Chapter 34
Currently…
Orrin’s hand hovers in the air where he tried to reach for my throat, his attempt thwarted by magic.
“You see brother, you just signed a magical contract,” I explain, rolling up the parchment. “On the front, it says that you will not hurt my staff or Stella. But on the back, it says that you will never harm another living soul so long as you live. Oh, and that you’re abdicating the dukedom and handing it over to me.”
A growl escapes him, but he does nothing to move against me. Nor does he fight me off when I clap a pair of irons around his wrists.
In fact, he looks almost happy. But then his eyes drift to something behind me.
I turn as Stella enters the room, staring at Orrin like he’s a phantom. He stares back, and now that I’ve started paying attention to other people’s feelings, I realize that there’s the tiniest hint of shame in his eyes.
Stella walks forward, gaze locked with Orrin’s. So many emotions cross over her face that I don’t have time to catch them all. She’s afraid, angry, resentful, hurt, relieved, sad.
But by the time she reaches him, I just see immense amounts of strength being used to keep her from throwing her fists in his face.
“I…forgive you.” The words come slow, like she has to grind them out one by one. Tears are gathered in her eyes and her expression is half glare and half sorrow. “But I cannot trust you. So, if I ever see your face again, I will shoot it on sight.”
Orrin nods. “Fair enough, Little—”
“Don’t,” Stella snaps. “Only Alistair can call me that.”
Orrin looks between Stella and me, his emotions too tumultuous and tangled to read. But he doesn’t fight Brutus and Carson as they lead him to the dungeon we’ve never had a reason to use. Tilda and Denise follow behind them, but I don’t think Orrin will give them any trouble. The contract will keep him in check.
“Have I told you yet today that I love you, Little Wolf?” I whisper as Stella turns and wraps her arms around my middle, pressing her face against my chest.
“Yes, but I’ve been meaning to tell you that I need to hear it throughout the day.”
I chuckle and lay my cheek against her hair, closing my eyes and breathing in the feeling of freedom. “The curse is gone,” I say, squeezing her close.
“I know, I felt it when you tried to force me to leave the manor so you could get yourself killed.”
“I’m going to be paying for that one for a while, aren’t I?”
“Forever,” she quips happily. “But what was it that broke the curse? You sending me away?”
I hum, thinking back to the Poet who cast the curse. “Maybe I was supposed to be willing to sacrifice in order to break the curse?”
“Silly boy,” a twinkling voice scoffs. “You had to love someone unconditionally and be willing to let them go for the sake of the greater good. That’s what broke the curse.”
Stella and I both go still in each other’s arms. “You heard that too, right?” she whispers.
“Of course he heard it,” the twinkling voice says.
Slowly, Stella and I pull apart and see a woman sitting in my chair, her feet kicked up on the table and Narcissus curled up on her lap.
“You,” I gasp. “You’re the Poet who cursed me.”
She looks the same as she did that night, albeit without the ballgown. Now she wears pants beneath a split overskirt and a shirt beneath a laced-up bodice similar to the way Stella dresses. Her smooth black hair is pulled up into a ponytail, the end of it trailing over her shoulder, and her dark eyes watch me with morbid enjoyment. She’s beautiful, but I somehow find her less impressive than I used to.
Probably because I’m now completely obsessed with my intended. Stella may not have said yes yet, but she will. I’m not letting her go a second time.
”Technically, I”m a Lyricist, not a Poet. But that”s beside the point,” the woman shrugs.
“How did you get here?” Stella asks, looking around the room like she might find a horse or carriage just sitting around.
The Poet waves a careless hand, the other scratching Narcissus’ head. “I won’t explain the details of Poetry—it’s complicated for non-Poets. But magic is tied to the person who cast it. So, when your curse broke, the magic alerted me. Plus, I’ve been watching you for a while.”
“You’ve been watching me? And you didn’t think to help?” I exclaim, four years’ worth of frustration oozing out of me.
“I couldn’t interfere,” the woman replies simply. “It would damage the magic and that would be much worse than your curse ever was. Trust me.”
“I’m sorry, did you say that he had to fall in love with someone and then give them up in order to break the curse?” Stella squawks, still a little confused.
“Yes and no,” the Poet says, tilting her head from side to side. “You had to love someone unconditionally. Technically it would have worked even if you’d loved someone as if they were a sibling. Romance was not a requirement. But the second part was crucial—you needed to be willing to let that person go from your life for the sake of others.”
I stare at her, annoyed by the revelation. “So it was a test.”
“Yes!” She grins. “I knew your brother had to be removed as duke, but I couldn’t just have you replace him. You were too selfish and shortsighted—no offense.”
“None taken,” I shrug. She’s not wrong.
“You needed to learn how to love without the hope of a reward,” the Poet explains. “And you needed to learn how to sacrifice that love for the wellbeing of the people you were meant to rule.”
“And making me burn in the sun?” I seethe, recalling every burn and laceration I got from the barest crack in the drapes or the very first rays of sunlight when I didn’t quite make it back to the manor before sunrise. “Was that truly necessary?”
“Yes. You needed to build empathy, and the best way to do that is to understand suffering. If I had just imprisoned you the way I did the servants, you would have been annoyed, but you wouldn’t have suffered.”
I want to be angry. To shout at her for ruining my life. But I don’t.
“Thank you,” I say instead, and the Poet raises her eyebrows. “There wouldn’t be this,” I give Stella a gentle squeeze, “If there hadn’t been you.”
The Poet studies me, impressed. “You’ve changed. I like it.”
“Of course, I think making Stella appear ugly was a little much,” I taunt, not really angry anymore, “But at least I met her. So I can’t complain.”
“And yet you did,” the Poet smiles.
“Why did you make me appear ugly?” Stella asks.
The Poet tilts her head at me. “Love wouldn’t be unconditional if Alistair only saw women as baubles or jewels now, would it? Making women appear unattractive to him was a way to remove any selfish benefit he would have gotten out of the situation.”
To my shock and slight disgust, Stella takes a seat across from the woman, resting her chin on her fist, almost as if she’s enamored with her. “What’s your name?”
The stranger eyes Stella with approval, her smile friendly. “I like you. You picked a good one, Alistair. You can call me Abigail.”
“Stella,” my fickle fiancée says, shaking Abigail’s hand. “Now you wouldn’t happen to have any ideas of where to put Orrin for the time being or any advice on how Alistair can transition smoothly into being the duke, would you?”
Abigail’s grin turns mischievous. “Do I ever.”