Chapter 83
Belle
My hands shook. It couldn’t be him, but it was. The same cunning eyes, the same arrogant set of lips. He even wore the same garments as he did now, his dark hair swept back.
The man in the shadows was Locke. I leaned closer, studying every feature. Was it an ancient ancestor, a long-lost relative? Or him.
I pushed my magic into the painting, hoping to reveal another hint, anything that could prove the truth.
Then, like a dream, the room vanished, and I was in the midst of it all: a royal presentation, two kingdoms united.
A woman—strong and brave and impossibly in love.
The king, ready to give over the wealth of his kingdom just to take her hand.
And glaring at them both was the magister, lurking behind the king’s shoulder.
His face was as expressionless as stone, but I sensed the hate and jealousy boiling off him, an all-consuming darkness building and swirling and waiting to explode.
He turned and looked straight at me, an assassin’s grin spreading across his lips. “I broke them, and now I’ll break you. Your time is up, princess.”
I staggered backward and collided against the dresser. The vision was gone, the painting as it had been. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I struggled to draw in a breath.
It was just a memory. He couldn’t have looked at me, couldn’t have spoken to me, and yet his words sent a shiver through me.
Your time is up, princess.
The warning from the vision rose in my mind: He’s here. He’s coming for you.
Was Locke the demon—or was he a mask the demon wore, the same as the old man Valen had seen?
Nausea burned my throat. It was no wonder Valen had never found a way to break the curse.
His closest ally had been sabotaging him every step of the way, a dark shadow lurking over his shoulder and poisoning his thoughts.
Valen had told me they’d done terrible things to try to break the curse.
What purpose had those dark rituals served?
Had it been to make Locke’s power stronger, or simply to torture Valen and drive him into deeper depths of despair and depravity?
Locke knew the prophecy. He knew I was the key to breaking the curse. He should’ve killed me, yet he’d trained me and given me counsel.
It was all part of the game—I was a weapon he could aim at Valen’s heart.
Every word had been a scalpel, wielded to allay my suspicions, to make me doubt myself, to drive a wedge between me and the king.
He was using me to give Valen hope, only to crush it in the end, as he’d done time and time again, feeding off our misery.
Endless questions bombarded me, pushing me to the brink of madness. Had Locke been behind everything—the mercenaries, the general, the unlocked castle gate?
My fingers knotted into fists. The bastard had convinced me that everything had been my fault and nearly broken me with doubt. But it had been him manipulating us the entire time.
I hurled the sheet back over the canvas, unwilling to look at it any longer. My temples ached.
How would I convince Valen of the truth? Locke had posed as his closest ally and advisor for decades. The king would think that I’d gone mad, that I was lashing out in my desperation to find an answer.
The painting was useless. Locke’s face had been obliterated by time, and there was no way I could show Valen what I’d seen in my vision. There had to be something here I could show him—if not, I’d have to face Locke alone, and I was certain I wasn’t strong enough.
I lifted the candelabrum and slowly turned, letting the candlelight sweep over the contents of the room.
The hair on the back of my neck slowly rose.
These weren’t just random piles of junk.
They were a woman’s things, her things—her dowry, a wedding bed, chests of dresses brought with her from a far-off forgotten kingdom.
Locke must have destroyed the tower she’d resided in, then hidden them all here, entombing them forever.
I reached out with my magic, grasping at the objects around me. “I need proof of the monster that did this. Is the answer here?”
As my power traced through the room searching for a connection, the flickering emotions of the objects pressed against me—anger and sadness, a thousand fleeting memories of her, of being abandoned, of being sealed away. A desire to help, a desire for revenge, but no idea how.
A connection forged, and something slammed behind me, and I jumped.
The drawer of a three-legged writing desk rammed against the back of a dresser again, trying to open.
I set the candelabrum down and braced against the dresser, shoving and grunting until it scooted over a foot.
The drawer of the writing table popped free, revealing an assortment of ancient quills, dried ink pots, and the remains of a stained blotting cloth.
I rifled through the contents until I discovered an old leather-bound journal, lifting it gently. Unlike the tomes in the library, the journal hadn’t aged with grace. The leather cover was cracked and brittle, the pages stiff and yellow with age.
I opened it. The first page was a royal crest, the second, a hand-written title.
An account of my betrothal and journey to Castle Highwatch, my new home
Emma, princess of Westfold
It was her journal, the woman whose hands I’d held, who’d met my gaze with those sightless eyes. The one who’d guided me to this place when I had no hope left.
Emma. Her name had been Emma.
A fragment of the ancient page broke off, and I winced. “Sorry about that.” I pushed a little of my magic into the book. “I don’t want to damage you, but I’m looking for proof of who cursed this place. What can you show me?”
The book grew cold, and then its pages began flipping, stopping midway through. My eyes drifted down the fading sepia words.
I feel so alone, and I have no idea what to do.
The king’s advisor came to me again last night, dismissing the guards and speaking to me in anger.
I see now that his power over this place is complete, my betrothed little more than a figurehead.
Lord Locke is not the enchanting man that I first met, the man who tried to win my heart. Jealousy has driven him mad.
He claims I have magic, and that he knows a path to unlimited power, that with me at his side, we could make the world cower before us.
He doesn’t understand that I don’t want power or a throne. I want a man, and it’s not him. Not anymore. I’ve seen the magic he practices, and I want nothing of it.
He tried to have me, but I rebuffed him. Thank heavens he left, but he vehemently cursed me for having a stone-cold heart. Imagine that. A stone heart. My heart has never been more alive.
A cold sweat fell over me. Locke had wanted her, but she’d chosen the king, and he’d destroyed them for it.
I slipped the broken fragment of paper between the pages as a bookmark. This was exactly what I’d been looking for. But would it be enough to convince the king?
It would have to be. It was all I had.
With the journal clutched in my hand, I hurried through the halls of the castle, looking for Locke around every corner. Was he hunting me now, or biding his time, waiting to see what I’d do?
I didn’t need to search for the king. The intoxicating thrum of his blood pulled me toward the reception hall. A handful of servants rushed past. I dodged a man carrying a silver tray, then slipped through the side door into the grand reception hall.
I stopped short.
Servants wove in every direction, setting platters of food and carafes of wine across linen-draped tables.
A marble fountain had been erected in the center of the room, and thick rivulets of blood flowed down the smooth stone, collecting in a shallow pool.
Glasses were set around the rim, ready and waiting to quench the thirst of the immortals.
My gaze settled on the three bodies hung upside down along the far wall—General Sarkis and the mangled bodies of his officers. The bastards deserved what they got. Was it their blood in the fountain?
Bile stung my throat. Then a single face brought me back. Locke.
My skin went cold, and I froze as if his magic had turned me to stone.
Please don’t let him see me.
“Lady Belle!” Isolde Morgave weaved toward me, clutching a wide glass of golden liquid that sloshed on the floor. “I’ve been dying to talk to you. Isn’t this wonderful?” She gestured around the room.
I grabbed her arm and pivoted so that she blocked me from Locke’s view.
“Lady Morgrave—”
“Isolde,” she insisted.
“Isolde. You’re a true friend in this castle. I’ll tell you the secrets of the king’s bed chamber if you help me, right now.”
Her pupils dilated, her eyes bright and expression voracious. “Anything,” she breathed out.
“I must speak with the king, but Lord Locke has been hounding me relentlessly since the battle. Can you pull his attention away, just for a minute?”
A sly grin spread across her pink lips. “Of course.”
I sank back behind the bulk of a pillar as she hitched up one side of her gown and hurried toward the high magister. As soon as she was on him, I skirted the edge of the reception hall, taking cover among the servants.
Valen’s presence tugged at me from the cluster of nobles at the far end of the chamber.
I glanced back to check on Lady Morgrave, but instead of catching her eyes, it was Locke staring back at me from the far corner. His face was placid, but the faint curve at the corner of his mouth told me what he was thinking: I’ve got you, now.
He shoved past Isolde, who was trying to engage him.
My breaths grew shallow, and tightness strained my chest. He was coming. I hitched up my dress and made a beeline through the crowd. No point in hiding now. Speed was all that mattered.
“Lord Locke!” Isolde shouted, drawing every eye.
I glanced back as she shoved into him, dousing him with her wine. “I’m so sorry! Let me!” She began patting him dry with an apron that she’d yanked off one of the maidservants.
“Get off me!” he snarled, shoving her away and heading straight for me.
I accelerated my pace, but Locke quickened, too, effortlessly weaving between bodies and drawing closer with each step.
“Let me through,” I said as I shoved my way into the cluster of nobles around the king. Valen’s eyes landed on me, a flicker of warmth in them. He cut off his conversation and turned to me. “I was wondering when you’d come to me.”
I grasped his arm. “We need to talk. In private.”
He leaned close and grinned. “Is this because I didn’t send you an invitation? I wasn’t certain that this—”
I glanced over my shoulder. Locke was almost on us. I dug my fingers into the king’s arm. “Get me out of here, now.”
The amusement in the king’s eyes vanished, and his expression drew taut. He placed his hand on my back and swept me toward the door. Servants and nobles melted away in a blinding rush, and soon we were through the entrance.
I twisted to face the double doors. “Don’t let anyone follow us.”
My magic flared, and they slammed shut, locking.
Tension coiled in Valen’s shoulders. “What’s this about?”
“Take me somewhere safe where we can talk. We won’t have much time.”
My body lurched as he lifted me, and the castle blurred around us. I clung on as he sprinted forward with immortal speed, squeezing my eyes shut.
My body jostled in his arms as we flew up the stairs and down the halls, then we stopped suddenly, and I opened my eyes. We were in his chambers. He set me down and locked the door behind us. “What’s going on?”
“Locking the door won’t stop what’s coming. I don’t think anything will.” I motioned to his desk, then to a shelf of books. Block it.
They shuddered to life and slammed themselves over the door.
The king’s expression darkened, and his hand dropped to his blade. “Who’s coming, princess?”
“Locke. He’s the one that cursed you.”