still crammed into its far corner. I want nothing more than to smash it to pieces—and every last spinning wheel in Briar, for that matter. But I’m not here for that.

Outside the bells continue tolling in their insufferable cadence. I turn the lock in the door, buying myself a few extra moments. And then I go to Aurora’s bedchamber.

My skin tingles at the sight of her. She is laid out on her bed, still wearing the clothes she had on last night, a periwinkle gown with gold embroidery on the bodice and sleeves. A light blanket is thrown over her body, her hands folded on her stomach.

I hurry forward and let go of my Shift. Aurora’s chest rises and falls in a smooth, deep rhythm. Her lips are dry, but pink. And she is warm, so wonderfully warm. I don’t realize I’m crying until tears begin to stain the silk stitching of her blanket. I pick up one of her hands, the one that met the spindle, and kiss each fingertip. The way she had on our night together.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, close to her ear. And then I kiss the skin below her earlobe, where her strong pulse beats. Find her lips with mine, channeling every memory of us. Calling on the love that sprouted in my barren wasteland of a heart. On the faith I have in her—in us.

But she does not rouse. What have I done?

“Alyce?”

I freeze. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the glimmer of an emerald braid.

Laurel.

“What are you doing here?” My panic ebbs, swallowed by surprise.

She stands in the doorway to Aurora’s bathing chamber, a bottle of some peach-colored liquid in hand. Her gaze travels to Aurora, then back to me. “I came with the Fae lord to deliver the princess. They don’t want the servants to know what’s happened, and so they left me to watch over her until…”

“You helped him with this?”

“You mean did I help save Briar’s only heir from a Vila curse? Yes, I did.”

I bristle. “I wouldn’t hurt her—you know that.”

“I know that you promised you had this situation under control.” She sets the bottle down on