Page 28 of Apples Dipped in Gold

The bitter nightshade continued to repeat the verse as I followed the broken path Samara had left trampling through the forest to escape me.

Escape. That word twisted through me. As much as I wanted to be rid of this curse, this obsession, I wanted to be the one Samara never feared.

“Are you ever going to tell her?” the fox asked. He lingered behind me, trotting along as if nothing were wrong.

“Tell her what, Fox?” I asked, frustrated.

“Who you are,” he said. “That you are the hand who offered the knife.”

“Why would I tell her such a thing? She showed how she felt seven years ago,” I said, not wanting to face her rejection again.

“Perhaps you are wrong.”

“How can I be wrong when my hand is gone?” I asked.

“Her brothers, they are terrible things,” said the fox. “Have you considered that they may be why you lost your hand?”

“Of course I have considered,” I said. “But nothing changes that she held the knife.”

“Surely, that is not true.”

Honestly, I did not know, but it was easier to believe. She had already rejected me once, and I did not want to face it again.

“What I need most right now is to keep Samara from running so she can break my curse,” I said. After that, I would be free, and so would she, and neither of us would ever think of the other again.

“Are you sure you are cursed?” asked the fox.

“Of course I am sure. She is all I ever think about!”

For the last seven years, she was all I ever dreamed about.

“Have you tried thinking of something else?”

“Of course I have!” I roared, annoyed by the fox’s ridiculous words. I had tried to think ofanythingelse. I’d gone to the very edge of the world and sat with the sun, moon, and stars and still thought of nothing but her. She was unmatched—brighter than the sun, more beautiful than the moon, sweeter than the stars. I loved her more than anything in this terrible world, and I hated it. “I cannot escape her.”

“Apparently, you can,” said the fox. “Or at the very least, she can escapeyou.”

I growled low in my throat. “I hate you, Fox.”

“Mutual, Prince,” he said.

As we continued, a persistent thump echoed throughout the wood. At first, it was faint, but the farther we walked, the louder it grew, and so did my dread. It was soon joined by the sound of flutes and fiddles. It was the sound of fae revelry, and it had likely drawn Samara’s attention, as it would many unlucky mortals tonight.

Just ahead, there came an old fae woman who was no bigger than a crow, her wings beating hard and fast. She wore a skirt of green grass and a shirt made from the petals of a poppy. She carried an umbrella made from maple leaves to keep the sun off her skin, which was sopale, it was almost translucent. Without it, she would surely burn to death.

“Fair maiden,” I said.

“I cannot delay, my lord,” she said, her voice high-pitched like a small bell. “For I must be off to the marsh where the night raven sleeps.”

I followed beside her. “I will join you on your journey if you tell me from where that music comes.”

“It comes from the elfin hill,” she said. “The maidens are practicing their dances.”

There were many elfin hills of varying sizes. Some were small and some were large, some housed tiny fae and some housed larger fae, and unless they were open, they merely appeared to be grassy mounds.

“For whom are they practicing?” I asked.

“Why, for the old elf king’s honorable guests,” she said.

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