Thornwood by Leah Cypess (best value ebook reader TXT) 📗

glare and got out of bed. Her muscles didn’t creak; she rose to her feet as gracefully as if she’d been practicing the move for the past hundred years.

“My prince,” she said.

He rose and bowed. “Prince Varian of Glenall, a kingdom across the northern sea. I heard of your plight and of your beauty and have traveled many leagues to save you. I fought my way to the castle—”

“Fought who?” I asked.

“Briony,” Rosalin hissed. “Go away.”

My shoulders stiffened. I had come straight to her room to make sure she was all right. She had no business acting like I was irrelevant just because some prince had gotten here first.

“I have just as much right to be here as you do,” I said.

“No, you don’t. It’s my room. Go back to yours. And change your dress while you’re at it. Did you not notice that stain?”

I forced myself not to look down. “Who,” I said to the prince, “did you have to fight?”

The prince looked at me. His expression was kind and gentle and a little pitying. People often looked at me like that when I was in the same room as Rosalin. “Ever since you fell asleep, a forest of thorns has guarded your castle against any who would harm you, but it has also blocked it from any who would save you. Everyone knew that breaking the spell would make the Thornwood vanish, but someone had to get through it first. Dozens of princes have tried, and they all came away bloodied and beaten.”

Rosalin’s eyelashes swept upward. “Until you.”

“Right time, right place,” I said. “Good move.”

Rosalin shot me a glare. “Ignore my sister. At her christening, she was given the gift of being the most annoying of them all.”

“That’s not true!” I snapped. “I never even had a christening! Guess why?”

The prince looked confused.

Rosalin flicked her fingers at me dismissively. “That’s right,” she said. “No beauty, no brilliance, no charm for her. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Your fairy godmother,” I said, “never said anything about brilliance or charm. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

Rosalin turned back to Prince Varian. “How did you manage to get to me?”

He looked relieved to have a question he knew the answer to. “I had a magic sword.”

Of course he did.

“It took hours. Every time I cut through the branches, they grew back. Toward the end, they wrapped themselves around my blade and wrested it from me. It vanished within the thorns before I had time to even grab for it.” He shuddered. “I admit, my lady, I almost despaired. But I thought of you, trapped in your slumber, and I knew I could not give up. I fought my way through the last few yards with my bare hands.” He held his arms out, palms up. His hands and forearms were covered with bloody scratches.

I have to admit, I was impressed. Even if I couldn’t help noticing that somehow, even though his arms and hands were all scraped up, not a single scratch marred his much-too-handsome face.

Rosalin gazed up at him, looking like she was going to swoon.

I shivered. “Where did you get a magic sword?”

Prince Varian was too busy staring into Rosalin’s eyes to answer. I wasn’t sure either of them had even heard the question.

Something sharp went through my chest. I tried to ignore it, to be happy for Rosalin. She had been through so much, living her life under the shadow of a curse. Now it was over. We all had our freedom. She had her prince.

And she didn’t need me anymore.

I walked past the pair, who were now leaning so far toward each other I suspected they were both about to fall flat on their faces—be happy for her, be happy for her—and headed for the large windows on the far side of Rosalin’s room. They faced south, which meant the village was right across from them.

If there still was a village. Most of the people who lived there had worked in the castle. Why would they stick around once they couldn’t get to work anymore? And who would want to live near a castle under an evil curse?

Suddenly I wasn’t sure I wanted to look out. But I forced myself to walk to the windows, which were wide open and framed by gold-trimmed curtains of white velvet. I put my elbows on the windowsill and pushed the curtains aside.

But I couldn’t see whether the village was still there.

We were on the top floor, but I couldn’t see anything at all. The window was entirely covered by a tangle of thick dark branches bristling with thorns.

I let out a shriek and stepped back from the window. My arm hit the curtain, knocking it over the windowsill and into the thorns.

The branches twisted and grabbed the curtain, pouncing as if they were alive. They dug their sharp points into the thick fabric, and the velvet tore with a jagged sound, so violently that it was ripped free of the curtain rod. The curtain fell and vanished, swallowed by the thorns.

One vine straightened, a wisp of shredded fabric dangling from its end. It shot upward and grazed the underside of my wrist. I snatched my hand away.

“Rosalin?” I said. My voice came out shrill.

Rosalin was at my side instantly. We looked at the bristling, hungry thorns covering the window.

“Don’t be afraid,” the prince said behind us.

Sure. That was useful advice.

I stepped away from him. My skin felt too tight. When Prince Varian put one hand on Rosalin’s shoulder, my arm muscles tensed.

I didn’t know what it was about him that rubbed me the wrong way. But something wasn’t right.

“The Thornwood should be gone now that the spell is broken,” Rosalin said. Her voice was high and thin. “Why is it still here?”

I reached for her hand, but she was already shrinking against Varian’s side, looking up at him with wide trusting eyes.

“It will be gone,” Varian said. He reached out somewhat hesitantly and put