The Devil Who Loves Me: A Grendel Press Anthology by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grendel Press
Published: 2023-06-23T04:00:00+00:00

I snuck the candle into the palace.

I told myself that the rule was petty, that I was only bringing the candle in for curiosity’s sake. I didn’t plan to use it. Only to keep something for myself. If only so that I would not dream of it waiting for me in the forest.

I kept it hidden beneath my mattress, and every night that the Prince came to visit, I had to hide my fear that he would somehow discover it, that he would sense its alien presence. But four nights passed, and he did not.

I tried to content myself. I tried to tell myself that it was enough to simply be able to trace the curve of his jaw or have his arms wrap around me, to feel him breathing beside me as he slept. I tried to treasure those scattered, precious moments with him before he disappeared once more, chased away by the twilight. After all, I could just imagine what he looked like, couldn’t I? Couldn’t imagination be enough?

All the while, I dreamed of the candle.

He was such a sound sleeper. Were I to light it, would he even notice?

On the night that marked my first year at the palace, I decided.

I waited until a few hours after midnight, when I was absolutely sure he was asleep. I didn’t know what he would do if he were to find out I broke his cardinal rules, but I had no intention of finding out. I planned to light the candle for only a moment, just long enough to see him and remember his face, before blowing out the flame and casting the candle out a window.

As my Prince slept by my side, I pulled the candle out from under the mattress. Just as I had back in the forest, I stared down at the wick and imagined a flame. Within a moment, the candle was alight. With a trembling hand, I held the candle over the bed, and for the first time ever, I looked at my husband.

Oh.

He was beautiful.

He had golden locks of hair, a face so flawless you’d think him a sculpture come to life, and a gentle smile even in sleep. One hand rested on the pillow, with slender fingers befitting a musician. To think that such lips had met mine, that those hands had held me, and that I had never known!

I leaned in closer, in awe. His eyes were flitting beneath the lids. I knew he must have been dreaming then, and wondered what he dreamed. Already he lived in the realm of the fantastical, our own home a palace of dreams. Did he dream of what few things he didn’t possess? Of the world beyond the mountain, of his kingdom in the valley, of me in the sunlight?

And what color were his eyes beneath those lids?

I continued to stare down, fancying that if I watched his sleeping face long enough, somehow I could know. So absorbed was I, that I didn’t even notice when a drop of wax fell from the candle right on his bare chest.

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