Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

PHILIP

The throne room buzzes as dignitaries flit about, oohing and ahhing over the baby. Somehow, the House of Kendrick thought it would be a good show of faith to travel here for these celebrations. Something about goodwill and a show of force? But it doesn’t make much sense to me.

In my mind, it’s just one more way to make my father look weak, as if he couldn’t travel the distance to Kendrick. They’re probably correct. Even now, my father looks pink, flushed with all the excitement. He’s the complete opposite of Kendrick, who looks calm and reserved. Lethal, if I’m being honest.

Pulling my mind back to the reason we’re all gathered, I glance over at the crib, noting the ribbons and gems bedecking every available surface. It’s far too ornate for this throne room. But then, I’m sure that’s completely the point.

With a sigh, I shake my head. How can Father not see what’s directly in front of him? Is he that blind? Is he that desperate for an alliance?

The baby giggles, bringing about another wave of adoration from those surrounding the crib. Though I could have gone to see the infant at any point, I opted to stay behind, watching the others with a careful eye. Any one of them could be vying for the throne. The pact is not yet sealed, and as such, we’re vulnerable.

No one else seems to understand this or even care. It’s all about the baby and our marriage. It’s beyond ridiculous.

Next to me, Master Balcom nudges my shoulder, his lips set in a firm line. “You should at least look upon your betrothed. The others are watching you just as closely as you watch them. Do not bring shame to the Godwin name.”

I resist the urge to snort as I make my way over, the crowd parting as I look upon my bride. Her wails pierce the din as she shrieks out her indignation. No doubt she’s far too overstimulated right now, but no one seems to care for what’s in her best interest.

With a sigh, I lean over the crib to look at her, doing my best to find something endearing about a baby I have no ties to. She wriggles about, a mass of pink skin confined in a white, flowy gown. Already she has a fine covering of dark brown hair, just as dark as the inquisitive eyes that look up at me.

The moment our gazes lock, her cries stop. The silence is deafening as everyone looks on, their shocked faces not going amiss. Reaching down, I run my finger over her cheek, marveling at how soft and tiny she is. To think, at some point, all of us were that small.

“Would you care to hold her?” my father questions as he slides in next to me.

All burgeoning feelings of tenderness flee. “I would worry I’d harm her. Better to leave her in the crib.”

The couples around me simper and sigh as if I’ve just said the most romantic thing. Their reactions are disgusting. There’s absolutely nothing romantic about this meeting.

Thankfully, before my father can respond, the doors whoosh open as a group of women enter. The good witches of the various kingdoms smile at everyone, their eyes sparkling with excitement. With their wands raised high, a stream of colors drifts behind them.

The colors of the rainbow fill the room, taking away any lingering, festering gloom. Even the guests seem to feel lighter, giddy, and joyful. I wish I could join in, but my mind will not let me relax as I watch them pass on wishes and blessings to the crowd.

I continue to scan the area, waiting to see who else will show up. Thankfully, the dark one is not amongst them, but that doesn’t mean she’s not out there waiting. Granted, from what I’ve heard about these witches, they cannot abide evil, and so she should not be able to get near so great a force of good.

My fingers clench around the ornate wood as the thought of her beady eyes and slimy shadows impale my brain. I detest how my knees threaten to quiver as fear once more overtakes me. It’s fine for Father to cower in the face of danger. It’s what is expected of him at this point. But not me.

Never me.

I am the heir, the redeemer. Even though I know I’m nowhere near old enough to take on that mantle, I never want the people to see me as weak. They need to have some other hope in these dark times besides calling on King Kendrick for aid.

Squaring my shoulders, I step away from the crib, my strength renewed. I nod to each of them in kind as they circle the baby, doing my best not to read into their glances as they look between my face and each other. Though they say nothing to me, the air crackles with unspoken words.

Perhaps they too see me as an abomination? Shaking my head, I do my best to dispel the words from the wicked one earlier today. They will serve me no good. Soon, however, they seem to forget all about me as they coo over my destined bride.

As I peer over their shoulders and look down at the infant, I try to stir feelings of any kind. But they’re just not there. Perhaps that’s what makes me an abomination? But then, surely, the witches wouldn’t be so fickle.

Besides, how can I have any sort of feelings for someone I don’t know or even converse with? At what age am I supposed to have all these stirrings suddenly thrust upon me? To hear the adults whisper, I should be showing signs of affection toward those of the opposite sex, but no one brings out these feelings in me.

Despite what they say when they think I cannot hear, not even men draw my eye. It’s as if strength, battle, and honor are my true lusts and vices, and will probably be so for the foreseeable future. Still though, as I look down at the wriggling mass as she gurgles up with that toothless, drooly grin of hers, something pricks my heart.

It’s not love, and it’s certainly not lust. A kinship, perhaps? All I know is she is now considered my possession, and I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Again, my fingers ball into fists, but this time, it’s with a firm resolve and not anger.

With a cold, calculated suspicion, I eye the witches as they touch and tease her, their faces exuding pure happiness. They’re far too chipper for my liking, and no doubt harbor some grave ill toward her. I must keep Briar safe from their plots and plans.

Father seems to trust them above all else, which means I cannot. Not when he’s so quick to lie down and beg like a dog. Though they do not actively hurt the child, they’re disturbing her rest. Even now, I watch as her eyelids grow heavy, only to pop back open when another touches her.

They mutter as they stroke her hair and pinch her cheeks, keeping their touch light enough to keep the baby from crying out. One by one, they step back, their eyes sparkling as they hold hands. After a few moments of nonsensical chanting, they release and hold up their wands.

“To you, young Briar,” the witch with the red wand cries out, “I give the gift of beauty.”

Shocking, since the baby already looks like she’ll be pretty enough. But I suppose I should be grateful for a lovely bride.

“To you, young Briar,” the witch with the orange wand mutters, “I give the gift of intelligence.”

A sensible gift. I would rather have a smart, cunning wife than someone who was daft.

“To you, young Briar,” the witch with the yellow wand intones, “I give the gift of obedience.”

My nose wrinkles at that one. To be compelled to be obedient doesn’t seem like a gift, but more like a curse. However, it might make her more pliant in the ways of ruling. It would be nice to not have to battle with my wife over matters of court.

“To you, young Briar,” the witch with the green wand whispers, “I give the gift of song.”

Well, that one is even more useless than the first. What need do I have for someone who can sing? But again, I suppose it should be nice to have a wife who can entertain me.

“To you, young Briar,” the witch with the blue wand chuckles, “I give the gift of conversing with animals. They will love you and serve you well.”

My nose wrinkles up as I mull over her words. I guess it would help to know what ails an animal, but other than that, none of these so-called gifts seem like actual blessings. It’s more like they have nothing better to do than to saddle this poor girl with anything to make sure she is pretty and useless.

“To you, young Briar,” the witch with the indigo wand croaks, “I give the gift of endurance and strength. Pain will never touch you. Your bones will never break. Any pain will be transmuted into pleasure. You will never know discomfort or agony. In childbirth, this will ease your suffering and allow your lineage to flourish.”

Stunned, I merely stare at the indigo witch. Out of all the gifts so far, this seems to be the only one which is actually useful. If only the others wouldn’t squander their blessings away on such nonsense as talking to animals or singing. If only I could have such a blessing.

The witch turns to me as if she can hear my thoughts but says nothing. For a moment, our eyes lock, and something primal roars from inside my head. Her eyes widen as she takes a step back, so small only I notice it. Before she can say a word, however, the last witch speaks.

“To you, young Briar…” The witch with the violet wand hesitates, her hand poised high in the air, but no words come out. It’s as if she’s not sure what she wants to say. Granted, with the other gifts, it would make sense she would have nothing left, but her silence makes me uneasy.

As I step forward, about to demand what she plans on giving my future bride, the doors once more open with a swoosh. This time, no joy follows the eddies of air swirling around the crib and me. Before I even see her, I know the evil witch approaches.

The onlookers huddle into themselves, looking to my father to help guide them. But coward he is, he merely steps behind King Kendrick, as if the other king will honor a truce not yet penned.

“What is it you want from us, witch,” my father cries out from behind his shield.

“I was not invited to the festivities. How rude of you to send word to my sisters but not me.”

The leader of the good witches steps forward, her violet wand waving back and forth. “You are no sister of ours. Leave this place. You are not welcome here.”

I hear her words as I watch her face. There’s something odd about the interaction, as if it’s rehearsed. Her face conveys the righteous anger I expect, but her tone is devoid of emotion. Perhaps this is the way of witches?

Until today, I had not had the chance to encounter one. It could be they weave their power in their voices and not their fists. That would make far more sense than to have all these good witches side with the one who aims to make trouble for me and my throne.

Stepping forward, she makes a great show of sweeping low to the floor in an ostentatious bow. “Forgive me, King Godwin and King Kendrick, but I, too, have a gift for the child.”

With a flick of her wrist, she motions for them to part, giving her a direct line to the infant. Enraged, I throw myself over the crib, refusing to allow this witch to harm her. The shocked gasps of the crowd fall around me, but I barely notice it. I’m not here for adoration.

This is personal.

However, just like before, she dispatches her shadows. The tendrils grab hold and lift me high into the air. With my body stretched out as such, all I can do is buck against my bonds, bellowing out my rage.

Master Balcom heads up the guards as they trample through the crowd to rescue me, but the witch holds up her hand in a motion for them to stop. As if their feet are held to the floor by some unseen hand, they refuse to move.

“Careful. One false step, and I can rend your prince limb from limb. Where then will be your treaty? With no other sons to marry the princess, you will be ripe for destruction.” Glancing at my parents, she smiles. “He is your only son, is he not? I would think long and hard about coming after me if you want him to take over your throne.”

Unfortunately, she’s right. I’m far too important to allow my anger to cloud my judgment. With a sigh, I stop my fighting and concentrate on her actions as she steps closer to the crib. My heart slams in my chest as she leans over and strokes Briar’s face with a long, sharp nail.

“Such a beautiful girl. I’m sure my sisters have blessed you with all sorts of things to make her the perfect bride and queen.” Looking up, she gives me a pointed stare. “Pity she will not make it that far.”

My heart seizes in my chest, arresting my breath. No. She cannot possibly think to kill her. Not with all of us here to stop her. Even if we die trying, little Briar will be saved.

“Here is my gift to the young princess. You will certainly grow up to be a woman of great beauty and poise, but I will give you the gift of an insatiable curiosity. This will lead to your eventual downfall. Once you reach eighteen years of age, you will find yourself so overcome with the need to figure out how a spinning wheel works that you will prick your finger on the spindle and die.”

Outraged roars fill the building as the guards rush toward her. However, she vanishes into thin air, her maniacal cackles echoing above the din. As her body disappears, so do the tendrils holding me aloft.

Tucking my chin into my chest as I make myself into a ball, I brace for impact, wishing I had a fairy to gift me the blessing of never feeling pain. But I never fall. Eventually, I crack my eyes open and unfurl, shocked as a violet glow surrounds me, keeping me in the air.

Slowly, the good witch eases me down until my feet brush against the polished floor. Once I regain my footing, I race over to the crib, my heart in my throat. Poor Briar screams out in terror as her eyes roll wildly about in her head, as if looking for some sort of comfort.

Her mother, the queen of Kendrick, races over, but I block her path, picking Briar up into my arms. For some reason, I feel an intense urge to comfort the baby myself. The crowd mumbles a touch at my actions, but I ignore it. It’s not about princely duty; it’s about protection.

The instant she curls up against my chest, something shifts between us. A possessive urge I never felt before wells up inside me. Though I felt similar emotions, I never knew how tame they were compared to what I feel now. I will keep Briar safe from all harm. Even if it means fighting every enemy that poses a threat, I will keep her safe.

With trembling hands, the queen reaches out for her daughter, and with great reluctance, I give her over. Unfortunately, the moment she feels her mother’s arms, she cries again, an ear-splitting wail that makes me wince. Unsure of what to do, she hands her back, frowning as Briar calms down once more.

Turning to King Kendrick, she buries her head into his shoulder, sobbing as we all contemplate the fate of this little baby. Tears threaten to slip down my cheeks, but I hold them in check, refusing to allow them to fall. Somehow, I will make this right.

Next to me, the violet fairy clears her throat and steps forward. “I have not yet given the child my blessing.”

With a gasp, the queen turns and clasps her hands. “Oh, good witch,” she cries out. “Can you undo the curse? Will my daughter yet live?”

I watch the witch’s face, my heart thundering in my ears. This could be just the blessing we need. Thankfully, she hadn’t squandered it on some such nonsense like hair that never tangles or breath that never smells.

“Unfortunately, I cannot. A curse like that is binding. However, I can help mitigate it.”

She steps closer to me, and on instinct, I curl Briar in tighter, resisting the urge to snarl as she gets far too close for my comfort. With an indulgent smile, she stays where she is and swirls her wand.

“On her eighteenth birthday, she will, in fact, prick her finger on a spindle. However, she will not die. She will, instead, drift off into a dark, dreamless sleep so close to death that the evil witch will not know the difference. Only true love’s kiss will awaken her.”

“That’s simple then,” King Kendrick cries, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “All spinning wheels will be banned, and Philip here will celebrate his wedding by waking her up if some mischief somehow befalls her.”

“Yes,” the good witch murmurs, refusing to meet my eyes. “If there is true love there, he will wake her.”