Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

A Riddle

The prince of thorns is an idiot, I thought as I sprawled on my bed, staring up at the bland ceiling.

I wanted to hate him.

I was definitely angry with him, especially at how we had parted this morning. After everything we had shared, he’d thought to diminish it by offering a letter from his true name.

An I.

I already had a U.

I should feel excited. It was two steps closer to guessing Casamir’s true name, and all I needed were five more letters, but I could only think of last night. It wasn’t even the most passionate parts that clung to my memories now. It was the moments when the cruel elven prince had gently kissed my forehead and asked if I was okay, when he had offered his shirt and then the apple, when he had expressed concern over my wellness and feared he had hurt me.

He had made me feel things…not just desire but desired.

He had done all that and then ruined it with a stupid letter.

Why is he an idiot?I fumed.

I tried not to think about him but failed.

I had already softened toward him, had already felt the long-forgotten rise of hope inside me, and now that it was awakened, I could do nothing but wallow in misery and try to convince myself that nothing that had happened last night was real.

Except that every time I looked in the mirror, I saw reminders of his touch—bruises and swollen skin—and I could recall every action that had led to each blemish.

Those thoughts drove me from my room and motivated me to search the castle for any clues that might lead to Casamir’s true name—if they existed. I only hoped I could avoid the elven prince as I roamed his corridors, but as I did, I noted how this place was far from personal.

If I had wandered here on my own, I would have assumed the castle was abandoned with its moss-covered walls and flowering vines crawling from floor to ceiling. There were no portraits, not even of himself, and instead of soft carpet, there was an array of ground cover—vines, shrubs, mosses—at my feet. One fed into the other as I turned down each winding hall, pausing to look out windows that were either draped with vines or obscured with thick branches from trees that had grown into the facade of the castle.

There was no doubt about its beauty, though I wondered if all elves lived this way.

I came to the end of a hall where a set of stairs rose into darkness. I looked about before I took them, slow and steady as they wound upward and opened into a large bedchamber. While the colors in the room were dark and grounding, there were four floor-to-ceiling windows that made the room bright and full of light.

A large four-poster bed sat against one wall, each post richly carved, and the curtains that hung to veil the bed were open and dark green in color. A broken mirror hung between two of the large windows.

I realized I had been here before, that this was where Casamir’s five brothers had sent me at the start of my punishment. I remembered the soft carpet at my feet and the hearth and fireplace nearby.

Unlike the other rooms, the plant life was contained to a corner where several shelves were lined with flowers, vines, and weeping greenery. It was strange, considering the whole castle was overgrown in flora.

“You must be the mortal our prince is obsessed with.”

I gasped and turned to see who was speaking, but no one was there.

“Who’s there?” I asked.

“Over here,” said the voice, which sounded like it came from the windows.

I crossed to look behind the heavy curtains.

“No, no. The mirror,” said the voice.

My brows lowered as I stepped in front of the broken shard of glass, but I saw nothing, not even my reflection. I started to peek behind it, thinking that perhaps a fae was playing a trick.

“What are you doing?”

I gasped and released the mirror. It clanked lightly against the wall.

“I thought you might be fae,” I said.

“I told you I was a mirror.”

“Have you always been a mirror?”

“Yes. What kind of question is that?”

“I thought you might have been cursed.”

“I am not cursed. I am enchanted.”

“What is the difference?”

“Perspective, I suppose.”

I stood, silent for a moment, before the mirror.

“You are the Magic Mirror,” I said, recalling my conversation with Wolf about how Casamir’s father had deemed the next king would be chosen.

“So you have heard of me,” he said, his voice filling with pride.

“I do not know much, I am afraid. Only that you are not whole.”

“There is not much to know beyond that,” he said.

I turned to look around the room. “So this must be Casamir’s chamber?”

Though I had been here before, I had not taken the time to observe. I had been too consumed by the elven lord in front of me to focus on anything other than him and survival.

“Have you come in search of him?” he said.

“No,” I said. “I would rather not see him today or tomorrow, perhaps not ever again.”

“That does not bode well for him,” said the mirror.

I glanced at the mirror. “You know about the curse?”

“You know about the curse?” he asked.

I stared at the mirror, and I think he stared back. We were both silent.

“If you have not come for Casamir, then why are you here?”

“I came in search of his true name,” I said.

“Ah,” said the mirror. “You will not find answers here.”

“Where will I find them?”

I imagined that the mirror shrugged as he answered, “Here and there.”

I ground my teeth, frustrated. I walked to the end of Casamir’s bed, and all I could think, all I could imagine, was us, tangled together in a sea of dark silk. If we had sex again, would it be different? Would he be gentler, sweeter, far more protective?

It all made me too angry. I should not even be thinking about a next time. I should be focused on my goal of getting out of here.

I ground my teeth and turned to look at the mirror, leaning against the end of Casamir’s bed.

“Do you always watch him?” I asked.

“I have no choice,” he said. “I am a mirror.”

“Does he…” I started. “Does he have…visitors?”

“He does not,” said the mirror.

I hated the relief that unfurled in my body, hated that I had asked at all.

“Why does he keep these plants when his whole castle is a garden?” I asked.

“He loves them,” said the mirror. “That is why the castle is a garden.”

My brows lowered and I crossed again to the corner where all his plants were on display. Suddenly I saw his home in a new light. I had thought there was nothing personal about it, but the whole thing…it was a reflection of what he loved.

Something warm filled my chest.

“Why does he love plants?”

“I imagine it is because with plants, he can be who he truly is without consequence.”

“And who is Casamir?” I asked. “Truly?”

“I think you know,” said the mirror. “The question is, are you willing to see it?”

I pursed my lips and crossed my arms, feeling strangely exposed.

“Where is he?”

“I can show you,” said the mirror. “Though you may not wish to know.”

I waited and watched as the mirror’s surface warped and changed, and I saw Casamir waist-deep in water. He was washing a spray of blood and gold dust from his body. I did not think I needed to know what he had killed. I could guess. The fae who had drawn me into their trap last night, the fae who had blown into my face and made me ache for him.

His features were hard, and there was a part of me that wanted to trace away the tension between his brows and his mouth. I followed his hands, trailing over the hard muscles of his shoulders and arms, his chest and stomach, before he disappeared below the surface of the lake.

When he rose again, he waded to the shore. As his body was slowly revealed to me, I could not help but ache for him again, and as much as I wanted this to be magic, I knew it wasn’t.

I took a deep breath and turned from the mirror.

“How do I find his true name?”

I had to find it. I had to speak it.

“You don’t,” he said. “It will find you.”

“How? How when no one knows it?”

“Everyone knows his name. It knows no stranger. It is the wail on the lips of a birthing mother, the howl from the mouth of a grieving lover. It is the cry that breaks the night when death is summoned and the scream that echoes at daybreak when truth makes you ache.”

“I am not looking to solve a riddle,” I said, frustrated by his words but also processing them, feeling them. “I need a name.”

“You know his name,” said the mirror. “You have felt it.”

I considered what he had said and could acknowledge that I knew what it was to watch death arrive and steal away life. I knew what it was to wish through the night that it wasn’t true. I knew what it was to have my heart broken each morning at daybreak.

“I know grief, that is true,” I said. “But grief is not a name.”

“Anything can be a name,” said the mirror. “But you are right. Grief is not Casamir’s true name.”

We were silent for a moment, and then the mirror said, “Think on it, creature. You have four days.”