Once Upon a Nightmare

i love thee against my will

xv: i love thee against my will

 

It doesn’t feel like I wait very long before Donovan comes in and sets an oil lamp on the ground by the stool. I tense, expecting him to tell me to get out of his bed, but he gets something from inside the chest and sits down. The soft light exposes what he holds in his hand.

A book.

I almost start salivating.

He removes his hat, revealing a muss of blonde hair. A wince of pain flashes over his face. Reaching behind his shoulders, almost stretching, he pulls free a singular white feather, then opens the book to a bent corner, which he carefully smoothes before beginning to read.

“Hey.” My indignant voice shatters the quiet. The steady movement of Donovan’s eyes over the page doesn’t falter.

“That’s Gloom’s Shakespeare book.”

This time, Donovan does glance up. “It was his book.”

My mouth opens. I mean, I’ve stolen the occasional library book—sometimes on accident, sometimes not—but the presence of actual literature in this oppressive atmosphere, so close but out of reach, is mocking me.  “The least you could do if you’re going to read in front of me like that is read aloud.”

Donovan pauses, almost surprised. He waits just long enough to allow me to hope, then once he has that hope to fulfill or disappoint, he squashes it into the dirt. “I don’t think so.”

Well, fine.

“Which one are you reading?” I ask after a moment. I can’t help it.

“Othello.”

“You should try Much Ado About Nothing. That’s my favorite.”

Donovan drags his eyes back to me. “You’re very annoying.”

“I’ll probably get worse.”

“Here.” Donovan flips through some pages, and then seizing a chunk between his fingers, rips them clean out of the book. I gasp in horror. I feel like breaking out the sign of the cross or something. Lord forgive us, for we have sinned.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Do you want it or not?” Donovan asks, holding the torn pages out to me.

I hesitate, my fingers twitching. To take those pages would dishonor the wounded and mistreated book, but . . .

“. . . yes.”

I get up from the cot to grab the fourth act of Much Ado About Nothing. “Um, thanks.”

He nods without looking up.

Setting the pages on my lap, I read. For several minutes, only the sound of rustling paper disrupts the quickly darkening night. When I feel Alexander pressuring our link, I hold him off. Without his simmering hatred in the back of my mind, Donovan doesn’t seem that bad.

I mean, he is. I know that. Letting me read a book (that he stole from my friend) doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten everything else he’s done. But he’s not . . . totally terrifying. He is a Dream, after all, beneath that crust of meanness.

“Do you mind if I go read to Genn?” I ask. Donovan looks up, eyes narrowing. “She’s really scared right now, and . . . I think this would help.”

I wouldn’t expect even close to the same allowance for Alexander, but as I suspect . . . Donovan has a soft spot for Genn, like everyone else. He rubs the top of his brow, then finally rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Go.”