Page 8 of Breaking Briar

“I do believe you have healed me completely. You have my gratitude.”

As I lean down into a low bow, she grabs my hand and yanks me forward. “Excellent! Let us play!”

“Play?” I shoot back, a grin threatening to tilt my lips. “A prince does not play.”

Briar lets go of my hand and plants both of her hands on her hips, giving me the sternest frown I think she can muster. “You can too. I saw you earlier. Before you fainted. You and Master Balcom were playing out in the courtyard.”

“I- But that is not-” I stop, noting the quiver of her lips once more.

The last thing I want to do is make her cry. Shaking my head, I kneel before her, bringing myself to eye level with the incorrigible princess. “What shall you have us play?”

All traces of sadness vanish as she claps her hands together with child-like glee. Was I ever that happy? I cannot remember. Honestly, it’s as if nothing else resides in my head earlier than the day I met her and the awful witch.

Try as I might, I cannot conjure a life before I was ten. Surely, I had one. Were there not moments where I too played amongst the rooms and halls of the castle? Begging the servants to entertain me?

A haze floods my mind, causing my head to ache. Shaking it back and forth, I do my best to dispel it, but the mist remains. As always, the moment I stop prying, the pain goes away.

“Prince Philip,” she cries out, once more balling her hands into fists and placing them on her hips. “Are you listening?”

I bring my mind back to the present, determined to give Briar my full attention. “Forgive me, my princess. I fear my mind got away with me. What is it we’re playing?”

“Hide and seek. Count to twenty and come find me!” Before I can either agree or disagree, she slips away, leaving me alone in the room.

Thankfully, she can’t hurt herself in the castle. Even without her graces to protect her. That’s something, at least. My lips quirk up at her antics. She’s certainly a handful.

With slow, steady counts, I go from twenty down to one. By the time the countdown is done, she is nowhere to be readily seen. Taking in a deep breath, I move forward but stop as something shifts inside me.

Placing a hand over my heart, I lean against the doorframe, fear flooding my system. It’s as if something wriggles deep within, uncoiling with each inhale. Something is different. I cannot say what, but it’s as if my senses sharpen.

My eyes see colors that weren’t there earlier. My nose picks up on all the scents around me and not just the food cooking in the kitchens below. Something else is there, a sweet, delicate, fragile scent that wafts up into my nose.

Briar.

In my gut, I know it’s her. Rather, it knows it’s her. I resist the urge to get down on all fours and crawl after her like a dog, resembling the bloodhounds my father keeps for hunting. With each breath, whatever the thing in me twists about, coiling with some odd longing.

It’s not lust or anything depraved like that. Moreso a kinship, a need to see Briar safe and happy. It worries after her well-being and detests being so far apart. Closing my eyes, I listen, my ears pricking as the sound of her smothered laugh reaches over to me.

Though I cannot tell precisely where she is, I know the direction in which to go. Determined, I take off, sliding through the door and turning left as the hallway forks. She’s closer now. I can tell by the strength of the smell.

My lips draw up into a predatory smile as I duck my head and turn again into another hallway. However, before I can reach my prize, however, another scent invades my nose moments before a strong hand connects with my chest. Looking up, I stare into Master Balcom’s eyes, noting an odd expression.

A ragged rattling vibrates through my body. A snarl, perhaps? It’s the closest thing I can use to describe it. He remains unphased, simply standing there, keeping me from completing my quest.

“The princess will have to wait,” he says, his voice deep and low. “There are far more important matters to discuss.”

Without allowing me to even tell him no, he wraps his hand around my arm and forces me away. “No!” I bellow, my voice booming through the hall.

Bits of paint and plaster rain down on us, presumably loosened by my roar. Around us, servants stay rooted to the spot, their eyes wide with terror. Did I cause that?

Before I can think it through, the tiny princess peeks out from behind a door, her eyes just as wide as the others. It’s not fear, however. Somehow, deep in my gut, I know this. The worry she has is for me and my safety.

“Prince Philip?” Her voice quavers a touch, and I find I cannot bear to see her cry.

“Found you, my little princess,” I tease, making my tone as lighthearted as I can manage. “But I have duties to fulfill. We will play again some other time.”

Though her expression brightens a touch, it’s nowhere near the happiness she showed earlier. My insides cramp as Master Balcom drags me away. The savage need to see to her happiness snaps and snarls within me.

Twisting and turning, I do my best to break out of his grasp but find I cannot. It’s hard and unyielding, an implacable force I cannot fight against. This is not the same man I fought against on the training grounds. His stance is different, his scent is different. It’s him, but something more, something brutal.