Page 27 of The Curse and the Silver Rose

His tattoos smarted and blistered, permanent reminders of his family’s crimes. He had long grown used to the physical pain, and only when it bubbled over into true agony was he forced to subdue the effects with a potion from his mother’s apothecary.

No potion could erase them from his flesh, though.

Davron frowned. His churning thoughts were pricking and prodding, trying to tell him something. He was missing an essential element, he could feel it.

He worked backward. Potion. Levissina. Orchestrated.

Gods. Of course.

With a snarl, he strode back through the castle to the console where he’d left the Blood Of The Dragon. He sniffed the bottle again, more carefully this time. His preternatural sense of smell detected something very subtle, and familiar to him.

Henbane. A magical plant, deadly poisonous in high doses. In lower doses, the herb brought forth his beast by force. He’d destroyed any henbane his mother had kept in her stores, after discovering his reaction to it. Many years had passed since he’d come into contact with the herb.

Poor Oskar had been an unwitting courier for Levissina’s spiked bottle. No wonder the shipment had made it past the raiders for once. The Dark One had always colluded with raiders, using them with impunity for her twisted desires. They’d let through the shipment, and then she’d snuck the spiked bottle into the box destined for his castle. It would’ve been easy for her.

He sighed, corking the bottle and tossing it in a nearby hearth.

Perhaps today’s events, terrible though they had been, were for the best. Amelie would return home to her sister and protective brothers, where she’d be safe. It was clear she would never love him, and Levissina’s appetite for his pain would be sated, at least for now. Everything would be as it was supposed to be.

Despite discovering the poisoned liquor, Davron did not go after Amelie. There was no point. She was terrified, and nothing he could say would change what happened in the library. Whether he’d meant to hurt her or not was irrelevant. All that mattered was that he had.

His blood still tingling uncomfortably from the effects of the henbane, Davron found the nearest drawing room and poured himself a glass of cognac from the drinks cart. For a moment, he looked at the glass. He rethought his decision and took the entire bottle to the polished oak table instead.

There, he sat in the dark, swigging the bittersweet liquid until his thoughts began to tilt and sway. He let his mind drift, hoping for some kind of oblivion, or at least a nightmare to match his waking life. Anything to help him forget.

Amelie’s face was all that filled his mind instead. She was the only thing that’d mattered since the moment he first saw her, standing wild and beautiful in the doorway of his castle keep. The swirling clouds behind her gave the impression she’d descended directly from the heavens.

To begin with, she hadn’t even known he was present. He watched her from the shadows, knowing in his half-dead heart that she would alter him forever. Knowing he should save her by sending her away at once. And knowing he would not.

Those precious, stolen moments belonged only to him. She existed in his world, yet she was unaware of his ugliness and scars. But stolen moments, by their very nature, could not endure. He had to speak, break the spell, and make himself known. When she registered his voice, a flicker of fear and concern crossed over her face—for the first time, but not the last.

The day was long when Davron regained consciousness in the drawing room. The cognac bottle lay on its side, and amber liquid pooled on the table. He glanced at the clock and realized she would be far away by now.

The golden horse would have appeared to take her home safely. There would be no reason to delay, nor pass through the village, where the Dark One dwelled. Amelie had been at Castle Grange for mere days. Mercifully, that was not enough time to make any friends she’d need to farewell.

Unless . . .

“No,” said Davron with a moan, rising to his feet, a horrible possibility occurring to him. “Please, no.”

Amelie had worried for Oskar’s fever-stricken boy. Only now did Davron understand that she hoped he would take up the cause. And he hadn’t. What kind of a brute would overlook the chance to aid a sick child?

For nearly a decade, Davron’s existence had been one of unfailing solitude. He provided financially for the province and figured he owed nothing further. It did not occur to him that he had anything else to offer.

He did owe something else, though. He owed human decency. Amelie saw it. She’d been gently trying to make him see it, too. And he’d ignored her.

Davron knew her well enough to be sure she wouldn’t go home without first helping the child. As he rushed to the other side of the castle, he called her name, knowing in his gut that she was already gone. Indeed, the door to her chambers was hanging open.

“Hello?”

There was no reply.

Tentatively, he stepped inside, and her scent nearly broke him in two. Honey and roses. It was torture.

Her satchel was gone, along with the clothes she’d brought. The gowns and jewelry Davron had gifted her were in the armoire. The dress he’d slashed in the library lay discarded on the rug, reigniting his guilt.

The silver rose was not there, at least. She had the sword. The clamshell remained on the nightstand, though. He opened the shell, the Heartstone glinting at him. When he had given it to her brothers after they’d struck their crude bargain, Davron had hoped the shell and rose would never leave Amelie’s possession.

He hastily returned the shell to the nightstand and rushed to the apothecary.

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