Chapter 3
I had no idea how much time had passed. I only knew that when the pain stopped eating through me from the inside out, it felt like ages had gone by.
My eyes burned when I finally worked up the courage to open them.
I expected the glare of the ceremonial hall, but instead a dark shadow hovered over me.
I blinked a few times, trying to clear my vision.
My mother’s beautiful, delicate face finally bled into focus. Silver lined her eyes as she babbled something I couldn't understand—the words were drowned out by the low-frequency buzzing that still vibrated in my skull.
I felt the sharp sting of her nails as they bit into my shoulders, her grip desperate and bruising. Only then did I realize I was no longer standing; I was sprawled on the cold stone floor, and she was clutching me, trying to keep my very soul inside my body.
I let out a low, ragged groan and squeezed my eyes shut against the throbbing light.
“It hurts, Mama,” I managed to rasp. My own voice sounded like I had swallowed broken glass.
Something wet splashed onto my cheek. When I forced my eyes open again, my mother was weeping like a child.
Her tears fell hot on my skin, and each droplet stung like it had landed on an open wound.
I tried to lift my hand to wipe them, but my arm felt like it had been cast in lead.
I barely managed to shift it a few inches before it collapsed back onto the stone.
“My baby… what did that cursed female do to you?” My mother’s voice finally reached me, shaken.
Her hand slid from my cheek to my forehead. It was shockingly cold, like she had spent the last hour submerged in ice. The touch contrasted with the scorching heat that still burned inside me.
“Stay with me, Fionnuala, please,” she begged, bringing her face close to mine. “Look at me, my love. Look at me. It’s going to be okay.”
Little by little, my senses returned—and with them, a tidal wave of confusion and terror. I remembered everything that had transpired in the last few hours, or had it only been minutes? My pulse quickened, a frantic drumming against my ribs.
“Merith—what happened?”
With the little strength I had left, I tried to sit up.
My mother’s hands were there instantly, steadying me.
I glanced around the hall and felt a shiver as people stared at me, their eyes wide, like I was a ghost. Even my father, a few steps behind my mother, looked at me with horror-filled eyes.
I couldn’t find Leone anywhere; he had probably gone with the guards after Merith, since she appeared to have vanished.
Across the hall, near the priest, Jameson shook like a leaf, staring at me with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.
“My dear, we have to go,” my mother said, standing and struggling to pull me up.
Still dizzy, I leaned against her shoulder, only to realize with shock that I was much taller than she was. Slowly, I let my gaze travel down my body. A sharp scream ripped out of me when I saw green hands pushing out from my dress, which looked shorter now.
My hands, once delicate, nails painted a pale pink, were now huge with dark green, almost black, claws. I lifted them, blinking hard, hoping this was just a nightmare I would wake up from, but they stayed the same.
My eyes dropped lower and found the rest of the damage: the bodice stretched until it warped the fabric, the skirt torn open at the sides, my green legs showing through shredded stockings, and my shoes reduced to twisted strips of leather.
I was…green.
“Mama…” I whispered, and my own voice startled me. “What… what is this? What did she do to me?”
My mother tightened her grip on my shoulders, but even that felt different—her fingers could barely wrap around them. She swallowed hard before her expression turned to steel.
“We need to leave. Now.” Her tone was firm. Before I could fully understand what was happening, she grabbed my hand and turned to go.
I took an unsteady step, still dazed.
“B-but… the wedding…?” I stammered, clinging to a stupid scrap of normal that no longer existed.
My mother looked at me with a hardness she rarely aimed at anyone, least of all me.
“The wedding’s over, Fionnuala,” she said. “We need to go.”
My heart wavered, but I obeyed.
Behind us, the murmurs started up again, like a hive coming alive. And then someone shouted:
“Orc!”
The word landed like a sentence. Instantly, everything changed.
Chairs toppled, guests stumbled over each other to get away, and mothers yanked children behind their skirts. Males reached for daggers, even as their legs shook under their fear.
“Don’t look at them,” my mother murmured, unshaken, though tension pulled tight in every muscle of her face. “Just keep walking. Can you do that for me?”
I tried—I really did. But when I lifted my eyes, I saw horror stamped onto every face around me.
They weren’t just startled.
They were afraid of me.
The word orc felt like it had been spat in my face. My stomach clenched, and my breath caught in my throat. The people—the same ones who minutes earlier had looked at me with a mix of admiration and envy—now pointed at me like I was an abomination.
Instinctively, I looked for my father, expecting him to calm them, to defend me, but he only stood there, frozen, his face drained of color. His silence was worse than any insult hurled at me.
“Papa…” I whispered, my eyes burning.
That seemed to jolt him out of it. But instead of offering a word of comfort or an explanation for the nightmare Merith had unleashed, he turned his back on me and faced the crowd, raising his arms.
“Silence!”
The command rang through the vaulted hall, and the room fell silent, though their eyes stayed fixed on me. For the first time in almost a century and a half of life, I didn't want the spotlight. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.
My father took a deep breath, bracing himself before he spoke again.
He scanned the crowd before finally turning his gaze on me.
His mouth trembled, and for a heartbeat, I could have sworn tears swam in his eyes, though just as quickly, he replaced them with the mask of a lord—cold and impenetrable.
“Everyone, remain calm,” he ordered, his own voice sounding brittle. “The magic… it can still be reversed. The priests will investigate immediately—”
“My Lord, with all due respect,” the priest who had almost married me stepped forward, his expression grave.
“What Merith did was no simple magic trick. It was a curse.” A collective gasp rippled through the hall.
Even I shuddered, the word settling in my chest like a block of ice.
I could barely remember what she had said before I passed out from the pain.
The priest continued, his deep voice ringing through the hall like a funeral bell.
“A powerful, ancient curse.” He looked at me for only a second, and in that glance, I felt not just pity, but something worse: caution.
“This isn’t something undone with simple prayers. ”
Several people nodded. My mother’s hand squeezed mine tight enough to bruise, her nails biting into my new, thick skin. A deep crease formed between her brows, her lips pressed into a hard line, her eyes glaring at the priest, trying to silence him with sheer force of will.
My father stiffened, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides.
“There’s no danger,” he insisted. “She’s not like the others. She’s still my daughter.”
“Not anymore, my Lord. Look at her. She’s one of them.” The priest shook his head, his expression hardening into one of accusation. “An orc.”
“Watch what you say,” my father growled, letting the mask slip just enough to reveal the protective father beneath.
The priest didn’t back down. He straightened his robes and, with the weight of the entire hall behind him, delivered the killing blow.
“Unfortunately, my lord, Lady Fionnuala must find a way to break the curse, but she cannot stay here.”
My heart skipped a beat, then hammered against my ribs. They wanted to cast me out? Out of my own home?
The High Fae of the court—the very ones who had watched me grow, who had bowed to me for a century—now stared at me as though I carried a plague.
“What?” The word slipped out roughly, barely audible, yet thick with indignation.
“The people are afraid, Lord Alasdair,” the priest continued, his voice dripping with sickly, apologetic deference.
“Our history with the orc clans is written in violence, death, and blood. Lady Fionnuala has been cursed into the image of our most hated enemy. How can you ask our people to endure seeing her like this every day?”
“I’m not anyone’s enemy!” I shouted, stepping forward.
The change in my voice was startling, deeper, and vibrating with a power that made the guests recoil in unison.
The sharp sting of their rejection hit me like a physical blow, nearly making me sway.
“I’m Fionnuala Kerridan, daughter of the Lord of Ceilte!
You’ve known me since I was barely more than a child, Priest Cian. You blessed my first hunt!”
“My daughter’s right!” My father barked, though the raw edge in his voice betrayed his desperation. “She can’t be punished for a crime she didn’t commit! She’s the victim here, for the Goddess’s sake!”
“It’s not punishment, my Lord, it's a necessity,” Lord Fenric countered, stepping into the fray with a predatory grace.
This was the same male my father had slighted, the one whose proposal had been brushed aside for Jameson.
He looked at me not with fear like the others, but with a cold, calculating expression.
“Think of the message our kingdom would send to the world. Ceilte’s heir turned into an orc.
The courts will see it as weakness, or worse—as a secret alliance with Oksha. ”
A chorus of murmurs rose into a swell of agreement. Words like “cast out” and “exile” started to ripple through the hall.