“I am Dianthus,” she told him, and smiled. “I don’t know how I came to be here, but I know that I am your friend.”
Twelve years went by, and Dianthus proved herself to be the truest of friends. She was far more loyal, kind and generous than Brenn would’ve known to wish for. In the dark castle, with Fyren lording over them, Brenn and Dianthus hid in the shadow to avoid his wrath.
Fyren still commanded the boy to make his wishes, but he’d grown even more ill-tempered as he aged, striking out in unprovoked rages. He’d become paranoid about everything, and he seemed to distrust the friendship between Brenn and Dianthus.
Escaping out to the garden as often as they could, Brenn and Dianthus created a world for themselves among the flowers. Fyren never left the safety of the castle walls anymore, claiming that he was afraid that the men who’d killed Brenn’s parents would come after Fyren soon.
While Brenn still listened to Fyren’s rants, he didn’t believe them any longer. He was now a young man of sixteen, and he wasn’t as easily fooled as the young boy Fyren had stowed away those many years ago.
Not to mention that Brenn had more pressing things on his mind. Like the change in his friendship with Dianthus.
For years, she had been his closest confidante, his only respite in the dark storm of his life. He’d shared with her all his darkest secrets, as he’d learned hers. He’d protected her from Fyren’s increasing tantrums, as she had nursed his wounds after horrible fights.
He’d considered her nothing more than this—nothing more than his everything—but as each day passed, with Dianthus growing more beautiful than she had been the day before, Brenn could no longer deny that he was in love with her.
“Do you ever notice that your lips are the color of the pink?” Brenn asked her in the garden as she lay among the carnations, reading a book.
“The color of the pink?” Dianthus lifted her blue eyes to meet his.
“The flowers.” Brenn was lying down next to her, and he rolled to his side. “You are far more beautiful than they will ever be, though.”
Then Brenn leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the mouth, and the kiss seemed to warm him from within, the heat radiating all through him like a flower opening its petals to the sun in the morning.
“You are my one, my one true love,” Brenn said, breathing in deeply and filling his lungs with the aroma of the flower bed. “I love you, Dianthus.”
Her pastel lips curved into a smile as a blush darkened her cheeks. “I know.”
“You know?” Brenn asked in surprise. “How could you know when I’ve only just discovered it for myself?”
“I’ve known since the first time you took my hand and led me into the castle,” Dianthus told him. “And every time you’ve taken my hand since then, and put your body in front of mine to spare me from Fyren’s belt, and each time you looked up into my eyes in that unabashed way you do. I knew that you loved me as deeply and as eternally as I loved you.”
Brenn stared down at her. “If you’ve known all this time, did you not think to tell me?”
“My dear, sweet Brenn.” She put her hand on his cheek, warming his skin, and he leaned into it, relishing the way it made his heartbeat quicken every time they touched. “It is not my place to tell you who you love. You must discover it on your own, and I am so glad that you finally have.”
“How come?” Brenn asked.
“Because now we can do this.” She pulled him back to her, and she kissed him fully on the mouth.
And in that moment, Brenn discovered that she was right. He had loved her since the moment he’d met her, but he’d been unwilling to see it. Deep down, he’d always known that Fyren would take away everything he loved, and Brenn had never cared for anything as much as he cared for Dianthus.
But in her arms in the garden where they’d created their world, Brenn no longer cared about Fyren. They weren’t scared children anymore. He could take Dianthus away from this place, away from Fyren, and they could start a life of their own. They could be married and have a family and a home, and something far grander than anything Fyren would have in store for them.
CHAPTER 4
The Sinister Father
From the high tower of the castle, Fyren stared out of his window, watching down in the garden as the prince kissed the flower girl for the first time. It was at that moment, as Brenn declared his love to Dianthus, that Fyren realized it was time to get rid of the prince.
Soon, Brenn would leave, venture out on his own with his true love and make a name for himself. Fyren had been able to hold him as a prisoner in the castle with threats of the king and queen’s enemies, but Brenn was old enough to believe he could fend for himself.
If Brenn left, it wouldn’t be that long before he found out his mother and father were still alive, and then it would be a very short time after that before the king sent all his men after Fyren to capture and execute him. If Fyren did not kill Brenn now, before he left with Dianthus, then the old cook himself would be dead.
Worse still, Brenn was much stronger than Fyren. Years ago, when the boy had been small and weak, Fyren knew he should’ve done away with him then. Now it was too late, so he’d have to find another means of killing Brenn.
Fyren thought on it for several days, letting the ruminations of his decaying mind work their way through the problem until finally he settled on the simplest plan: Fyren would get the flower girl to do it.
As Fyren had understood Brenn’s wish, he’d made Dianthus to be a servant, subservient and dependent on her elder’s commands. Fyren had always treated her as a slave, and she’d always responded as one, so he had no reason to think differently.
In the middle of the night, when both Dianthus and Brenn were sound asleep, Fyren crept into her room. She woke up startled, but he silenced her when he held up a sharp butcher knife.
“Tomorrow, as the boy sleeps, go into his room and plunge this knife into his heart,” Fyren commanded her. “Then bring me his heart and tongue.”
“Why would I shed his blood? He has done nothing to harm anyone,” Dianthus said. “What reason do you have to even want him gone?”
“Dianthus, my sweet.” Fyren changed his tone to one of loving, and reached out, gently stroking her hair. “Have I not treated both you and the boy as my own? Have I not sheltered you and cared for you the way any good father would?”
“Yes, you have,” Dianthus replied, though she didn’t really believe this was true. She’d never had a father or known one, but the ones she read about in books sounded far kinder than Fyren had ever been.
“Of course I have, and I’ve loved you both,” Fyren continued to lie. “So you must believe me now. It hurts me so to get rid of the poor boy, but it must be done.”
The girl asked, “Why must it be done?”
“He’s grown too old for this palace, for the world he created, and soon he will leave. But when he does, everything he’s wished for will be destroyed.” Fyren told her the story he’d concocted. “I brought him here to save him, but a kind fairy granted pity on him. That’s how he got his power for wishing, but it will last only on this mountaintop. As soon as he leaves, all his wishes will be undone—this castle, this life, even you, my dear girl, you who are a very daughter to me would be destroyed.”
“Can you not ask him to stay?” Dianthus asked. “If he knew it would be my undoing, surely he wouldn’t go.”
“Ah, but he does,” Fyren told her, doing his best to appear sorrowful. “He knows, and he does not care. He told me in my chambers this very afternoon. He’s told you that he loved you as his way of telling you goodbye. In a few days, he will leave, then you will be gone, and I cannot bear that.”