Withering Rose (Once Upon A Curse Book 2) (16 page)

But I don’t want to hurt any of them. Not
when I'm sure they're just following their misguided hearts.

And the closer they drag me toward their
king, the more my underlying fury mounts, until I'm almost
anticipating seeing him, just so I can yell and scream about what a
beast he really is. The halls fade as I imagine the confrontation,
pulled into the depths of my own thoughts as I formulate the
perfect words to say.

I hate you.

You’re a jerk.

What is your problem?

What else could I possibly do to make you
trust me?

How could you just abandon me like that?

How could you leave?

Why can't you just accept me for who I
am?

I'm not sure I'm even going to give him time
to answer. I just want to make him listen to what I have to say for
once. I just want him to sit and suffer beneath my wrath.

I'm so full of stifled aggression, I almost
don't notice when we walk right past Cole's room. The door is
closed, and I turn my head, looking back over my shoulder as they
lead me away.

"Wait," I command. They don’t listen. "Wait,
where are we going?"

I know they couldn't possibly answer.

I know they are animals. I know I shouldn't
expect anything.

But still, the silence just adds to my
frustration. Another set of questions that go unanswered. Another
time when what I want doesn’t matter at all. Another incidence
where I'm being pulled and yanked instead of politely asked and
invited.

"Stop!"

I dig my heels into the ground and pull
against their jaws, wincing as the sound of shredding fabric echoes
across the hall. But they get the point. Finally, the wolves and
the leopard pause, looking up at me almost apologetically, and they
let go, taking a step back, giving me space.

I breathe for a moment.

Do I really want to do this? Do I really
want to scream and yell at him? Do I really want that to be my
goodbye?

Yes.

Yes, I do.

Rage back, I square my shoulders and turn
around.

But at the exact moment that I take my first
purposeful step toward Cole's room, a sound stops me. Stills me.
Quiets the fury.

Whimpering.

At first, all I notice are panting
screeches, gentle, high-pitched squeals.

I turn back around.

The wolves and the leopard are watching me,
and in their human eyes I see despair, but they aren't the ones
making the noise.

It goes quiet.

I look toward the end of the hall, searching
with my ears.

A soft, unnerving howl reaches me, mournful
as it stretches on and on, lonely and somehow exploding with silent
grief.

My soul is lured by the sound.

My feet move, pressed forward by my
heart.

Another howl cries into the night.

I stand in an open doorway, just barely
making out the silhouette of a single wolf weeping to the moon. He
lies curled around himself, wrapped in the blankets of a warm bed,
gaze focused out the window.

I've never seen him as a wolf, but I know
it's Cole.

My anger vanishes the moment his broken eyes
land on mine, and he howls once more into the night. I don't
understand what he is saying, but I understand the shattered silver
shards his irises have become, and I understand the utter
loneliness in his call.

I step closer.

He watches me but doesn’t move. Something in
his expression is so defeated, so beaten down and overwhelmed, like
he has nothing left to give, nothing left to fight.

I know he doesn't deserve my affection or my
comfort, not after walking away from me tonight, not after leaving
me alone. But I give it to him anyway, because I want to, because
there's no one else who can, because my heart urges me to go to him
even if my mind does not.

I crawl beside Cole on the bed, holding out
my arms. He howls once more, but as he sets his head gently on my
lap, the sound gives way to a whimper. And I realize he's crying.
Drops of water stain my skirt as he curls closer, furry body
wrapping warmly around me until we’re both hugging each other. The
downy gray of his coat melds with the silvery diamonds of my skirt
until I'm not sure where I begin and he ends.

And we stay like that for a very long
time.

Until his silent tears stop falling.

Until we drift peacefully to sleep.

And when I wake the next morning with the
sturdy arms of a man wrapped around me, I know nothing will be the
same. I know we crossed some line in the middle of the night. I
know we've both changed.

I'm not at all surprised when I turn around
still locked in his embrace and find those stormy eyes already
watching me.

"I want to see your magic," Cole whispers,
voice just as soft as the barely risen sun. "And after that, I'll
tell you whatever you want to know."

I ask Cole to take me to the gardens.

We walk side by side, silent, wrapped up in
our own thoughts. The sky is dark and gray when we step outside,
mirroring the stormy look in Cole's eyes. The mood is bleak. But
I'm not. I'm the only flower in a field of snow, opening up to
welcome spring. Elated. Excited. Buoyant.

Cole wants to see my magic.

He wants to see the real me.

And I want to show him. Because he's only
seen the harm my magic can do, that horrible day when I tried to
escape, when I fought him, when I hurt him. It wasn't me. And it
wasn't my magic. Not really.

When I glance toward him, I can't decipher
his expression. He is rigid and unreadable. And I can't help but
wonder what is going on inside of his head. Does he realize that
this stony silence only makes me more curious? Does he even know
that the brooding aura just makes me more aware of the many secrets
he's trying to keep, makes me more and more eager to uncover
them?

I've been honest with him. I answer every
question he asks. I open up about my past. I appear to have nothing
at all to hide. Doesn't he understand that it’s far easier to keep
a secret when no one thinks you have one?

I know he has no clue about the toll my
magic takes, the curse wrapped up in the power. It's my greatest
secret, buried so deep I sometimes even forget it's there.
Sometimes I hide the truth even from myself.

Now is one of those times.

Because for once, I just want someone to see
my magic the way I see it. Beautiful. Pure. Glorious. I once
thought my father saw it that way, but I know the truth.

He loves me.

He knows my secret.

And for those two reasons, my father has no
choice but to hate the magic, to loathe it for stripping hours,
days, years off my life every time I use it.

But as I turn my gaze back toward the
garden, opening my awareness, I imagine the look in Cole's eyes as
he watches the power bring life to these frozen grounds, I imagine
the awe and admiration I hope he'll feel.

As soon as I unleash the magic, I drift
outside myself, traveling with it along the icy dirt, beneath the
layers of snow, to the frozen roots struggling to make it through
the winter. Cole no longer exists. I no longer exist. Magic is
everything. The wondrous life it brings is everything. Roots extend
beneath my touch, breaking through softening soil, stretching up
into the sky. Colors pop as bright flowers shatter the gray mood of
the day. The wild and mangled boxwoods bend and trim at my leisure
until formal rows of evergreen diamonds and triangles meet in
intricate patterns. And lastly, I grow the roses, winding the vines
up the sides of the walled-in space until bright red shines
vibrantly against the snow. Those petals are fresh and new and
brimming with life.

But as I seal the magic away, recoiling and
pulling the power back inside, leashing my own beast within, I
can't help but notice how the rose in the center of my soul decays
just a little bit more. I grit my teeth, holding my expression
steady, hoping Cole won't notice the strain of my muscles as I
fight the pain coursing through me. I don't look older, but as two
more petals fall away, I know my time has grown shorter.

Twenty-five years, I remember my father
saying. The most a woman in my family has lived after inheriting
the magic is twenty-five years.

But when I open my eyes, inhaling deeply at
the beauty laid out before me, the beauty I created, I know it’s a
price I'm willing to pay. I'd rather have a few more years with my
magic than a lifetime without it.

Nervously, I glance sideways at Cole.

His gaze is on the garden. I breathe a
little easier knowing he didn’t see the agony that coursed through
me only moments ago. His eyes are wide, his mouth is slightly open,
the edges of his lips twitch up. Perfect. Just like I imagined.

"Why can't all magic be like yours?" he asks
softly.

I shrug, holding back my wide grin so he
doesn’t realize how happy those words have made me. "I guess I'm
just lucky."

He nods, deep in thought.

I place my hand on his forearm. He flinches
at my touch. "Cole," I murmur. "Your magic is beautiful too. I was
afraid at first, but I'm not anymore."

"My magic?" He laughs darkly, under his
breath. "Omorose, I don't have any magic, not like you do."

"But—"

He turns sharply, eyes bearing down on me
and I pause.

"Omorose, I despise that magic," he growls.
I step back, wounded. "I hate that magic with every fiber of my
being. Your kind of magic is what destroyed my life. Your kind of
magic is what has taken everything and everyone I ever loved away
from me. That's why I couldn't trust you. That's why I pushed you
away, why I wanted to scare you. What you just showed me is so
beautiful, you are so beautiful, but if you knew the truth about
your magic…" He trails off.

"What?" I snap.

He turns away, steps back toward the
castle.

"If I knew the truth, what?" I repeat
louder, stronger.

He stops, keeping his back to me. "If you
knew the truth about your magic, I think you'd hate it too. And I'm
not sure I can do that to you."

His words slice me deeper than he could ever
know.

His rejection cuts.

"How'd you get those scars?" I ask
grimly.

He turns slowly, gray eyes silently pleading
with me.

"You promised," I say, voice low. "You
promised you would answer my questions if I showed you my magic.
And it's not my fault you didn’t like what you saw. So answer me.
How'd you get those scars on either side of your temple? They're
deeper than the rest. And you touch them sometimes when you think
I'm not paying attention, as though to remind yourself of something
you think you might forget. And every time you pull your fingers
away, the walls come back up, and you look at me differently, with
something painful in your eyes. And I want to know why. I deserve
to know why."

"You're going down a path you don’t
understand," Cole implores.

I remain silent. I harden my gaze for
once.

"Please, Omorose." He sounds desperate. "If
I tell you those things, there will be no going back. I'm not sure
how you'll react."

I cross my arms.

He steps closer, putting his warm palms on
my shoulders, gazing down at me with bright eyes that shimmer with
a sort of inner light, and I notice the clouds have cleared to
reveal the slightest hint of blue deep in his irises. "You are so
different than any king or queen I ever imagined," he says slowly.
The words fall over me like misty rain on a warm day. "You're so
gentle and kind, so caring, so passionate. You breathe life into
the world. You've filled this empty castle with your laughter.
You've eased loneliness I never thought would fade. You've breathed
life into me. And I couldn't bear to watch you fade away."

His words are so sweet, so pure.

But words aren't enough anymore.

I need answers.

"I need the truth."

His expression falls.

But then he looks at me and surrenders. "You
want to know how I got these scars?" It's not really a question but
I nod anyway. He lifts his hands, reaching into his ebony hair,
brushing it back, and it’s only then that I realize the three deep
scratches on either side of his forehead are the same width apart
as his own fingers.

"You?" I gasp, unable to finish the
sentence.

"I was five when my mother died," he begins,
voice hard with forcefully restrained emotion. "I barely had
control over the switch. And when I found her body lying on the
floor, contorted at angles I knew were impossible, I fell to my
knees with rage and despair. And the claws came out before I could
stop them, slicing me deep, marking me for the rest of my life,
forcing me to always remember."

I peer at him. "To remember what?"