Princess of Thorns

“Maybe I would have regretted it,” I say, my head buzzing with dangerous possibilities. “But I suppose we’ll never know.”

Unless …

How can I even consider it? But how can I not, when lives are at stake and Niklaas has so little left to lose? If he’s determined to give up, what difference does it make which devil takes him, his devil … or mine?

“I’m sorry,” Niklaas says with a sigh. “I’m sorry I can’t help you, and I’m sorry about what I said. I know why you lied, and—”

“It’s all right.” I lay a hand on his arm, waiting until he meets my eyes before I add, “I’m sorry, too.”

“You were trying to help me,” he says. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Oh, but I do. Or I will, if Gettel’s right and you, my friend, are wrong.

“Let’s go back,” I say. “Gettel said I’m allowed to eat at the table tonight.”

“Good. Kat will have someone else to pester with her questions.” Niklaas smiles, but it slips from his face almost instantly. “I’m glad you’re better. I didn’t want to leave until I knew you’d really be all right.”

“You’re leaving?” I ask, pulse speeding.

He nods. “As soon as I can put my things together and arrange for word to be sent to Haanah that things haven’t worked out as we’d hoped.”

“At least stay for the festival tomorrow night,” I say, ignoring the panicked voice in my head that urges me to steal a kiss right now, before it’s too late.

But I must make certain the kiss works. If it doesn’t, I am without a partner to help me free Jor, and Niklaas’s life is over. Too much depends upon the meeting of our lips to rush, not when even one more day might ensure success.

I know, if given the chance, I can bring Niklaas around. To steal his own words—all I need is for him to be a boy, and me a girl, without anything else getting in the way.

“A party is a nice place to say goodbye.” I loop my arm through his and set off toward the cottage, trying not to let on how much I want him to stay. I’ve learned a thing or two about what makes Niklaas tick, and I know he doesn’t find desperation attractive. “And you’d have a chance to prove you can hold your liquor. At this point, I think I could drink you under the table.”

“You couldn’t drink a field mouse under the table.” Niklaas laughs. “Well … I helped load all that beer into the cart, I guess I might as well help drink it.”

“Good,” I say. “We’ll have a night like we did in Goreman, a night to pretend all the terrible things don’t exist.”

“All right,” Niklaas says, slowing as we near the house. “But only if you’ll promise me you won’t go ru

I look up into his eyes, with all the force of his will burning behind them, all the frustrating, passionate, loyal, silly, defiant, stubborn parts that make him Niklaas, and doubt I’ll be able to do it. How can I risk it? How can I banish everything I love about him?

I do love him. I do. No matter how frightening and misery-inducing the realization is, I can’t deny it any longer.

“I won’t go alone.” I wrap my arms around his waist, catching him in a swift, hard hug.

“Easy, killer,” he says with a laughing grunt as he wraps his arms around me. “Glad to see you’re getting your strength back.”

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” I know I don’t need to repeat my offer. And if he reconsiders, then I can, too. I can explain why he can never kiss me, and maybe we can find a way … Maybe …

“No, but thank you. Again.” He rests a hand on the hair coiled atop my head, quashing the last of my hope. “You’re a good one, runt. Don’t let fear make you do things you know aren’t right.”

“It’s so hard to know what’s right.” I pull away, staring at the ground. “The line between cowardice and courage can be so … thin.”

“But you can see it. If you look hard enough.” He pats my head like I’m a little girl, but I’m too miserable to be a

“I’ve lost my appetite,” I say with a sad sniff.

“We’re having roast turkey left over from last night,” he says in a wheedling tone. “With cheeses and dried fruit and stewed tomatoes and bread with fresh sweet butter.”

My stomach growls.

“Sounds like your appetite tracked you down,” he whispers, tickling a finger into my ribs. I spin away, laughing against my will.

“Stop it!” I point a warning finger in his direction. “I hate being tickled.”

“Oh you do?” he says, a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Yes, I do!” I slap his hand as he reaches for me again and turn to race back to the house, with him close behind. We tumble into the kitchen like children, triggering a warning bark from Hund and an excited squeal from Kat, who is awake and standing on a stool by the food preparation table, up to her elbows in flour.

“Hello, Princess! I’m Kat and I’m making you a pie!” Kat shouts, flinging her hands into the air, sending flour flying.

“You’re making a mess is what you’re making, pumpkin.” Gettel laughs as she grabs Kat’s wrists, directing her hands back into the bowl. “Looks like you two had a nice walk.” She casts a knowing smile over Kat’s head, a smile that says it will only be a matter of time before Niklaas and I both realize we’re more than friends.

I hope a day will be long enough.

Chapter Twenty-One

Niklaas

We stay up late—Gettel, Kat, Aurora, and I—talking and eating, watching Kat’s orange kittens torment Hund and eating, praising Kat’s rehearsal of the song she’ll sing at the festival and eating some more. We graze until I can’t stuff another bite in and Gettel forces Aurora to forego a second slice of pie lest she make herself sick after so many days with nothing but milk and bread.

It’s close to one in the morning when I say my goodnights and stumble to my makeshift bedroom above the barn. I am asleep almost as soon as my body hits my straw mattress, too exhausted to worry about what will happen when I leave Beschuttz or fret over if I’m doing the right thing lying to Aurora.

But I can’t tell her I’m going to Mercar or she will try to come with me. I can’t—won’t—allow that to happen.

I make a mental note to warn Gettel that Aurora may try to sneak away and to convince the healer to do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if it means hiring a dozen farm boys to sit on the princess, and then I sleep. I sleep hard, so solid and deep and dreamless it seems barely an hour has passed between the moment I close my eyes on the dark interior of the barn and open them to sun streaming into the loft.

I grimace into the pale dawn light, still so weary my eyes feel full of cotton, wondering what woke me.

A moment later, the wonder is answered with a whisper from the ladder.

“Niklaas,” Aurora hisses. “Get up, I need your help.”

“With what?” I squint in her direction as she climbs onto the boards.

“I’ll show you. Get up,” she says, propping her hands on her hips. She’s wearing her boy’s pants with a lacy white shirt, and her hair hangs in a tidy braid over one shoulder. She isn’t as done up as she was last night in that pretty blue dress, but she’s certainly looking much more awake than I feel.

“What time is it?” I ask, rubbing at my face.

“I don’t know.” She lifts a shoulder and drops it. “Before six.”

I groan and roll over, burying my face in the pillow. “Go away.”