Fairytales of the Macabre (Fairytale Collections)

And what if I simply want a good night’s sleep?” I ask him, making my usual mistake of staring defiantly up at him.

He smiles.

He is more than handsome.

He is a dangerous, beautiful thing.

“I have a bed,” he whispers to me, and at least we have this, I think with satisfaction.

Sensual tales, for carnal pleasures.

What will I do? I asked her, and she told me how to find my father’s magic, how to take back what is rightfully ours.

What if I give in? I asked her, and she warned me not to falter, not to lose sight of what has so long been foreseen.

Why must I do this? I asked her, and she reminded me it was my birthright; that she had seen it on the night that I was born, and had known it as my fate since I was a child in her arms.

I am the daughter of the king of dreams and the queen of destiny.

I was born as much for love as I was made for destruction, and now, at last, I understand.

There is always a cost , my mother told me sadly, for nothing beautiful is ever as it seems.

It’s difficult not to remember my prince’s face as I destroyed his life’s work, letting the sands of magic that belong rightfully to my father—and thus, to me—coat the flames that swallowed a lifetime’s worth of plans. There was a cost, my love for him, and I paid it; in return, my father stands uncontested, unopposed, and rules his realms again.

But not for long.

Outside my window there is a castle, floating, with five illuminated towers, each forming the apex of a five-pointed star. Each of the towers shimmers with gold, irradiant in waves, and there is a pulsing, gentle warmth from within the castle’s battlements that beckons to me, coaxing me forth like the crook of a finger. The castle hovers as if manifested from nothing; a thick, entrancing fog spreads out from its base in eerie, alluring tendrils.

The draw of it is tempting; I reach a hand out, my fingers drifting helplessly towards it.

I remember my mother’s warning; you will always find each other.

I see now that it was a blessing as much as it was a curse.

I couldn’t let him go; not fully. I wear the precious few remaining sands around my neck—the ones I couldn’t burn—to remind me of what I’ve paid, and what I must always pay for the keeping of my heart. I am the daughter of the king of dreams and the queen of destiny, but my mother and I have always known it was my fate to live with a conscience torn.

So long as any dream remains, a magic prince can always be reborn.

“What have you brought for me, my love?” I ask the wind, knowing that the castle he has built for me will stand in ash before the night is through, but at least we’ll have this night together. On these nights, elsewhere, children sleep soundly, and tired minds will find rest.

On nights like tonight, Nightmare is with her prince.

At the sound of my voice, Noctus materializes beside me with a smile, the scars of his betrayal refracting the light from the castle’s golden walls as he reaches out, touching the hourglass I wear around my neck.

But I do not forget my mother’s warning; beware the lure of a handsome stranger, my darling, she has said so many times, for nothing beautiful is ever as it seems.

He knows I have the hourglass the moment I push him away, breaking the kiss with a gasp of finality. I see his eyes widen as he processes that I hold it, and I see the flames flicker behind me from the hearth in the fear that floods his gaze.

“I know now,” I tell him hoarsely. “I know which part of my soul your castle took from me.”

He swallows, unable to look away from what I now hold in my hand.

“When I first saw you, I thought this would be much harder,” I admit. “I was burdened by the control of my mother and father, I was weakened by my conscience, I was tempted by the sight of you—but all of that’s been stripped from me. My soul is unencumbered now, and now I am fearless, and so you’ve miscalculated your wish.”

He stares at me.

“Who are you?” he asks, aghast, but still—even in his horror—he reaches out for me.

Still he longs for me, and I for him, though my purpose is much greater.

“I am the daughter of the king of dreams and the queen of destiny,” I tell him, though I know, at last, that I am so much more than this. “I am a storm,” I say, “and I am a flood. I am a force, a crash, a reckoning. I am the sum of all who came before me; I am the master of my fate.

“I am Nightmare,” I tell him; revealing, at last, that I am a princess in my own right, “and I was born to burn your kingdom down.”

I take my time making my way to him; perhaps my fear is gone, but my curiosity stays with me. I walk past the ballroom filled with earthly delights and through the corridor lined with jewels, with vices and virtues, plucking them from the walls and replacing them to see how they feel in my hands. Guilt feels fine and light, joy feels heavy and frantic, patience pulses comfortingly as though taking cues from my own heart. I have no trouble lifting honor, and duty, too, slips onto my finger like a braided ring, but pleasure burns my hand when I try to cuff it around my wrist. I reach back with a hiss, pressing my thumb to the red welt that’s already shouting its displeasure, but as I return it to its rightful place, a set of double doors opens up ahead.

I know the moment I see the doors—I can tell without looking at the scripted letter N that’s carved in the hearts of them, though they’re difficult to miss—that these are the prince’s private chambers, and I know it’s where he’s most comfortable. Where he’s most vulnerable. Where he’s most lonely, and therefore most alone. I remember that my evening started in my own bedroom and I wonder what it will be like to end in his, though the question flees my mind as I enter.

From the moment I stand in the doorway, there is only him.

He’s without his cloak and mask now, and so he’s just a man, though I can feel the magic pulsing from him that matches the walls, the floors, the heartbeat of this castle that I can tell instinctively belongs to him. This is his creation, his project, his pet. This is what he built with his betrayal, and what I’m sure he will die to protect.

He turns towards me as I walk; he’s alerted to my presence by the weight of my footfall on his castle floors, feeling it as surely as if I’ve wandered through his veins. He knows where I’ve been within the walls of his castle, and he knows what I’ve done. He doesn’t know what I’ve seen, though, and for all that he thinks he knows me, he doesn’t know who I am.

He doesn’t know what he’s let inside his doors.

“How do you feel?” he asks me, almost fearfully, as if he worries his efforts haven’t been enough.

“Fearless,” I say, stepping towards him.

He lets out a breath he’s held captive.

“Do you understand,” he asks slowly, “why I brought you here? You have to choose me,” he says, almost desperately. “You have to choose me, or you can’t possibly stay.”

I hesitate. I’m fearless, yes, but I’m not stupid, and my mother’s warning echoes in my head.

“Tell me more, first,” I beckon, daring to come closer. “Tell me about the king of dreams.”

His smile darkens, but he takes me in his arms.

“The king of dreams has a court of lords who do his bidding,” he says, his hands hovering blissfully above my waist. “He has a queen, too.”

“A queen of destiny,” he says. “If you ask me, she has the worse end of the deal. She gives dreams meaning,” he explains, his fingers floating up my spine. “ He only gives fate a flimsy shape.”

“You don’t like him,” I note. “The king.”

“I didn’t enjoy being one of his lords,” he agrees. “I was the youngest, the least trusted. The least powerful, or so he assumed. I proved otherwise.”

“You used his magic to make this castle,” I note. “And what do you do with it now that you have it?”

He gives a bitter laugh, as if the words spilling from his lips are poison.

“I tempt the waking,” he says, grimacing. “I lure the sleepless.”

I tilt my chin up, my lips curving into a smile.

“You’re a siren,” I say, and he leans down to stroke my cheek, letting out a sigh.

“The castle is a function of choices. Of free will,” he clarifies. “I needed someone to choose to make the mirrors. To see you.” I lean into him, letting him brush his lips over my brow. “I needed the fountains, too, to find you.”

“All of this,” I murmur. “All of this was for me?”

“Can’t you feel it?” he whispers, his lips close to mine now. “Can’t you tell?”

I press my palms to his chest, feeling his intake of breath beneath them.

“What happens to them,” I ask again, “if those you lure are unworthy?”

He turns away, his eyes falling shut.

“They never leave,” he says, and I think of the eye at the door of truth, the fountain-nymph, the haunting music that played from nothing.

He is a beautiful, dangerous thing.

“The dream lords,” I say carefully, drawing my fingers along the hollow of his throat. “Don’t they carry some sort of emblem?”

He takes my fingers, slowly guiding them to the buttons of his shirt. I hold my breath, peeling them away, one by torturous one, until my hand alights on a tiny hourglass that hangs around his neck, with iridescent, shimmering swells of sand contained within it.

“All our magic,” he explains, “comes from this, born of the dream king’s power. So long as this exists, so will I. So will everything I create.”

My fingers close around it, and in a flash I see again my vision from the mirror of ambition; I see the sand engulfed in flames, and I see my bare feet as I float back to my bedroom, leaving rubble and destruction in my wake.

The chain breaks easily in my hand the moment his lips meet mine, and in the pressure of his kiss he doesn’t notice how deftly I pull the hourglass from around his neck, nor does he sense the hazy catch in my lungs as I take the source of his magic in my hands. Maybe he’s distracted by the feel of it; after all, even I am not immune to the way fate circles around and meets us where we stand, latching on as my breath nearly escapes me, nearly flees the grasp of my decision.

What if what I lost,” I begin to say, “makes me something less than what I was?”

“What if what you’ve gained,” he counters, “makes you something more?”

I sway towards him on the wind, as much in his grasp as the magic that floats through the night’s winter air, and I shiver, suddenly noticing the chill that surrounds us.

“Take me inside,” I suggest, “to somewhere I can know you.”

For a moment, he hesitates.

“I’m already inside,” he says, proving that I was right, and this was only ever his reflection. “This was my last chance, and I am waiting—none too patiently, I’m afraid—for your return.”

He hoped I would be braver, less careful.

I hoped he would be wrong, but I can’t stay away much longer. I can feel curiosity tugging at my wayward tongue, yearning melting in my knees.

“I want to be with you,” I confess, and then he disappears, and the maze along with him, and beyond the walls of the labyrinth is the pulsing glow of the castle as it calls me along a rose-lined path, the petals withering to ash as I walk.

Hello?” I call, the maze suddenly gone from around me as I struggle to sit up. “Prince Noctus?”

He flickers into being beside me.

“You summoned?” he asks wryly, and I think perhaps he’s not real. He seems different, as though I’m looking at a reflection of him rather than at the man himself.

I stand carefully, dusting myself off, and turn to face him.

“Why are you here?” I ask bluntly, and he shrugs.

“It seems you fear me,” he replies, and I remember that this is the purpose of the maze.

“I don’t,” I lie.

“Maybe it’s something else, then,” he suggests. “Something I represent? Risk, perhaps, or even—” He hesitates. “Love?”

“That’s thinking quite a lot of yourself,” I mutter under my breath. He gives a hearty, affectionate laugh before sobering, the humor in his voice settling shakily to something molten; something darker, more sincere.

“I’ve seen you in my future,” he confesses, his eyes changing in the light. “I’ve already given you my heart.”

“Have you?” I ask, skeptical, and he takes my hand, brushing his lips against it.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he tells me. “And now, at last, perhaps you’ll be able to let me in.”

For a moment, I consider the tempting promise of his offer.

I consider the words my mother taught me, too; that nothing beautiful is ever as it seems. Not even a beautiful promise, or a set of beautiful words.

“What have I lost?” I ask him. “In my soul, I mean.”

He glances down at me.

“How many times have you been in the maze?” I ask him.

“Only once,” he says, and hesitates before adding, “At one time, only the labyrinth existed.”

I feel my brow furrow. “Not the castle?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “The castle was only built as a result of losing my fears. I would be nothing without the maze. Nothing, that is,” he amends with a laugh, “but a soul lacking caution.”

“You betrayed someone, though,” I protest. “Weren’t you fearless enough already?”

“To turn on a king is not bravery,” he corrects me. “To simply suffer insult to one’s pride is no courage at all.”

“Insult to one’s pride?” I echo curiously, but I’m too curious, and he stiffens.

“Yes,” is all he says.

I step closer, hoping for more, but I can see I’ve already made a mistake. He doesn’t meet my eye, and I feel I’ve gone too far.

“And now?” I prompt, holding my breath.

He glances down at me, contemplating something. His gaze travels over my face with a softened look of longing before it’s disrupted, abruptly, by the crispness of his voice.

“And now it’s too late,” he pronounces, “and the night is slipping out from under us.” He gestures me forward, and the moment is long gone. “Will you try?”

I give him a searching glance before nodding.

“I will,” I agree, because it seems like my turn to be agreeable, and immediately the labyrinth shifts beneath my feet, giving way for my entrance.

I walk slowly into the greenery, spotting a set of silver scales. It seems clear enough what to do, so I take my place on one side; on the other side, a mirror-image of myself appears. She, like me, is dressed in her silk nightgown, her eyes wide and hair mussed from sleep, and she turns slowly to stare at me.

He leads me towards the labyrinth, the maze that is much as I might have dreamt it, though I know for certain now that this is not a dream. The scar on the night prince’s face proves it; it is an injury caused by magic, and even I can tell. It’s less a mark of injury than a brand of retribution. He has been claimed by the dream lords as an enemy, and I think perhaps that’s why he’s built this castle with its many battlements, fortifying his kingdom even as it floats above the ground.

“And what will I find here?” I ask, reaching out to touch the hedge that forms the first wall of the maze.

“The labyrinth,” he tells me, “will destroy your fears.”

I study him for a moment, wondering what I will have to choose for this; surely the loss of fear is worth more than the granting of a wish, though I’m immensely distracted now. He is more handsome than ever in the dim light of the garden, and the scar does not diminish his beauty; it heightens it. The dream lords who sought to punish added their carvings of pain and now he shines at every angle of the moonlight, refracted like the planes of a many-faceted jewel.

“Why me?” I ask him.

He doesn’t answer right away.

“Perhaps I’m drawn to you,” he says carefully, “though I don’t know why.”

“You must have seen your future many times,” I suggest, thinking of the mirrors, the veil of sight, the fountain of wishes, the magic of dreams that answer so eagerly to him. “Have you seen me before?”

He doesn’t want to tell me the truth, but without the mask, I can see it plainly enough. The more I see of him, though, the less I have mastery of my own defiance, and I find it difficult to look away.

“Will you enter the maze?” he ventures without answering, staring down at my waiting face, and I shrug.

“What will it cost me?” I ask.

“A piece of your soul,” he replies, as if this is nothing.

I tilt my head, hesitating.

“Which piece?” I press, and he laughs.

“Your soul is not a cake or a pie to be sliced apart at will,” he tells me, chuckling. “You can no more choose which part of it leaves than I can piece mine back together.”