Page 25 of Apples Dipped in Gold

The Cursed Prince

Lore

Foul humans with their foul mouths.

My hatred for Samara’s brothers grew the longer I remained within the presence of this woman who flinched when I lifted a finger and looked at me as if I were the one who had harmed her.

It was a bitter irony given she was the one who had rejectedmykindness, severingmyhand with the very knife I had given her, a blade so sharp it could hew a stone in two.

That was seven years ago, and still I felt the pain of that day. It went beyond the phantom ache in my limb. This woman had carved her name in my heart long ago, and I still bled from that open wound.

She was my curse, and I wanted to be free.

“What did you choose?” Samara asked.

I blinked, so lost in my own thoughts, I had trouble tracking hers.

“What?”

“You said you had chosen how I will repay you,” she said. “What did you choose?”

I watched her mouth as she spoke. There was something beautiful about the way words formed on her lips. It was not a helpful observation for my cock, which was growing inconveniently harder the longer I looked at her.

“Your Highness?”

I wanted her to say my name. I wanted to hear it in the dead of night while she lay beneath me, overcome with pleasure.

I ground my teeth, frustrated by my thoughts but it was also a reminder of why I’d rescued this woman and brought her into my world.

“I need you to break my curse,” I said.

Before she could respond, I turned toward the fox.

“Lead the way, Fox. We only have seven days.”

“As you command, Prince,” said the fox, who rose and trotted off into the forest.

The trees were thick, their limbs heavy with thorned garland and wild grape vines. The ground was covered with an intricate tangle of tree roots, ferns, and wood anemone that bloomed white, stark against the sea of green. There were other flowers too, but they were not so dense—purple violets, pale pink gooseberry, and a colony of red bleeding heart. Their magic called to me like music, their petals like pretty bells chiming in the wind. Their scent was just as powerful. Some of it was honeyed and healing, and some of it was metallic and toxic, but nothing could overpower Samara, who smelled like sweet oleander. As enticing as it was, I wasthe Prince of Nightshade, and I knew that the sweetest things were sometimes the most poisonous.

With Samara, it had only taken a glance—a glimpse of her pale face, rosy lips, and coal-black hair—and it was done. That was how I knew I was cursed, because there was no such thing as love at first sight, yet here I was, completely ensnared and unable to escape her as she stumbled around behind me in an attempt to navigate the tangled wood.

Everything about her wasloud. Her footsteps were like water crashing upon rocks, her breathing like the howling wind, and she was as slow as a snail. If this was to be our pace, I would fail to break my curse in seven days. I considered carrying her, but the thought of touching her made my body feel too warm and too tight. It was exciting to the point that it repulsed me.

“My lord?” Samara spoke softly but breathlessly.

I recognized her hesitancy as fear, and I did not like it, but I knew her brothers were responsible. They had been terrible since the moment I met her seven years ago. I would have killed them had she not stopped me. I did not understand why she protected them. I had killed my own brothers a time or two for far lesser offenses, though the action was futile. They just came back, worse than before.

I didn’t look at her or ease my stride.

“You may call me Lore,” I said, my voice tight. I wondered if it was a mistake to let her say my name, yet pressure built in my chest as I waited for her to speak it.

She didn’t.

“May I ask you a question?” she asked.

I took a breath and let it out slowly, attempting to dispel the disappointment.

“You may,” I said. As much as I dreaded what she might ask, I did not want to tell her no.

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