William and Catherine.
Hot tears burn my eyes, and I blink them back. My knees threaten to buckle, and I grab hold of a nearby marker for support.
Alaric is there in an instant, and I lean on him, appreciation for his strength warring with disgust at the feelings I'm developing for him, for the monster he is.
He’s taken so much from so many.
But he’s also lost so much too.
“You knew them,” he says quietly.
“They were my parents,” I admit.
He doesn’t answer, and I shut my eyes, taking a moment to offer a silent prayer to the goddess for their souls.
When I finally look up at him, his expression is shuttered, his gaze far away from this morbid garden.
“Why did you show me this?” I ask, still trying to reconcile his kindness with his cruelty.
“I am not the only thing in this place that has been cursed,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“Every soul I’ve killed and buried here is cursed along with me. Their spirits live on, serving me and the castle itself as only ghosts can.”
“The bucket of water,” I realize and look back at the graves marking my parents. “Stoking my fire, laundering my clothes, it was them, wasn’t it?”
His expression is tight, but underneath his attempt to mask it, I see the pain buried deep. “I don’t know how it’s possible or why. I didn’t ask for this.”
His voice is strained.
I bite my lip, torn at whether to comfort him or condemn him.
One of those ghosts could be my parents, and the thought is both a comfort and a horror. It seems everything I learn here is a contradiction, Alaric most of all.
“Can you communicate with them?” I ask.
“I’ve tried many times, but there is never a response.”
My shoulders slump in defeat.
I shrug out from underneath his arm and walk slowly back through the graveyard toward the door we came in.
Alaric soon follows and produces the key to seal the place shut again. Just before the door closes, I cast one last look into the macabre secret garden he’s created for his victims. One day soon, I’ll end up in there. The thought clogs my throat and reignites the fire in my soul to avenge every single one of the bodies laid to rest here.
I turn to Alaric, the flame of my own conviction reignited in my veins.
“A marked grave in a pretty garden doesn’t atone for the lives you’ve taken. Those people had homes. Families. Not only did you rob them of their lives, you robbed the ones left behind as well. A nature this dark cannot be absolved by digging a few holes and carving names into stone.”
Alaric’s expression hardens.
He stills at my words until I’m not even sure he’s breathing anymore.
For a split second, I wonder if I’ve gone too far and brace myself for his attack. But he only continues to stand rigidly against my condemnation.
Finally, he speaks, his voice low and full of anger.
“I know I cannot make up for my crimes and especially not with something as simple as a proper burial site for those lives I’ve taken. But you of all people should understand there is much more to a person than a single deed or action. That intentions matter. Otherwise, let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”
His angry words smack of accusation, and I’m struck by the hypocrisy of my own. And by the pointed way he’s illustrated it.
My own response dies on my lips as fear grips me. Does he know my true intentions for coming here then? Has he somehow found me out?
I think of the vial of blood hidden away in my cloak, and urgency to check on it overwhelms me. But I don’t have to excuse myself with some lie. Before I can utter another word, Alaric turns on his heel and strides away, leaving me to find my way back to my room alone.
Alaric doesn’t return for the rest of the evening, and I begin to wonder if he’s abandoned me. Food arrives along with hot tea, and I realize it’s completely possible the castle will take over in nursing me back to full strength until Alaric deems me healthy enough to eat.
The thought disturbs me for more reasons than simply survival.
I find that, in the absence of his company, and despite everything else, I miss him.
I do check the hidden pocket in my cloak for the vial of blood and am relieved to find it there. I still don’t have a plan in place to use it, and I spend the next few hours trying to think of a way to trick him into drinking it. But nothing makes sense. Especially now that I’ve chased him away.
And my heart aches at the thought of taking his life, of ending the spark of genius I see in him when we discuss new ideas, of robbing the world of what he could be, if only he wasn't isolated in this gilded prison.
Every time I am tempted to go looking for him, I think of his parting words. He basically called me a hypocrite, and I’m still worried he knows my true motives. So, I spend some time reading alone. But it’s not the same. And I’m unsettled about how we’ve left things.
When I can’t shake my own dark mood, I’m forced to admit I regret my words earlier. That somewhere along this surprising journey, the cursed prince and I have developed something true and genuine. We have become friends. Maybe even more than friends.
I sleep fitfully, plagued with nightmares where, rather than him attacking me, I am the one drinking from him.
I wake out of sorts and confused by what to do next.
After a bath that feels utterly lonely, I finish dressing just as there’s a knock on my bedroom door.
“Come in.”
My stomach flips at the sight of Alaric, and I can’t ignore the butterflies that dance when his eyes meet mine.
“How did you sleep?” he asks, and in his gaze, I see reflected the regret I’ve felt since our quarrel.
“Terrible,” I admit. “You?”
His expression softens.
“I’ve ordered tea to the drawing room. The view of the mountainside is lovely there. Would you like to join me?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He offers his arm to escort me, and my hand tingles where it brushes his own.
We share a look, and then I glance away, unwilling to linger too long over the feelings he stirs.
The halls are chilled and full of a presence that makes me wonder if my parents’ spirits truly are here in this place helping to care for me. The idea brings me comfort. What would they say, though, about my friendship with the creature who killed them?
“Here we are.”
Alaric leads us into a room I’ve never seen before, and I pause to survey the space. The first thing I notice is the décor. A large evergreen wreath decorated with red bows and holly hangs over a candlelit mantelpiece, and within a Yule log burns. A tall spruce tree stands in the corner, accented with red bows and glittering silver and gold baubles, and lit with at least a hundred small candles, balanced perfectly on the thick branches. A sitting area takes up the center of the room, with two couches and chairs between. Nearby, a serving cart is loaded with tea and gingerbread, the scent filling my heart with a bittersweet nostalgia of time with my parents.
It takes me a moment to even notice the view, but when I do, my breath catches.
The far wall is nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows offering a clear vantage of the mountainside that rolls softly then drops steeply away. Beneath the sheer drop, nestled into the snowbanks, is Willowdale. Smoke curls from the chimneys of the houses so far off they look miniature from way up here. Tonight, they will all be celebrating Yule and wondering where I am and why I haven't broken the curse yet.