Page 5 of A Heart Disguised 1

“And let’s not forget,” Henry continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “they say he can smell fear… and virginity. Gods help you if you’re both afraid and pure.”

Lady Aldercrest turned to me, her eyes as cold and unforgiving as a midwinter frost. “High time you earned your keep, boy. We’ve let you live like a prince while other bastards scrape by in the gutters. Be grateful for this chance to serve your betters, and perhaps the demon lord will find some use for you beyond his bed.”

Her words struck me like physical blows, each one chipping away at what little resolve I had left. I stood there, trembling like a leaf in a gale, as the full weight of my fate crashed down upon me.

I gently extricated myself from Lily’s embrace, my mind a whirlwind of panic and disbelief. As I turned to leave, my gazelingered on my sisters—Rosalind, fierce and indignant, and Lily, sweet and devastated. I wanted to tell them it would be alright, that I would find a way out of this madness, but the words died on my tongue.

With a heavy heart, I left the room, the weight of my impending doom settling upon my shoulders, a grim reminder that my life was no longer my own.

The days following my father’s decree passed in a haze of disbelief and dread, punctuated by Meredith’s near-constant wailing. My dear nursemaid had become a veritable fountain of tears, each day bringing forth a new deluge of sorrow and increasingly outlandish tales of horror from the market square.

“Oh, Master Robin,” she howled one morning, her face resembling a rather soggy tomato, “they say the Duke of Lunaria has eyes that glow red in the dark, like a demon fresh from the bowels of Infernum! And his… his manhood! They say ’tis forked like a serpent’s tongue and as long as your arm!”

I suppressed a shudder, my mind conjuring images as ridiculous as they were terrifying. “How delightful,” I muttered. “Perhaps he can use it to stir his tea.”

Meredith, oblivious to my sarcasm, plowed on. “He has a voracious hunger for human flesh, my dear! Some say he keeps a larder full of preserved corpses for when the fancy strikes him!”

“Well, at least I won’t have to worry about cooking,” I quipped, though my attempt at humor fell flat in the face of her genuine distress.

Every so often, Meredith would burst into the parlor, her eyes red-rimmed and cheeks streaked with salt, spouting themost outlandish escape plans. These sudden intrusions often caught me mid-sulk or with my nose buried in a book, vainly attempting to distract myself from my impending nuptials.

One morning, she burst in wielding a wooden spoon like a scepter, a half-stirred pot of porridge still steaming in her other hand. “We’ll dress you as a traveling minstrel,” she blurted, “and you’ll sing your way to freedom!”

The idea would’ve been amusing if not for the dire circumstances. “And what shall I sing? Ballads of my woeful escape from a demon’s clutches?”

She ignored my jest, continuing with an even wilder scheme the next day. This time, she appeared with a basket of laundry balanced precariously on her hip, a pair of my undergarments dangling from her fingertips. “We’ll join a circus! They’re always looking for folk with… unique talents.”

I raised an eyebrow, hastily plucking my unmentionables from her grasp. “Unique indeed. Perhaps I could be billed asThe Boy Bride Who Escaped the Demon Duke.”

Her sobbing renewed with every return from town, her basket of groceries accompanied by ever more grotesque rumors about the duke. Once, she nearly upended a sack of potatoes in her haste to share the latest gossip.

“They say his shadow alone can strangle a man!” she gasped between sobs one afternoon, frantically peeling an onion as if it had personally offended her.

“Convenient,” I quipped dryly, though a tremor ran through me. “I’ll be sure to keep the curtains drawn.”

“And that he beds his victims on a pile of bones—the remnants of his conquests!” This revelation came as she aggressively kneaded dough, flour clouding the air like a portent of doom.

I grimaced at the thought. “One can only hope they’re properly dusted. Wouldn’t want to sneeze at an inopportune moment.”

Her next tale was more harrowing still, delivered as she vigorously beat a rug outside my window. “In the throes of passion, he transforms into a creature so hideous, so vile that—”

“I get the picture, Meredith,” I cut in before my imagination could conjure anything more disturbing, ducking to avoid a cloud of dust. “Perhaps I’ll simply keep my eyes closed and think of Aethoria.”

Russet, sensing my unease, stayed close, his warm fur a small comfort. His gaze often met mine as if to offer silent support, nuzzling against me when my anxiety peaked. Yet even his steadfast presence couldn’t fully quell the knot coiling in my stomach as our departure loomed closer.

“At least you won’t have to worry about being served for dinner,” I told him, scratching behind his ears. “Though I can’t say the same for myself.”

I sulked through those days, though resignation slowly gave way to determination. My sisters’ welfare was my anchor; I wouldn’t let them suffer on my account. Russet’s unwavering companionship, while not enough to calm my frayed nerves entirely, reminded me that I wasn’t entirely alone in this ordeal.

My sisters’ visits were bittersweet, their tearful embraces leaving damp patches on my shirtsleeves. Lily, with her innocent eyes brimming with tears, clung to me as if she could keep me tethered to our world. “Promise you’ll write,” she sniffled into my shoulder.

“Of course,” I assured her, not mentioning that I wasn’t entirely sure the duke’s castle had a functioning postal service. For all I knew, they used bats or other hellish creatures to deliver messages.

Rosalind, ever the fiery protector, would often sit in stoic silence, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and determination. At times, her passionate nature would burst forth, and she’d vow to set the world ablaze if any harm came to me. “I’ll storm the castle myself if I have to,” she declared.

“And what will you do when you get there?” I asked, amused despite myself. “Challenge the duke to a duel?”

“If I must,” she replied, her chin jutting out defiantly.

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