Chapter 15 #2
“Not a threat—a warning,” Emyr says. “The corrupt fae are a danger to you, even if you’ve no chance of becoming corrupt.”
“Don’t I?”
He shakes his head. “It’s only the common fae—the ones who are less humanoid, that is to say. High fae have yet to succumb to such corruption.”
“I see.” I step closer. After avoiding the prince for days, it’s easy to seek proximity. The moon’s light carries me as though I’m resting atop a wave of salty sea foam. “And what about you, prince? Isn’t it dangerous for you to be out this late?”
“You don’t need to worry about me. I may not be trained in combat, but I have defensive magic. Can you say the same?”
“I’m afraid I can’t.” I gaze up at the moon. “I thought being out here would help me feel more connected to my element. Perhaps it’s silly.”
“It’s not. Moon Fae have been doing this for centuries. For as long as I can remember, really.”
There it is again—hope. Not only hope for my magic, but that the prince and I may be able to be friends. It’s hard to believe some days, when my mind can think of nothing but twirling in his arms.
“Oh.” I let out a breathy laugh. “I suppose that means the rumors of moon bathing are true. At least I’m not wasting my time.”
“You have been practicing your magic?” He lifts a brow. “I would hardly call that a waste. Let us see it.”
“No!” I hold my hands to my chest. “I’m not ready to show anything—not to a magician like you.”
“I’m sure you are. Don’t be so afraid.”
I hesitate, lowering my arms and defenses. “If you answer one question for me, I will show you what little magic I can wield.”
“You may ask whatever you please of me, little halfling.”
“Why is it that when we channeled magic together, I could control the wind? I can’t do that now. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
“Ah…” He chuckles. “That was me. I’ve practiced manipulating many elements, and though they don’t come as naturally to me as the sunlight and illusory magic, I’m adept at most of them. That’s the work of a magician, to use all tools at our disposal.”
My brows furrow. “Then you lied to me. I was not channeling magic at all, was I?”
“We channeled the air together. That was not a lie.” He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his hair when it blows in the wind.
It appears he has finally bathed and fixed his hair, after days of appearing so lackluster.
Now, he smells like warmth. Amber. A forest. “I only wanted to encourage your blossoming magic.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “You did encourage it, I suppose. You made me infatuated with the mere idea of feeling that tingle again. I’ve been searching for it ever since.”
“Then let’s find it together,” he whispers. “Show me your magic. Please? I would love to see it.”
“Well…” I swallow thickly and cup my hands together, closing my eyes.
Sorrow is the easiest emotion for me to mold.
I feel it in him now, and it is something I’ve carried since my father’s death, perhaps before that.
Sometimes, it feels as though a deep sense of longing burrowed its way into my chest from the moment I was born, originating in memories I have no reason to recall.
But tragedy isn’t the feeling that comes when I call on this night. It’s something pink and bursting, something that feels like a giggle. Sweet and deep, like the burst of biting into a ripe plum.
When I open my hands, rose light shines onto his face.
Emyr peers at me with wide, sky-blue eyes. “You’re an empath.”
“I believe so. You’ve heard of the gift?”
“But, of course. It can be quite a useful ability. Many become emotional healers, so to speak.”
Emyr looks different in the light. He’s closer to how he was when we first met, carefree again, intrigued by me, I think—or by my magic.
Curiosity lights up his face. Perhaps speaking of the arcane is the distraction he needs.
The trouble is that this should be a perfectly friendly conversation, but it’s not—not for me.
Seeing his eyes brighten, how he leans in, the rapid way he whispers…
He is pure passion, and it makes him far more attractive.
Heavens, why have I been given the burden of this desire?
“Ah…” I allow the energy to fade. Whatever this feeling is, it’s not something I should hold onto for long.
Seeing him in that light makes me want to do things I shouldn’t and that I can’t.
“I’ve been feeling what you are feeling lately, Your Highness, and it’s been causing me tremendous worry. Are you all right?”
He scoffs. “You mustn’t worry about me, little halfling.”
“But I do. Is it the illness of your friend that has you so morose?”
“No. Well, yes, I suppose—but I am afraid… it’s more than that.” He looks at the moon, as if it may hold answers for him, too. “My betrothal is not how it appears to the public. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you, but you have proven yourself trustworthy.”
“I am worthy of your trust—or at least, I would like to be.” My heart races. How could I ever be worthy of being a prince’s confidant? “Whatever could you mean?”
“My parents arranged for Minetta and me to be married. They allowed me to pick my bride, yes, but they gave me no further time to meet someone I wanted to wed. They’ve set a date less than two months from now, and I must follow what they say.”
I blink. “Then you aren’t…?”
“In love?” His laughter is bitter. “No. I am not, no matter how much I wish to be. We first met at the ball, where we danced all evening, but… she’s changed.
I don’t know what it is. She claimed not to know I was the prince that night, but she still wished to dance with me.
” He shakes his head. “That can’t be true, can it? She knew. She knew.”
A layer of sweat covers my shaking hands. That is what I told him during our first dance, wasn’t it? And it was true when I said it. I didn’t know he was the prince, not until he told me.
What are the chances Minetta said it as well? Could she have overheard us and stolen my words to charm him? My throat tightens, making it impossible to get the words out.
“She claimed not to enjoy crowds.” He chuckles. “Now, she continues to throw these extravagant parties. I don’t understand. It would be presumptuous to think she lied to me…”
But she has.
I want to scream it in his face. She lied because those are the words I spoke. How could I have been so foolish? The one he will marry is pretending to be me, and I can’t fathom why she would do such a thing.
I must tell him, but the words don’t come out. What am I to do? Would the truth change his circumstances or give him another thing to worry about?
A prince can’t marry a maid. His parents would never allow it.
“She… may have been trying to put another foot forward,” I blurt out. “Or perhaps she’s attempting to change now. Your position does require one to be quite forward-facing.”
“I suppose that’s true.” He sighs and turns his attention back to me, smiling softly. “Regardless, thank you for listening to the rambles of a sad man. I’ve no choice but to go on with the wedding.”
His admission makes my decision for me. Emyr is right; he has no choice in the matter. What good does telling him the truth do? His parents are set on the wedding. It’s out of his control.
Perhaps they will find love regardless of the circumstances. The curse can still be broken, but it can’t be by me—a dreaded halfling.
“I… will do what I can to be a good friend to you during this time,” I murmur. “And I will support you.”
Even if that means lying to his face.
“You’re a new friend, but you’ve already become dear to me.” His smile makes me warm and cold at the same time. “Thank you, Ophelia.”
He shouldn’t thank me for a single thing, for I am a terrible friend. Friends don’t keep secrets, and I return to my room with a secret so big that I cannot tell the prince. I cannot even tell Helena.
The prince and his betrothed aren’t in love, and that princess is not who she appears to be. But if I tell him the truth, I will become the ruinous halfling the prophecy spoke of.
I will destroy the marriage that may save this kingdom.
I can’t do that.
EMYR
I return to my bedchamber to find Tibalt waiting for me, but there’s no time to spend with my old friend. I’ve less than two moons to break this curse, or spend a thousand years married to someone I don’t love…
And to suffer under this curse for another generation.
“Where have you been?” Tibalt asks.
“Nowhere, and I do not plan to leave tonight. Your services are not required.”
He scoffs. “Forgive me for worrying. You’ve not been yourself of late, and you know what happens when you are not yourself…”
“Well, I am back to myself now. There’s no reason to worry.”
I ruffle his hair and slip inside my bedchamber, and my hulking friend follows.
He crosses his arms. “It appears so. Would you tell me where this rapid change has come from?”
That is quite the question, but I do not have an answer. I look through my books, scanning the precariously sprawled texts. “Unsure.” I look up with a jerking motion. “Tell me, friend, what do you know of true love?”
His eyes narrow. “No more than you do.”
“If you know what I know, then you know Princess Minetta and I are not truly in love.” I snap the book shut and peer into his golden eyes. “And our marriage will not heal the land, as the sorceress intended.”
“My friend, what I know is that love takes time. You can’t know unless—”
“Then I should not be married to her unless I know. There’s too much at stake. My palace is at stake—Spark is at stake!”
A V-shaped line appears between his brows. “Perhaps you’re not back to your old self after all. I’ve not seen you this worked up since you were still studying. Those late nights tend to do this to you.”
“I’ve been sleeping.” I brush off his concerns. “Three hours a night, but that’s not what this is.”
“Don’t rush into action as you tend to. Don’t flee. Please, Emyr. That’s all I ask.” He steps closer and, when he attempts to take the book from my hand, I allow it. “Stay. I’m asking not as your guard, but as your friend.”
Tibalt will be my oldest and only friend if Spark is gone. Perhaps, for once, I should listen to his advice.
My shoulders slump. “I suppose you’re right. I was silly to think I found the answer.”
“Not silly. Hopeful.”
“There’s but a tiny spark of hope in my chest.” I meet his gaze earnestly. “For if I can find a way to break this curse alone—”
“Hope of you single-handedly breaking the curse? No, I’ve changed my mind. That’s your giant ego speaking. You’re but one person. How do you expect to find the cure to such a curse all on your own, and when it’s already been stated so plainly in the prophecy?”
“Because I am a magician.”
Tibalt is always the one to knock me down when I’m high on the throne, but is it helpful in this moment? If my giant ego is the thing to cure our land, it will be an asset. I won’t back down.
“Many other magicians have tried and failed.”
“But they are not me.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You know that I will follow you, even if you lead us both to a sudden end. If you wish to break the curse alone, I’ll be at your side, pointing out the holes in your logic whenever possible.”
“Then that’s what we shall do.”
“And where will that lead us next?”
“I don’t…” I peer through the window. The moon glows like a beacon, guiding me through the dark curse. “I don’t have an answer yet, but I will soon. You must trust me.”
“I do—with my life.”
“And I trust you as well. You’ve saved me enough times that I would be a fool not to.”
At least, if all else is falling apart, I have that. I have him.
Tibalt’s advice lingers in the back of my mind. Love takes time. Should I give my time and attention to my betrothed, or pour my soul into breaking this curse?
Time is slipping through my fingers. I must make every day count.
The adventure will start where all great adventures begin—the library. Tomorrow morning.