Page 39 of Apples Dipped in Gold
He smiled faintly before turning to leave, and I felt like I could breathe again, until I turned to Lore. His eyes focused intently on the comb in my hair.
“H-how does it look?” I asked.
“Terrible,” he replied before he turned, stomping away into the darkness of the forest, leaving Fox and I behind.
“What did I do?” I asked, confused.
“Trust me when I say, wild one, absolutely nothing.”
Chapter Six
The Kingdom of Larkspur
Lore
A comb.
I gave her a knife, and she cut off my hand.
The goblin king gave her a comb, and she put it in her hair.
I stomped ahead of Samara and the fox, breaking branches and cutting down thorny vines. It allowed me to channel my frustration but also made the path easier to follow for Samara, who could not see like I could see in the dark.
What use was a comb?I thought.
It certainly was not as helpful as a knife, especially one that could cut anything in two, yet if I had given her a comb seven years ago, perhaps I would still have my hand and a shred of dignity among my six other brothers, who all found it immensely entertaining that I had given my beloved a weapon to use against me.
But they had not watched her toil in the mud and cold of a bog for hours. They had not heard how her brothers berated and belittled her. They’d not listened to her in the dead of night when she divulged her desires. They did not understand, because they had never sacrificed themselves for anyone or anything.
I could not wait until they fell in love, though it was rumored that Casamir, my seventh brother, had taken the beast we sent his way, the woman who had killed our sixth brother, as his bride.
She had been an angry and lonely thing, but she had fallen in love with him and broken his curse.
I was not so lucky.
Samara did not love me. She did not even know I was the one who had given her the knife. But she was the apple of my eye, and because of that, she was the only one who could make the wish that would free me from the curse of love.
“I know you are eager to find the wishing tree,” said the fox, walking up beside me as I slayed another shrub. “But your lover is dead on her feet.”
“Do not call her that,” I snapped.
“Do not call her what, Prince? They shall both be true, one sooner than the other, depending on you.”
I glared at the fox, but I could not help glancing over my shoulder to see her stumbling about, barely lifting her feet from the ground as she followed far behind me.
“She struggles, yet she says nothing,” I said. “I cannot decide if she is brave or afraid.”
“She is both, Prince,” said the fox. “She does not tell you because she is not used to anyone caring about her pain.”
“I am not her brothers.”
“Right now, you are like them,” said the fox. “You are angry with her, and since you left the elfin hill, you have pretended as though she does not exist.”
There was no pretending.
I couldn’t escape her. Even as she walked behind me, I knew she was there. I was attuned to every move she made—every small breath and every beat of her heart—but the fox was right. Shame poured over me, heavy and thick. I slowed beneath its weight until I stopped, turned, and went to her.
Her heavy eyes lifted to mine and widened as she came to a stop.
