Her protests didn’t last. She looked into my eyes and smiled. “Nyar…” Her voice was a whisper, full of feeling.
It had been a long time since I kissed anyone. Kisses were such an intimate gesture that I had long since stopped sharing them with anyone. I wanted to kiss her now, as much as I wanted to fuck her. And it terrified me.
I was falling hard and fast. Getting careless with my heart.
Stop this now, before it gets any worse.
I looked away from her, baring my fangs in a grimace, trying to focus only on the mounting sensations that would soon lead to a release. I was getting very rough with her, and she was starting to make her incoherent little mewling sounds again, and I bit my lip until I drew blood. Don’t look at her.
When I had finished, I pulled out of her and started walking to the door as I buttoned up my trousers.
“Nyar?” Her voice held both concern and irritation now, and it was the irritation that killed me more than anything. Irritation was such a normal sort of emotion. It tricked me into believing I had a normal sort of life. “Did I do something wrong? You seem upset.”
“You have done nothing wrong, except to exist,” I said. “I’ll be back again.”
The curse was cruel in that way, too; it would force me to return to her, tempting me each time into making conversation, giving her pieces of myself. I could not storm out and be done with her.
But perhaps she understood that I was regretting how far I had gone with her already. Twice more I returned, and she never spoke my name. In the morning, I asked her the same question as before, and she answered a simple yes.
I was more relieved than usual when I was able to retire to the glass coffin where I dreamed so heavily of the life I had once had.
Chapter Seven
I slept in that morning, knowing that once the sun rose, he would not come for me anymore. My bath and breakfast waited, staying warm for me all that time. Finally, I crawled out of bed. My body ached in a way that felt so good that as soon as I got out of the bath I was wet between the legs, thinking of the way Nyar had touched me and tasted me and even the rough way he was later on.
I liked every side of him. Why should this be? Had I been waiting all my life for someone to touch me like this, and I had never known it?
Maybe I had. It felt like something forbidden, something dark and full-flowered, like reading books on topics the church didn’t like. And I had always enjoyed that.
Looking back I felt as if he had always been the focus of my most secret thoughts. The picture of him in the book—the strangeness of him— It did something to me. It was as if I could admit who I really was, now that I was here.
I had increasingly greater sympathy for the king, to be aroused all the time, because it was hard to think of anything else in that state, and already I was wishing he was here to wake me with his touch. But I must.
I changed into a fresh linen shift and another simple dress, this one a dark red wool. I liked the simplicity of the clothing here, as I had never been one to fuss over my wardrobe. I hated how long it took to get dressed and fix my hair for dinner parties, while my sisters reveled in it.
The first thing I did was to check on the rose.
I was immediately dismayed to see a slight curl at the edges of the petals.
“Oh, no,” I said. “But you have water… Is there something I can give you to help you last longer?”
I rushed to the library, tearing through books, looking for something on keeping flowers fresh.
A pitcher hopped into the room, accompanied by a cup and a knife. I stopped what I was doing. “Hello,” I said. “Can you help the rose live any longer? I don’t know what to do. At this rate I’ll probably only have one more night.”
The pitcher tipped forward into the water cup, but there was no water inside.
“You need water?”
I walked forward to the pitcher, and it began to jump out of reach. It led me all the way down into the grotto. The knife followed along, but I wasn’t sure why it was here—just curious, perhaps. Or at least I thought so, until I reached the grotto, the pitcher and knife stopping on the edge of the rocks after very carefully maneuvering toward the river.
My eyes locked, once again, on the beautiful man in the coffin.
“Who is he?” I whispered. “I so wish you could give me a clue.”
I took a step closer and the knife jumped in front of me, brandishing its blade.
I held up my hands. “Okay. I’m sorry. You don’t want me to go to him, do you?”
The knife fell flat, but as it did, the entire cave shook. Pebbles and rocks fell all around me, and I covered my head with a shriek, spreading my feet out a little to keep my balance on the slippery rocks. The waters of the river churned, as if angry, sloshing my boots.
Come closer.
A voice seemed to speak to me, as if from the river itself.
Come closer, child, don’t be afraid.
“Who are you?”
I am the spirit of the river.
The voice sounded female, rich and liquid, speaking directly to my ears as if the spirit was standing beside me.
You want a closer look, don’t you? Well, come on. I won’t hurt you. Cross my waters and come see him…
To demonstrate, the current immediately slowed down. Now it was so gentle that I could have lifted my skirts without fear and walked across the riverbed, even though it would probably reach up almost the entire length of my legs.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m sorry, but…I’m not sure it feels right to me. I am here to see Nyar, not this other fellow.”
Fellow? The voice laughed. You call a prince of the fey a ‘fellow’? He is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, I wager. And he is waiting for you. He’ll wake up if you give him a kiss.
Last night, I had wanted so badly for Nyar to kiss me, and for a moment, I thought he might. I had opened my mouth in anticipation. In my imagination, I felt his warm mouth meet mine, tasted my sex on his tongue, felt the brush of his fangs to my lips. But it had not happened. That was when he grew distant, when his lovemaking turned back to mere rutting.
What if the man in the coffin was Nyar?
What if this was his curse, to be a beautiful fairy prince only when he slept, and a lustful goblin at night?
I could imagine the beautiful man in the coffin blinking his eyes open in wondering joy as my lips met his. Even though I did not find Nyar all that ugly, it was still tempting to imagine coming home with such a handsome fairy prince…
I shook my head, coming to my senses. Nyar was a goblin, living in a goblin cavern, with paintings of his people on the walls. The beautiful man must be an illusion or a lure of some kind. I took a step back.
Where are you going?
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not interested.”
Not interested?
“I think you’re trying to trick me.”
The slow current immediately quickened, the waters swelling past the banks, splashing against the rocks as if throwing a temper tantrum.