Grim, page 32
“My name is Adriel,” he said. “I’m here to help you.”
She asked, “Why would you care about a creature as pitiful as me?”
“I tend to nature, helping the plants and animals grow,” Adriel told her. “I’ve watched you, here in this garden, and I’ve seen the kindness you’ve shown to the animals and for the earth. I’ve also seen your sorrow, and I’ve heard your cries to the gods.”
Rose lowered her eyes. “I never meant to disturb you.”
“You haven’t disturbed me.” He smiled. “And I’ve come to give you a gift.”
He bent down over the queen, and his wings outstretched behind him, casting a shadow over her. He put his hand to her abdomen, and instantly Rose felt a white heat growing inside her. Rays of light shone around his hand, and even after he removed it, her stomach seemed to glow.
“You will have a child,” Adriel told her. “But not just any child. He will have the power of wishing, so whatsoever in the world he wishes for, he shall have.”
“Thank you,” Rose said, her voice trembling with gratitude.
Adriel laughed warmly, and then he disappeared, his body fading away into soft sparkles in the sunlight as if he’d never been there at all. As soon as he’d gone, the queen began to weep, but this time, out of joy.
CHAPTER 2
The Vengeful Cook
While the queen prepared to eat breakfast with the king, she marveled over her son, the same way she had every day since he was born. Nearing four years old, the young prince had already stolen the hearts of everyone in the kingdom.
Prince Brenn shared his mother’s dark hair and fair skin, but he had his father’s gray eyes and charming smile, and it was enough to melt even the hardest of hearts. More than that, he was a kind boy.
On their walks through town, Brenn had offered his apple to a child in need, and he’d encouraged his mother to free a bird caught in a trap. Even at such a young age, he already showed signs of Rose’s warm heart and Elrik’s determination. He seemed to have gotten the best from both his parents.
The family sat around the table for their morning meal, and the portly cook Fyren pushed in the trolley. As soon as the king saw it was Fyren bringing them their breakfast, he grimaced. It had been only a few weeks ago that Elrik had pardoned Fyren, and he’d already grown weary of him.
Since having his son, the king had begun to soften, and he wanted his kingdom to thrive again. In recent months, he’d pardoned petty thieves from the dungeon if they could retain gainful employment. Fyren had claimed to be a chef, but since the king had hired him, Fyren’s cooking had done nothing to support that.
“I trust everything is in order this morning,” said the king as Fyren wheeled their food up to the table.
“Yes, sire, you’ll find you have everything you need here,” Fyren told him, and removed the metal lids from their plates in haste.
He presented the king’s plate first, and to his surprise, everything did seem to be correct. When Fyren set a plate before the queen, she smiled politely and thanked him, though he’d forgotten to give her bread. It was when he got to the prince that his error became the most egregious.
“What is that?” the king asked, pointing to the chunk of meat sitting before his young son.
“It’s ham, my lord,” Fyren told him, bowing lightly when he spoke. His thick black hair was unkempt, with several matted braids running through it. His beard—which he’d promised to trim as soon as he went to work for the royal family—remained unruly and long.
“The prince never eats pork for breakfast,” the king told him. “It gives him an upset stomach, so he only has apples in the morning.”
“I’m very sorry, my king. I’ll return with one immediately,” Fyren said.
“Don’t bother.” Elrik waved at him. “You’ve been troublesome since you began work here. You’re an inferior cook, a dirty man, and I see no reason to continue your employ.”
“My king,” Rose implored to her husband, “he’s only just started.”
The king sighed and gave the cook a hard look. “Let this serve as a warning to you, then. If my wife did not possess such a forgiving heart, you would be back in the dungeon. But if you do not do your job properly, you will return in no time.”
“Yes, my lord, thank you,” Fyren said, bowing again, then turned to the queen. “Thank you, my queen.”
The cook had begun to back out of the room when the prince announced loudly, “I wish for an apple.”
No sooner had the words escaped his lips than a fresh red apple appeared on the table before him.
“Brenn!” The queen was aghast. She looked up to see if the cook was gone, but Fyren didn’t appear to be in sight. “You mustn’t make wishes in front of others. You know the rules.”
“It’s only you and Father here,” the boy said, taking a bite of his apple.
“You did not check for the cook or any other servants,” the king said. “You must always be absolutely certain you are alone before you make a wish.”
“Why, Father?” Brenn asked. “Why must I be so careful?”
“If someone found out what you could do, they could use it against you,” King Elrik said. “They would harm you to gain the use of your wishes.”
“But I would share my wishes,” Brenn said. “If anyone asked, I’d gladly share.”
“I know.” Rose smiled and reached over, squeezing her son’s small hand in hers. “But we must keep this a secret. For your safety, and for ours. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mother.” He frowned, and sadness filled his gray eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. Just be more careful,” Rose told him. “Now finish your breakfast, and when you’re done, I’ll take you out to the garden.”
“The garden?” Elrik asked, raising an eyebrow at his wife while Brenn raced to devour his apple.
The queen said, “It’s perfectly safe, Elrik. You worry too much.”
“It’s hardly safe for you, let alone a boy of his age,” the king said. He grew louder as he spoke, so his voice boomed through the dining hall. “The beasts would be much happier feasting on a soft young boy than the squawking geese.”
“It’s early in the morning, and all the wicked beasts are asleep,” Rose said, acquiescing to her husband’s fears even if she did not fully share them. “I will be out there with Brenn, and the guards will be nearby if we should need them. We won’t be out that long, and we’ll be safe.”
As soon as they’d finished eating, the queen took Brenn out to the garden. She delighted in showing him the trees and the vines, the birds and the frogs, and Brenn seemed as taken with everything as she.
When they came to her favorite flower—the pink carnations—she plucked one and gave it to the young prince. Never had she seen anyone hold a flower so delicately, so careful not to disturb a single petal, and she couldn’t have imagined that a boy of his age would be so thoughtful.
Despite the king’s warning not to linger, Rose and Brenn spent the afternoon in the garden, playing among the flowers. Rose didn’t even realize how much time had passed until she began feeling tired.
Lying down next to the stream, Rose intended to rest for only a moment, but soon both she and Brenn had fallen asleep. Her son lay in her arms as the sound of the stream lulled them.
That was when Fyren saw his chance. He knew his time under the king’s service was growing short, and the cook had to find a way to sustain himself. He’d heard rumors of the prince’s wishing power, but it wasn’t until this morning, when Brenn had wished himself an apple, that Fyren had actually witnessed it.
With that, his decision was made. Fyren would take the boy for himself and make Brenn grant him the life he’d always wanted. So he’d followed Queen Rose and her son out to the garden. Fyren had stayed hidden in the bushes, waiting for the moment when the queen was the most unguarded.
Once she was asleep by the stream, Fyren put his plan in motion. He grabbed a wild boar youngling, and before the beast could make a sound, Fyren had slit its throat with his butcher’s knife. Then he’d covered the queen’s dress with fresh red blood, and then discarded the boar’s body in the stream.
When the king came looking for his wife, he’d find her like this, covered in blood with the child missing. He would think his worst fears had come true—that a wild beast had snatched Brenn from his mother and eaten him, leaving only the boy’s blood.
Carefully, Fyren took the sleeping babe from her arms, and then dashed off into the brush before either the queen or the prince could. He kept running—traveling days with only short breaks to sleep in the darkest part of the night. He went over the cold waters of the Eisenfluss River, past the dark branches of the Verzanfrost Woods, and Fyren didn’t stop until he’d reached the highest peak of the Graulumberg Mountains, far out of the reaches of King Elrik’s kingdom.
CHAPTER 3
The Flower Girl
The walls of the castle were high, just as Fyren had commanded Brenn to wish for, and all day and all night, they were filled with the sounds of the young prince crying. Nothing Fyren did seemed to ease Brenn’s sadness.
Fyren had told Brenn that a war had broken out and his parents had been killed. Fyren—being so sneaky and wise—had gotten past the warriors, and Brenn’s mother had commanded Fyren to take Brenn away, to keep him safe, and that Brenn was to do exactly as Fyren ordered.
Fyren had warned the boy about wishing for his mother or his father to return. He’d told him they both had been killed, and if he wished for them, they would rise from the earth, living as the unholy undead. They would be cursed monsters, and his parents deserved a peaceful slumber in their afterlife, so Brenn did not wish for them.
While Brenn had believed him, he had yet to comply with Fyren’s order to stop wailing.
Now that Fyren had a great castle at the top of the highest peak on the tallest mountain in the land, filled with riches and treasures, Fyren had begun to consider that his use for Brenn was done. If the boy didn’t stop crying soon, Fyren would have his head.
But he couldn’t do that just yet. Although it seemed that Fyren had all that his dark heart had ever desired, he didn’t know what the future might bring. It would be rash to get rid of his magic wishing tool so soon. Fyren had to find a way to silence Brenn before it drove him mad.
“Why is it that you cry so?” Fyren asked the prince finally. They were eating dinner, though the boy had hardly touched the roasted beef before them. Brenn only cried softly, staring down at the table.
“I miss Mother and Father,” Brenn replied.
“I have told you—they would not want you to be so unhappy,” Fyren told him. “You must be happy and stop this constant crying. It’s as your parents would have you do.”
“I know, sire.” The prince sniffled. “I am very sorry, but I am so lonely.”
The cook said, “I care for you and keep you safe from the men who killed your parents. You are not alone in this castle. I am as a father to you now, boy. Am I not enough to you?”
“You may be as a father to me, but you speak hardly a word to me,” Brenn said. “It is only you and I here, and you cannot be as a mother or my playmates back at home.”
The cook considered this for a moment and nodded. “Then make yourself a friend. If it will keep you happy and calm, wish yourself a pretty girl to keep you company.”
While the boy was excited about the prospect of no longer being alone, he didn’t wish for a friend immediately. He wanted to think about it long and well, making sure he’d made the absolute perfect friend before he made his wish.
The prince spent most of his time with his thoughts in the garden behind the castle. Fyren had given him the exact details of how he wanted his castle to be built, but Brenn had been left to wish for the garden on his own, so he’d wished for a garden exactly like his mother’s.
It was a few days later, as he was sitting out among the pink carnations, that Brenn was certain he’d finally crafted his wish.
With a loud, strong voice, he said, “I wanted to wish for a friend who is lovely and kind, loyal and patient, funny and gentle, strong and beautiful, intelligent and diligent, but the only thing I really wish for is a girl who will be my true friend for the rest of my days.”
No sooner had he made his wish than he saw the flowers next to him begin to move. He pushed back the petals and saw a girl, appearing to be just his age of four, curled up among the stems. She was nude, but her long golden waves of hair covered her.
Her lids fluttered open, and the girl sat up. She was as lovely as he’d hoped for, and he could see the warmth and playful spark in her eyes.
“What is your name?” Brenn asked the girl.
“I am Dianthus,” she told him, and smiled. “I don’t know how I came to be here, but I know that I am your friend.”
Twelve years went by, and Dianthus proved herself to be the truest of friends. She was far more loyal, kind and generous than Brenn would’ve known to wish for. In the dark castle, with Fyren lording over them, Brenn and Dianthus hid in the shadow to avoid his wrath.
Fyren still commanded the boy to make his wishes, but he’d grown even more ill-tempered as he aged, striking out in unprovoked rages. He’d become paranoid about everything, and he seemed to distrust the friendship between Brenn and Dianthus.
Escaping out to the garden as often as they could, Brenn and Dianthus created a world for themselves among the flowers. Fyren never left the safety of the castle walls anymore, claiming that he was afraid that the men who’d killed Brenn’s parents would come after Fyren soon.
While Brenn still listened to Fyren’s rants, he didn’t believe them any longer. He was now a young man of sixteen, and he wasn’t as easily fooled as the young boy Fyren had stowed away those many years ago.
Not to mention that Brenn had more pressing things on his mind. Like the change in his friendship with Dianthus.
For years, she had been his closest confidante, his only respite in the dark storm of his life. He’d shared with her all his darkest secrets, as he’d learned hers. He’d protected her from Fyren’s increasing tantrums, as she had nursed his wounds after horrible fights.
He’d considered her nothing more than this—nothing more than his everything—but as each day passed, with Dianthus growing more beautiful than she had been the day before, Brenn could no longer deny that he was in love with her.
“Do you ever notice that your lips are the color of the pink?” Brenn asked her in the garden as she lay among the carnations, reading a book.
“The color of the pink?” Dianthus lifted her blue eyes to meet his.
“The flowers.” Brenn was lying down next to her, and he rolled to his side. “You are far more beautiful than they will ever be, though.”
Then Brenn leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the mouth, and the kiss seemed to warm him from within, the heat radiating all through him like a flower opening its petals to the sun in the morning.
“You are my one, my one true love,” Brenn said, breathing in deeply and filling his lungs with the aroma of the flower bed. “I love you, Dianthus.”
Her pastel lips curved into a smile as a blush darkened her cheeks. “I know.”
“You know?” Brenn asked in surprise. “How could you know when I’ve only just discovered it for myself?”
“I’ve known since the first time you took my hand and led me into the castle,” Dianthus told him. “And every time you’ve taken my hand since then, and put your body in front of mine to spare me from Fyren’s belt, and each time you looked up into my eyes in that unabashed way you do. I knew that you loved me as deeply and as eternally as I loved you.”
Brenn stared down at her. “If you’ve known all this time, did you not think to tell me?”
“My dear, sweet Brenn.” She put her hand on his cheek, warming his skin, and he leaned into it, relishing the way it made his heartbeat quicken every time they touched. “It is not my place to tell you who you love. You must discover it on your own, and I am so glad that you finally have.”
“How come?” Brenn asked.
“Because now we can do this.” She pulled him back to her, and she kissed him fully on the mouth.
And in that moment, Brenn discovered that she was right. He had loved her since the moment he’d met her, but he’d been unwilling to see it. Deep down, he’d always known that Fyren would take away everything he loved, and Brenn had never cared for anything as much as he cared for Dianthus.
But in her arms in the garden where they’d created their world, Brenn no longer cared about Fyren. They weren’t scared children anymore. He could take Dianthus away from this place, away from Fyren, and they could start a life of their own. They could be married and have a family and a home, and something far grander than anything Fyren would have in store for them.
CHAPTER 4
The Sinister Father
From the high tower of the castle, Fyren stared out of his window, watching down in the garden as the prince kissed the flower girl for the first time. It was at that moment, as Brenn declared his love to Dianthus, that Fyren realized it was time to get rid of the prince.
Soon, Brenn would leave, venture out on his own with his true love and make a name for himself. Fyren had been able to hold him as a prisoner in the castle with threats of the king and queen’s enemies, but Brenn was old enough to believe he could fend for himself.
If Brenn left, it wouldn’t be that long before he found out his mother and father were still alive, and then it would be a very short time after that before the king sent all his men after Fyren to capture and execute him. If Fyren did not kill Brenn now, before he left with Dianthus, then the old cook himself would be dead.
She asked, “Why would you care about a creature as pitiful as me?”
“I tend to nature, helping the plants and animals grow,” Adriel told her. “I’ve watched you, here in this garden, and I’ve seen the kindness you’ve shown to the animals and for the earth. I’ve also seen your sorrow, and I’ve heard your cries to the gods.”
Rose lowered her eyes. “I never meant to disturb you.”
“You haven’t disturbed me.” He smiled. “And I’ve come to give you a gift.”
He bent down over the queen, and his wings outstretched behind him, casting a shadow over her. He put his hand to her abdomen, and instantly Rose felt a white heat growing inside her. Rays of light shone around his hand, and even after he removed it, her stomach seemed to glow.
“You will have a child,” Adriel told her. “But not just any child. He will have the power of wishing, so whatsoever in the world he wishes for, he shall have.”
“Thank you,” Rose said, her voice trembling with gratitude.
Adriel laughed warmly, and then he disappeared, his body fading away into soft sparkles in the sunlight as if he’d never been there at all. As soon as he’d gone, the queen began to weep, but this time, out of joy.
CHAPTER 2
The Vengeful Cook
While the queen prepared to eat breakfast with the king, she marveled over her son, the same way she had every day since he was born. Nearing four years old, the young prince had already stolen the hearts of everyone in the kingdom.
Prince Brenn shared his mother’s dark hair and fair skin, but he had his father’s gray eyes and charming smile, and it was enough to melt even the hardest of hearts. More than that, he was a kind boy.
On their walks through town, Brenn had offered his apple to a child in need, and he’d encouraged his mother to free a bird caught in a trap. Even at such a young age, he already showed signs of Rose’s warm heart and Elrik’s determination. He seemed to have gotten the best from both his parents.
The family sat around the table for their morning meal, and the portly cook Fyren pushed in the trolley. As soon as the king saw it was Fyren bringing them their breakfast, he grimaced. It had been only a few weeks ago that Elrik had pardoned Fyren, and he’d already grown weary of him.
Since having his son, the king had begun to soften, and he wanted his kingdom to thrive again. In recent months, he’d pardoned petty thieves from the dungeon if they could retain gainful employment. Fyren had claimed to be a chef, but since the king had hired him, Fyren’s cooking had done nothing to support that.
“I trust everything is in order this morning,” said the king as Fyren wheeled their food up to the table.
“Yes, sire, you’ll find you have everything you need here,” Fyren told him, and removed the metal lids from their plates in haste.
He presented the king’s plate first, and to his surprise, everything did seem to be correct. When Fyren set a plate before the queen, she smiled politely and thanked him, though he’d forgotten to give her bread. It was when he got to the prince that his error became the most egregious.
“What is that?” the king asked, pointing to the chunk of meat sitting before his young son.
“It’s ham, my lord,” Fyren told him, bowing lightly when he spoke. His thick black hair was unkempt, with several matted braids running through it. His beard—which he’d promised to trim as soon as he went to work for the royal family—remained unruly and long.
“The prince never eats pork for breakfast,” the king told him. “It gives him an upset stomach, so he only has apples in the morning.”
“I’m very sorry, my king. I’ll return with one immediately,” Fyren said.
“Don’t bother.” Elrik waved at him. “You’ve been troublesome since you began work here. You’re an inferior cook, a dirty man, and I see no reason to continue your employ.”
“My king,” Rose implored to her husband, “he’s only just started.”
The king sighed and gave the cook a hard look. “Let this serve as a warning to you, then. If my wife did not possess such a forgiving heart, you would be back in the dungeon. But if you do not do your job properly, you will return in no time.”
“Yes, my lord, thank you,” Fyren said, bowing again, then turned to the queen. “Thank you, my queen.”
The cook had begun to back out of the room when the prince announced loudly, “I wish for an apple.”
No sooner had the words escaped his lips than a fresh red apple appeared on the table before him.
“Brenn!” The queen was aghast. She looked up to see if the cook was gone, but Fyren didn’t appear to be in sight. “You mustn’t make wishes in front of others. You know the rules.”
“It’s only you and Father here,” the boy said, taking a bite of his apple.
“You did not check for the cook or any other servants,” the king said. “You must always be absolutely certain you are alone before you make a wish.”
“Why, Father?” Brenn asked. “Why must I be so careful?”
“If someone found out what you could do, they could use it against you,” King Elrik said. “They would harm you to gain the use of your wishes.”
“But I would share my wishes,” Brenn said. “If anyone asked, I’d gladly share.”
“I know.” Rose smiled and reached over, squeezing her son’s small hand in hers. “But we must keep this a secret. For your safety, and for ours. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mother.” He frowned, and sadness filled his gray eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. Just be more careful,” Rose told him. “Now finish your breakfast, and when you’re done, I’ll take you out to the garden.”
“The garden?” Elrik asked, raising an eyebrow at his wife while Brenn raced to devour his apple.
The queen said, “It’s perfectly safe, Elrik. You worry too much.”
“It’s hardly safe for you, let alone a boy of his age,” the king said. He grew louder as he spoke, so his voice boomed through the dining hall. “The beasts would be much happier feasting on a soft young boy than the squawking geese.”
“It’s early in the morning, and all the wicked beasts are asleep,” Rose said, acquiescing to her husband’s fears even if she did not fully share them. “I will be out there with Brenn, and the guards will be nearby if we should need them. We won’t be out that long, and we’ll be safe.”
As soon as they’d finished eating, the queen took Brenn out to the garden. She delighted in showing him the trees and the vines, the birds and the frogs, and Brenn seemed as taken with everything as she.
When they came to her favorite flower—the pink carnations—she plucked one and gave it to the young prince. Never had she seen anyone hold a flower so delicately, so careful not to disturb a single petal, and she couldn’t have imagined that a boy of his age would be so thoughtful.
Despite the king’s warning not to linger, Rose and Brenn spent the afternoon in the garden, playing among the flowers. Rose didn’t even realize how much time had passed until she began feeling tired.
Lying down next to the stream, Rose intended to rest for only a moment, but soon both she and Brenn had fallen asleep. Her son lay in her arms as the sound of the stream lulled them.
That was when Fyren saw his chance. He knew his time under the king’s service was growing short, and the cook had to find a way to sustain himself. He’d heard rumors of the prince’s wishing power, but it wasn’t until this morning, when Brenn had wished himself an apple, that Fyren had actually witnessed it.
With that, his decision was made. Fyren would take the boy for himself and make Brenn grant him the life he’d always wanted. So he’d followed Queen Rose and her son out to the garden. Fyren had stayed hidden in the bushes, waiting for the moment when the queen was the most unguarded.
Once she was asleep by the stream, Fyren put his plan in motion. He grabbed a wild boar youngling, and before the beast could make a sound, Fyren had slit its throat with his butcher’s knife. Then he’d covered the queen’s dress with fresh red blood, and then discarded the boar’s body in the stream.
When the king came looking for his wife, he’d find her like this, covered in blood with the child missing. He would think his worst fears had come true—that a wild beast had snatched Brenn from his mother and eaten him, leaving only the boy’s blood.
Carefully, Fyren took the sleeping babe from her arms, and then dashed off into the brush before either the queen or the prince could. He kept running—traveling days with only short breaks to sleep in the darkest part of the night. He went over the cold waters of the Eisenfluss River, past the dark branches of the Verzanfrost Woods, and Fyren didn’t stop until he’d reached the highest peak of the Graulumberg Mountains, far out of the reaches of King Elrik’s kingdom.
CHAPTER 3
The Flower Girl
The walls of the castle were high, just as Fyren had commanded Brenn to wish for, and all day and all night, they were filled with the sounds of the young prince crying. Nothing Fyren did seemed to ease Brenn’s sadness.
Fyren had told Brenn that a war had broken out and his parents had been killed. Fyren—being so sneaky and wise—had gotten past the warriors, and Brenn’s mother had commanded Fyren to take Brenn away, to keep him safe, and that Brenn was to do exactly as Fyren ordered.
Fyren had warned the boy about wishing for his mother or his father to return. He’d told him they both had been killed, and if he wished for them, they would rise from the earth, living as the unholy undead. They would be cursed monsters, and his parents deserved a peaceful slumber in their afterlife, so Brenn did not wish for them.
While Brenn had believed him, he had yet to comply with Fyren’s order to stop wailing.
Now that Fyren had a great castle at the top of the highest peak on the tallest mountain in the land, filled with riches and treasures, Fyren had begun to consider that his use for Brenn was done. If the boy didn’t stop crying soon, Fyren would have his head.
But he couldn’t do that just yet. Although it seemed that Fyren had all that his dark heart had ever desired, he didn’t know what the future might bring. It would be rash to get rid of his magic wishing tool so soon. Fyren had to find a way to silence Brenn before it drove him mad.
“Why is it that you cry so?” Fyren asked the prince finally. They were eating dinner, though the boy had hardly touched the roasted beef before them. Brenn only cried softly, staring down at the table.
“I miss Mother and Father,” Brenn replied.
“I have told you—they would not want you to be so unhappy,” Fyren told him. “You must be happy and stop this constant crying. It’s as your parents would have you do.”
“I know, sire.” The prince sniffled. “I am very sorry, but I am so lonely.”
The cook said, “I care for you and keep you safe from the men who killed your parents. You are not alone in this castle. I am as a father to you now, boy. Am I not enough to you?”
“You may be as a father to me, but you speak hardly a word to me,” Brenn said. “It is only you and I here, and you cannot be as a mother or my playmates back at home.”
The cook considered this for a moment and nodded. “Then make yourself a friend. If it will keep you happy and calm, wish yourself a pretty girl to keep you company.”
While the boy was excited about the prospect of no longer being alone, he didn’t wish for a friend immediately. He wanted to think about it long and well, making sure he’d made the absolute perfect friend before he made his wish.
The prince spent most of his time with his thoughts in the garden behind the castle. Fyren had given him the exact details of how he wanted his castle to be built, but Brenn had been left to wish for the garden on his own, so he’d wished for a garden exactly like his mother’s.
It was a few days later, as he was sitting out among the pink carnations, that Brenn was certain he’d finally crafted his wish.
With a loud, strong voice, he said, “I wanted to wish for a friend who is lovely and kind, loyal and patient, funny and gentle, strong and beautiful, intelligent and diligent, but the only thing I really wish for is a girl who will be my true friend for the rest of my days.”
No sooner had he made his wish than he saw the flowers next to him begin to move. He pushed back the petals and saw a girl, appearing to be just his age of four, curled up among the stems. She was nude, but her long golden waves of hair covered her.
Her lids fluttered open, and the girl sat up. She was as lovely as he’d hoped for, and he could see the warmth and playful spark in her eyes.
“What is your name?” Brenn asked the girl.
“I am Dianthus,” she told him, and smiled. “I don’t know how I came to be here, but I know that I am your friend.”
Twelve years went by, and Dianthus proved herself to be the truest of friends. She was far more loyal, kind and generous than Brenn would’ve known to wish for. In the dark castle, with Fyren lording over them, Brenn and Dianthus hid in the shadow to avoid his wrath.
Fyren still commanded the boy to make his wishes, but he’d grown even more ill-tempered as he aged, striking out in unprovoked rages. He’d become paranoid about everything, and he seemed to distrust the friendship between Brenn and Dianthus.
Escaping out to the garden as often as they could, Brenn and Dianthus created a world for themselves among the flowers. Fyren never left the safety of the castle walls anymore, claiming that he was afraid that the men who’d killed Brenn’s parents would come after Fyren soon.
While Brenn still listened to Fyren’s rants, he didn’t believe them any longer. He was now a young man of sixteen, and he wasn’t as easily fooled as the young boy Fyren had stowed away those many years ago.
Not to mention that Brenn had more pressing things on his mind. Like the change in his friendship with Dianthus.
For years, she had been his closest confidante, his only respite in the dark storm of his life. He’d shared with her all his darkest secrets, as he’d learned hers. He’d protected her from Fyren’s increasing tantrums, as she had nursed his wounds after horrible fights.
He’d considered her nothing more than this—nothing more than his everything—but as each day passed, with Dianthus growing more beautiful than she had been the day before, Brenn could no longer deny that he was in love with her.
“Do you ever notice that your lips are the color of the pink?” Brenn asked her in the garden as she lay among the carnations, reading a book.
“The color of the pink?” Dianthus lifted her blue eyes to meet his.
“The flowers.” Brenn was lying down next to her, and he rolled to his side. “You are far more beautiful than they will ever be, though.”
Then Brenn leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the mouth, and the kiss seemed to warm him from within, the heat radiating all through him like a flower opening its petals to the sun in the morning.
“You are my one, my one true love,” Brenn said, breathing in deeply and filling his lungs with the aroma of the flower bed. “I love you, Dianthus.”
Her pastel lips curved into a smile as a blush darkened her cheeks. “I know.”
“You know?” Brenn asked in surprise. “How could you know when I’ve only just discovered it for myself?”
“I’ve known since the first time you took my hand and led me into the castle,” Dianthus told him. “And every time you’ve taken my hand since then, and put your body in front of mine to spare me from Fyren’s belt, and each time you looked up into my eyes in that unabashed way you do. I knew that you loved me as deeply and as eternally as I loved you.”
Brenn stared down at her. “If you’ve known all this time, did you not think to tell me?”
“My dear, sweet Brenn.” She put her hand on his cheek, warming his skin, and he leaned into it, relishing the way it made his heartbeat quicken every time they touched. “It is not my place to tell you who you love. You must discover it on your own, and I am so glad that you finally have.”
“How come?” Brenn asked.
“Because now we can do this.” She pulled him back to her, and she kissed him fully on the mouth.
And in that moment, Brenn discovered that she was right. He had loved her since the moment he’d met her, but he’d been unwilling to see it. Deep down, he’d always known that Fyren would take away everything he loved, and Brenn had never cared for anything as much as he cared for Dianthus.
But in her arms in the garden where they’d created their world, Brenn no longer cared about Fyren. They weren’t scared children anymore. He could take Dianthus away from this place, away from Fyren, and they could start a life of their own. They could be married and have a family and a home, and something far grander than anything Fyren would have in store for them.
CHAPTER 4
The Sinister Father
From the high tower of the castle, Fyren stared out of his window, watching down in the garden as the prince kissed the flower girl for the first time. It was at that moment, as Brenn declared his love to Dianthus, that Fyren realized it was time to get rid of the prince.
Soon, Brenn would leave, venture out on his own with his true love and make a name for himself. Fyren had been able to hold him as a prisoner in the castle with threats of the king and queen’s enemies, but Brenn was old enough to believe he could fend for himself.
If Brenn left, it wouldn’t be that long before he found out his mother and father were still alive, and then it would be a very short time after that before the king sent all his men after Fyren to capture and execute him. If Fyren did not kill Brenn now, before he left with Dianthus, then the old cook himself would be dead.
