Goodwin insisted repeatedly that the woman Zuriel had thought to be mad was not mad at all—she was only prone to bad habits.
If those so-called habits were not signs of madness, Zuriel wondered what could be.
"She is not mad," he continued, as Zuriel gathered tools for his garden. "A little outspoken but not mad. Come with me tonight to the market square. See for yourself."
Zuriel ignored his nonsense, focusing only on the tools laid out before him until the wheelbarrow was filled and there was nothing left to delay the conversation.
Goodwin, as always, knew not when to quit. He held his tongue whenever Zuriel gave him that death glare only to run his mouth again moments later.
It was no wonder he did not find her mad. They were quite the pair.
After endless pestering, Zuriel relented.
By the time they arrived, there were far more people gathered than Zuriel had expected. They stood at the back of the crowd. She was already dancing to the incoherent noise the children were making.
He glanced at Goodwin, And you said she was well.
The night began to come alive when the children began calling for tales—each bearing his name.
It was nothing new.
Even in the capital, stories had been spun from his deeds and he had been the center of many street performances.
Goodwin had brought him, knowing he would never punish a tale-bearer for speaking his name—unlike many nobles.
"A tale buried so deep that no one but Damaris knows of it… A true tale of betrayal, redemption… and love." as her voice drifted over the square like wind over still water, her gaze turned toward him.
Had she seen him? She squinted, looking straight at him, and unease crept up his spine again. That feeling of an incoming attack. Instinctively, he looked behind him—there was no danger.
When he looked back, her gaze had shifted and she was talking again.
"The Hound and his Lover."
Apparently, after the battle of Moab—his first, fought when he was just two decades old—he returned with the princess of the enemy nation as his captive—Princess Isla.
She was made a slave in his house. But through their constant encounters the Hound fell for his slave and laid his heart bare before her.
The fallen Princess used his love against him, plotting with his enemies to slay him like he slew her people. Only after she pierced his heart with a poisoned dagger did she realize her love for him had been true.
She prayed to Phineas, begging him to take her life in place of his. Phineas granted her request and restored the Hound to life. When Zuriel awoke and asked for Princess Isla, they told him that she had traded her life for his—and had long been buried.
From that day forward, no one saw the prince's face. He wore a mask thereafter—his final tribute to his lover who had died for him.
By the end of her tale, tears glistened on the faces of people. Goodwin was not left out.
They murmured softly now in favor of the prince whom they once feared.
It is no wonder he became a battle-crazed Hound, some whispered. Anyone would lose their mind if they lost their loved one, others agreed.
Poor Prince Zuriel.
In all his thirty years, not once had he heard a tale spun to make the people pity him. They were always tales of valor and terror. Of fear and reverence. Never like this.
Although every word was a lie stronger than the last, she had woven them so beautifully that the hearts of people were moved with compassion.
He was not one to admit defeat. Yet as Zuriel watched her surrounded by children, their questions endless, he turned away, thinking—
Well, at least she has her sandals on tonight.
Not caring about Goodwin, who still wept for the Zuriel in her tale, he turned to leave the square. But then—
"Zuri!" Her voice—loud and sharp—pierced through the night, stilling every other sound as it hit him. "That is you, is it not?" He stopped.
"Zuri. The gardener." He turned.
Heads turned. Lamps were lifted, all pointing in his direction, illuminating the once dark corner where he stood and banishing the shadows that hid him. His face was clear for all to see now.
Goodwin stood frozen, utterly flustered by the turn of events.
"It is you," she affirmed.
His stay in Wisteria was supposed to be peaceful. Yet once again, as he saw the smirk rise to her lips he knew…
She had come to shatter that peace.