Princess of Thorns

A breeze that isn’t nearly strong enough to sweep away Niklaas’s shout when I share the bare details of my plan.

“Not in a hundred years!” Niklaas pants, still breathing heavily from his work. “Not in a thousand!”

We’re half a field from the barn, but his volume still turns heads. One of the boys loading the cart pauses to cast a look in my direction, clearly ready to intervene if I need protecting. I wave at him and take Niklaas’s arm, holding tight when he tries to pull away.

“Hold still and quit shouting,” I mutter behind my smile, “or your friend is going to rush over and defend me from your temper.”

“As if you need defending,” Niklaas mutters with a dark look toward the barn. But he stops trying to shove me off and covers my hand with his before leading me farther down the bank, away from our audience. “It’s me who needs protection,” he mutters. “From you and your mad ideas.”

“It’s not a mad idea,” I say. “It’s dangerous, yes, but—”

“It’s too dangerous. You can’t risk going to the capital,” he says, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly back and forth across the top of my hand. “If you walk into Mercar, you’re as good as dead.”

“But Ekeeta wants me brought in alive,” I say, ignoring the way my nerves prickle when he touches me, even an i

He grunts. “So she can kill you herself with some crooked ogre voodoo.”

“Most likely,” I agree. “But that would still give us time. She’s not going to kill me on sight. Rituals take time to organize. We would have at least a day, maybe more, before we would need to escape.”

“The answer is no.” Niklaas pulls his arm away and turns to face me, squinting into the setting sun. “I’m not going to escort you to your death, and that’s the end of it.”

“Niklaas, please, I—”

“No.” He props his hands on his hips. “I almost watched you die once. I can’t do it again. I won’t.”

I glance up, taking in his wrinkled forehead and pinched eyes, and wonder if Gettel is right. Maybe Niklaas does love me. Maybe I love him. Maybe this is what love is, being so afraid to lose someone that you’d rather face death than a world without them.

I step closer, heart beating faster as I reach out, laying my palm on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his linen shirt. “How do you think I feel? Knowing that in eight days you won’t be here anymore?”

His takes a deep breath. “It’s not the same. I won’t be dead, and—”

“But—”

“And I won’t be putting the world at risk.” He covers my hand with his and pulls it gently but firmly away. “What if you can’t escape before the ritual? What if you’re the briar-born child Ekeeta needs, not your brother? If you go to Mercar, you’re gambling everything, every beautiful patch of land in the four kingdoms, every i

“So what?” I ask, though Niklaas has made sure I’m thinking of little Kat, hating myself for putting a child in even a speck of danger. “Jor is my everything. Why should he have to die if there is a chance I can save him?”

“Aurora, he could be dead already.”

“No, he isn’t! I won’t believe that!”

“Then why is Ekeeta so desperate to capture you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she wants to eliminate anyone with a claim to her throne. Maybe she wants to finish what she started and slaughter my entire family, I don’t know, but I know Jor is alive. I can feel it.” I spin, sending my skirts flying as I pace away. I cover my mouth with my hand, fighting for control before turning back to face Niklaas. “I can’t sit here and do nothing,” I say, voice trembling. “I have to save him, or die trying, and this is the only plan I can think of that might work. I’d rather have you with me, but if you won’t help, I’ll find someone who will. Or go alone. If I have to.”

Niklaas’s lip curls. “You’re really that selfish?”

“No, I’m that willing to give everything for someone I love.” I refuse to mind the guilt nudging at my heart, demanding my attention. I shouldn’t feel guilty, not so long as I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to keep the kingdoms safe should my plan fail.

“I’ll go to Jor and do my best to free him. And if I can’t, or if he’s already dead and I can’t escape, then I’ll …” I swallow, pushing away a fleeting memory of my mother’s filthy dress beneath my cheek, the warmth of her body when I put my arms around her for the last time. “Then … Jor and I have both been well trained. We’ve always known we might be forced to take our own lives before the queen could use them against our people. We know ways to manage it without a weapon. I won’t need a knife.”

Before I realize he’s moving, Niklaas has hold of my good arm with one hand and the back of my neck with the other. “Don’t you dare,” he says, anger simmering in his words as he leans his face down to mine. “Don’t throw yourself away for no reason!”

“It’s my brother’s life!” I fight the urge to break his hold. I know Niklaas won’t hurt me, no matter how dangerous his hand feels wrapped around my neck. “Unlike you, who is willing to give up his humanity to preserve his stupid pride.”

He clenches his jaw. “I won’t marry someone who pities me. I don’t want pity, especially from you.”

“Why especially me?” I stand on tiptoe, bringing my eyes nearly level with his. “What’s so terrible about me?”

“Everything,” he snaps, releasing me as he backs away. “You’re a liar. I don’t want to marry a stubborn, reckless liar. I don’t want to—”

“Well, what we want and what we get are rarely the same thing.” I will my eyes empty, refusing to show him how much his words hurt. “I’m offering you life.”

“What kind of life?” he asks, with a shake of his head. “A life spent pretending to be happy? A life spent trying not to get gobbled alive by regret? A life spent lying next to a girl who’s as disgusted by bedding me as I am by bedding her?”

Disgusted. The word hits me like a fist in the ribs.

“You said it yourself,” he says in a softer tone. “You don’t want to kiss me any more than I want to kiss you.”

My breath rushes out as I roll my eyes. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or ball up my hand and hit Niklaas as hard as I can.

“I remember how determined you were not to have me as your husband,” he continues. “I can’t help thinking you’d come back to feeling that way. Sooner or later.”

He shrugs and stuffs a hand into the pocket of his new navy work britches, loose wool britches that do an excellent job of disguising the well-formed legs beneath. But I know they’re there, as I know the rest of his beautiful boy-ness is there beneath his clothes. I hate myself for thinking about it, for admiring any part of this prince who finds me as plain and uninspiring as I always knew he would. I have legitimate reasons for not wanting to kiss him, but for Niklaas it goes no deeper than a lack of attraction.

I don’t know why I let myself think the closeness between us might have changed things, that friendship and family feeling and jokes and mutual admiration might make a difference. Nothing makes a difference. Boys like Niklaas only care about whether or not a girl makes their blood rush.

Then make his blood rush, fool. This is no time to give up. Not on Jor, or Niklaas.

My lips part and the aching in my chest becomes slightly more manageable.

Maybe I can change Niklaas’s mind. The fairy boys always told me I was pretty. I used to know how to dance and tease and flirt and might have had my first kiss sooner if Thyne wasn’t so protective of me. That girlish part of me is still there, locked away in a cell I made for her when I realized how dangerous it was for me to attract a boy’s attention, let alone his affection or desire. She is still there, trapped in the darkness, but aching to be allowed back into the light …