Page 30 of Sweet Briar


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The prince looks skeptical. “The healer said it wouldn’t regain full strength for some time, if at all.”

“I said, I’m fine.” Glancing past him, I find no sign of Briar. “Where is she?”

“Princess Aurora?”

“Who?”

“Rose. The one you insist upon calling by the hideous name her foster parents saddled her with. We have confirmed her identity. Her birth name was Princess Aurora.”

“I repeat: where is the lady?” I can’t explain the urgency to find Briar. I need to see with my own eyes that she’s safe.

Then I’ll figure out what to do about the fact that she’s planning to marry this pompous prick instead of running away with me.

“Probably off discussing the final design of her wedding gown. She’s been quite particular about it. The royal dressmaker has already created three versions, but Rose hasn’t been satisfied with any of the designs.”

Imagine fussing over silk when Briar would be every bit as beautiful if she were married in a burlap sack. If she were my bride, I wouldn’t have waited five fucking minutes to make things official. Swear on a holy book. Make her a ring from a blade of grass. Get her into bed and never leave it.

But then, I’m no prince, and she isn’t my bride. These are the ravings of a madman.

“Kind of you to hold off the ceremony until I could join you.”

“I wouldn’t have, given my druthers.” Alistair cocks an eyebrow. “Was there any reason to wait for you? Never knew you to be a romantic.”

No. Not a single one I can think of. I only made this day possible.

“Speaking of paperwork,” Alistair continues. “I have a drawn up a proclamation granting you ownership of that cursed castle and all the land currently covered with thorn bushes. You’ll have your hands full clearing it, but once you do, it’s a defensible fortress. Of course, you’ll need money for repairs. Those harpies have scratched up the exterior.”

He clicks his tongue sympathetically.

I’ll sleep in her coffin-bed every night. Breathe her in and die dreaming of her petal-soft skin.

“And my basilisk skin?”

“Your basilisk skin?” Alistair echoes. “It’s at the tanner’s. I’m having it prepared for my trophy collection.”

Might as well hang Briar on the wall next to it. Next to all the other creatures I’ve killed that he’s claimed credit for.

These thoughts will drive me mad if I continue to entertain them.

“I was counting on the proceeds from the sale of that skin.” It’s not as if my wages as his knight are generous. Nor have I hoarded my gold as well as I should have. The idea that I might retire from the royal guard never seemed like a real possibility until he dangled that castle as my reward.

“Kill, I know you can’t stand to admit weakness. While you’re recovering, why don’t I assign you an easy task?”

“All I want is my castle.”

Now that I’m here, the urgency driving me to find Briar has faded into self-doubt. I am no different from any other male falling under her spell. I was delusional enough to claim a kiss, but only while feverish.

What might have happened if the prince hadn’t barged in?

Alistair extracts a scroll from his interior pocket and taps it against my chest. “You shall have it.”

I snatch and unfurl it. “Unsigned.” I let it snap closed.

“Once I do sign it, you shall be released from your sworn oath, granted a pension for your aid in saving the legendary Sleeping Beauty, and that weird, decrepit castle full of monsters will be all yours.”

He tightens the roll of parchment and tucks it away.

Pensioned off. Put out to pasture at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.