“By poisoning his bride at her own betrothal ball.”
Her gaze cuts to mine, suddenly as sharp as a thorn.
“I did what I had to do, young man.”
“Wait.” Alistair shakes his head. “If I understand correctly, you are my great-great-great-grandmother.”
“I thought you had a familiar look about you!”
The crone seizes his chin and turns his face this way and that, examining his features. She can only reach him because she is standing above us on the stairs.
“You have the look of him. My son.” She gives a nod of satisfaction. “My efforts have been worth the sacrifice, then. Come. Night has fallen. The sooner you awaken the Sleeping Beauty, the sooner I can die.”
She crooks one gnarled finger and says, “Follow me.”
4
Killian
“How is it possible?” Alistair asks. “She should be long dead. Her name is inscribed on the family mausoleum.”
“She could be lying,” I counter. The crone’s shuffling gait is what I heard following us earlier. She must have gotten ahead of us when we first turned back after finding the dead knight.
Why didn’t the chimeras attack her, an easier target?
Perhaps curses taste of filth, even to creatures made from twisted magic.
“I will tell you how it was possible. Briar Rose has never met a man she couldn’t charm. Even that crusty old wizard who never cared for anyone in his life took one look at her and couldn’t bring himself to destroy such womanly perfection,” she says contemptuously. “He not only reneged on our deal; he tied my fate to the trollop’s as punishment. Magic had to bebalanced,he said.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Dare I ask what happened to this wizard?” I interject.
“I had him executed for his duplicity,” the queen says blandly. “Not long after your great-great-grandfather—my son—married the woman he was first promised to, in fact.” She chortles. “When my idiot son broke his betrothal to the duke’sdaughter, the duke threatened to avenge his family’s honor. I didn’t care if my son kept the farm girl as a side piece. Not my business where he stuck his?—”
Alistair coughs.
“—but no,” the crone grumbles. “Wholesome little Briar Rose couldn’t possibly whore herself, not even for the good of the country. She was holding out for true love. She wouldn’t settle for anything less than marriage.” A snort. “Idiots. Both of them.”
“So that’s the curse? Only the kiss of true love can awaken her?”
Alistair sounds worried. I bite back a grin. He has been adamant for years that he doesn’t want anything to do with love. One more thing we have in common.
I cannot imagine any woman being worth so much trouble. A female is a female, whether she’s ugly or old or young. I’ve traveled the length and breadth of Belterre and never come across one worth fighting over. Men who fight for women’s honor are fools.
Still, I admit I’m curious about the sleeping maiden. The Lost Princess of Isanthia. The cursed Sleeping Beauty.
“You must be a hundred and fifty years old,” Alistair says in disbelief.
“Sounds about right. I stopped counting. Too depressing.”
The ancient queen halts abruptly, listening intently.
I strain to catch the sound that stopped her in her tracks, but Alistair won’t fucking stop talking.
“You’re not the least bit remorseful about what you did, are you?” he asks.
“It all came right in the end. My son did his duty and married for his country, not his heart. He built this folly in hopes that one day his circumstances would change and he could awaken his beloved. But his queen outlived him, and so, Briar Rose sleeps. And I age, but cannot die,” she answers bitterly.
