Chapter 11 #2
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I add as I walk him to the door. When he reaches the threshold, I kiss him again.
“Goodnight, my savryl,” he whispers. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He gives me one last, lingering look before slipping into the night.
Fiora’s gaze settles on me again, something strange in her expression. A chill brushes the back of my neck, the joy in my chest faltering. “Aurora,” she says, voice tight. “We need to talk.”
Normally, I’d be worried about the harsh scolding coming my way.
After all, I did fib and say that I was going to the bakery for a birthday party, not a bonfire at the old ruins.
But I’m so happy Thalric is alright. We’re in love and we’re going to start our future together. I feel as if I’m floating.
“Oh, Fiora.” I take her hands in mine. “I know I’m in trouble, but before you get too upset, please listen. I have something wondrous to tell you.” A smile crests my lips as I turn to Lyria and Maribel as well. “I’m in love with Thalric. We’re going to get married.”
Fiora exchanges a troubled look with Lyria and Maribel.
“Oh, my darling girl, I’m so sorry,” Lyria says, tears in her eyes.
“Sorry?” I blink at her. “Why?”
When she doesn’t answer, I look at Maribel. She appears equally as distressed.
“What’s wrong?” I frown. “Aren’t you all happy for me? I mean, I know we’re rather young, but I thought for sure you’d approve. It’s Thalric after all, and I—”
“It’s not that,” Maribel says. “There’s something you must know.”
Lyria’s wings flutter nervously behind her. “We planned on telling you this on your birthday, but we can wait no longer.”
Unease snakes down my spine. “What are you talking about?”
She glances at her sisters. “You could have died in those ruins, Aurora. You cannot afford to be so reckless.”
“I know you think we’re overprotective of you, my dear,” Maribel adds. “But there’s a reason why we fret so. A reason why we’ve sheltered you so much.” She shakes her head. “You’re not who you think you are.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps we should sit down,” Maribel says, guiding me to the sofa. “You are not an orphan. You are the Princess of Briarwyn.”
The world seems to tilt as disbelief ripples through me. “But… that cannot be. The princess is said to be in hiding at the Temple of Amara. And she’s in hiding because she was cursed.”
“I’m afraid it’s true, my darling girl.” Maribel rests a hand on my shoulder. “On your first birthday, your parents gathered the realms in celebration, presenting you as their heir. As friends of the kingdom, we came to gift you blessings of magic.”
I listen to her, stunned.
Lyria cups my cheek. “Fiora gave you the gift of grace, and I would have granted you the gift of song, but I gave my magic to Maribel, to strengthen the spell she cast upon you for protection.”
“What spell? Why?” I turn to Maribel. Her eyes are misty, glistening with unshed tears. “Tell me.”
“Malvara—the Goblin witch—arrived, interrupting your ceremony,” she explains.
“She was furious that she hadn’t been invited, claiming your father had slighted her intentionally.
To punish your parents for the offense, she cursed you.
Before the sun rises on your twenty-third birthday, she said you would prick your finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die. ”
Fear tightens my chest until it hurts to breathe. My hands tremble in my lap, the room spinning as their words crash over me.
“But Maribel softened the curse, with the combination of her magic and Lyria’s,” Fiora adds. “Instead of death, you will fall into an enchanted sleep.”
Despite her reassurance, I’m still terrified. “What is a spinning wheel?” I ask, but deep down, I think I may already know. The image of the wooden wheel and the dark threads from my nightmare resurface in my mind.
With a flick of her wrist, Fiora conjures an image in red smoke—the same dark wheel from my dreams, turning slow and silent.
Ice fills my veins. “I’ve seen this before.”
“Where?” Lyria asks at the same time Fiora blurts, “You shouldn’t have.” Her expression hardens. “We cast an enchantment over the entire village. There are no spinning wheels here, and no one even remembers them.”
“The spell is woven into every mind and memory of any who enter Oakvale,” Fiora continues.
“Even merchants who once traded in textiles forgot their craft. The very word was erased from thought, so you could never stumble upon one by chance.” Her eyes shine with concern.
“Tell me: where did you see a spinning wheel?”
“In my nightmares.”
“What nightmares?” Lyria asks. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I—I didn’t know what it was. I wasn’t sure—”
“How long have you dreamed of this?” Maribel asks.
“Several times over the past few months.”
She gives Lyria and Fiora a worried look. I’ve never seen them so concerned. But still, I don’t understand.
“Why all this secrecy? Why all the lies?” I ask, still stunned by all they’ve just told me. “Why keep me hidden all these years? Could my parents not have protected me from the curse? Couldn’t they simply have kept me from spinning wheels as you have done all this time?”
“They couldn’t be sure that Malvara wouldn’t find a way to reach you. It’s the reason your parents gave you to us to raise in secret,” Fiora adds. “To keep you safe, away from the palace and the capital. To hide you from the Goblin witch until you came of age.”
“I don’t understand… why could you not simply undo the witch’s curse?”
“I wish it were possible.” Maribel takes my hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “But even with Lyria lending me some of her power that she planned to gift you, the witch’s dark magic was too strong. Some even believe her magic feeds on life itself—one soul stolen to stretch her own.
“But I was able to change it; to spare you. If the curse comes to pass, instead of death, you will fall into an enchanted sleep until awakened by the kiss of fate’s chosen—a prince bound by prophecy and a devotion etched deep into the heart.”
“A prince?” I ask. “Who are you talking about?”
“Prince Ryllen of Andoryn,” Fiora replies. “You were betrothed to him even before your birth. It was decided between your two kingdoms that if your parents had a daughter, you would be wed to their prince.”
My thoughts immediately turn to Thalric. “No.” I shake my head. “That cannot be. I—I don’t even know this prince.”
“It matters not,” Fiora says. “You are betrothed to him. You always have been.”
“No,” I state firmly. “I cannot marry him.”
“He is the prince bound by prophecy,” Fiora says.
“He is your betrothed, and the only thing that stands between you and an eternity of enchanted sleep if you succumb to Malvara’s curse.
” She gives me a grave look. “So now you understand, my dear. You cannot marry Thalric. Prince Ryllen is your destiny. Not the Gargoyle.”
My world splinters.
I step back, my mind spinning. Everything I’ve known, everything I’ve believed… it’s all unraveling before my eyes. I stare at my guardians, searching desperately for some sign that this is a mistake. A misunderstanding. Anything other than the devastating truth written in their solemn faces.
“But I love Thalric,” I choke out, desperation clawing at me. “I choose Thalric. I love him and he loves me.”
Maribel’s eyes glisten with tears. “I’m sorry, my dear. But you cannot be with him.”
“This is for the best, Aurora,” Fiora says softly. “Gargoyles do not love as humans do. Their hearts are stone.”
“You’re wrong.” My voice breaks.
“It is not love, it’s primal obsession,” she counters. “Just as they collect and hoard stones, they are deeply possessive of those they take as their mates. But love? They are not capable of it.”
“I don’t believe that,” I counter. If his heart is truly stone, why does it feel as if it beats only for me? “He loves me. I know he does. I’ve known him my entire life. I—”
“Enough,” Fiora cuts me off. “You cannot marry Thalric. He is destined to be your guard.”
“What?”
“His family was sent away with us so he could grow up alongside you. To prepare him to become your personal guard,” Fiora continues. “Just as his father was personal guard to the king—your own father.”
“But—” the breath freezes in my lungs as I absorb the impact of her words. “Does Thalric know?” I search her eyes for the truth. If he does, I don’t know how I’ll bear knowing that he lied to me all this time too. “Has he known all along?”
“No,” Lyria reassures me. “He has not been told yet.”
Yet. The word settles in my chest like a heavy stone.
“Please, Aurora,” Maribel says. “You must understand. We only want what is best for you.”
A broken sob escapes my lips, and I can barely breathe.
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back as my pain is replaced by raw anger.
“If that’s true, then why did you lie to me?
” I lash out. “All this time I thought my parents were dead… that I was an orphan. But my entire life has been nothing but a lie!”
Devastated, I run to my room and slam the door shut, collapsing on the bed.
“Aurora, please,” Fiora calls out. “We didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I don’t care!” I sob. “I hate you! I hate all of you!”
Hiccupping sobs rack through my body as I bury my face in my pillow.
It’s several minutes until I feel as though I can catch my breath. Brushing the damp hair back from my cheeks, I stare up at the ceiling, feeling numb and hollow.
Standing from the bed, I walk over to my shelves, lined with the many stones Thalric has given me over the years. My fingers find the starlight gemstone at my throat—the one he gave me—and I clutch it tight, as if I could draw strength from its warmth.
I gaze out the window at the pale moonlit gardens. My breath comes in ragged gasps as Fiora’s words spin relentlessly in my mind, tearing at everything I’ve ever believed.
I’m Princess Aurora. I’m cursed, and I am betrothed to a man I’ve never met—Prince Ryllen. Each truth is a shard of ice embedding itself into my heart.
A broken sob escapes me. How could my guardians lie to me? How could they let me believe my life was ordinary, simple, safe, only to shatter that illusion so cruelly?
And Thalric… Gods, Thalric. The ache of his name throbs painfully in my chest, threatening to unravel me completely. I love him and I don’t want to lose him.
Tears blur my vision. My room feels unbearably suffocating, as if the walls themselves are closing in. I cannot stay here. I need to find Thalric.
Resolved, I grab a satchel and pack quickly. Determination fills me as I slip into the night, toward the only thing I know is true—the Gargoyle who has claimed my heart and soul.