Chapter Twenty-Nine
OPHELIA
“This is a bad idea,” Helena whispers. “Remind me again why I’m doing this?”
“Because I’m the future queen.” And though the very idea of the title still makes me uncomfortable, I’ll use it for my good—and the good of this palace. “This can’t possibly get me into trouble.”
“Until you and the prince are married, I’m sure this will get you into trouble.” Helena may complain, but that doesn’t stop her from poking the wire into the lock. She wiggles it around, her brow furrowed as she works.
The thick book of prophecies is kept in a glass cabinet behind a lock and key. Not a magical lock, just a regular one, and my friend has no trouble—
CLICK.
“There,” Helena says. “Be quick before the librarian catches us.”
“The librarian is so rarely around. I’ve seen her here but twice.”
There are dozens of books to choose from. A book of poisons, another of immortal secrets… but I’m only interested in one: the prophecies.
I snatch up the thick book. “I’ll lock up once I am done.”
“Do you want me to stay with you?” Helena asks, shifting on her feet.
“No, no—and I don’t wish to get you in trouble.” I close the cabinet but don’t lock it. Not yet. “I need some time alone with the prophecies.”
“If you say so.”
Helena stands in the doorway and gives me a long look.
Perhaps she mistrusts me now that she knows I’m a halfling, but she should understand why I have such a heavy desire to read this book. I must know what, exactly, the prophecy says about me.
After lingering for a wordless moment, she leaves.
I carry a stack of books to the smallest table in the gigantic library, one crammed into a corner in front of a stained-glass window.
The only thing that could make it more beautiful is the presence of the sun, but I’m past wishing for such things.
Wishes are not within my abilities; it’s time for action.
The sun will return, and I’ll be the one who brings it home…
Or so I hope.
I pile up books beside me at the table. A facade, of course. There’s only one book I’m interested in, but to be caught reading it alone is suspicious. Emyr has shown me much about curses, but so little about the curse over this land.
And the prophecy that goes along with it.
I’ve always known about the prophecy. As mortals, we whisper about it, knowing it only by retellings. The darkness will take the land, and only the sun king can free it.
The role of the halfling is disastrous. The halfling is supposed to be lustful and greedy, bringing down the fae and mortals together. Only the sorceress can stop her, or so the tale says.
That halfling isn’t me. I don’t have the means, desire, or power to make any kingdom crumble. Truthfully, these tales have always confused me. Each person tells them differently, and the only thing that remains the same is the ending.
Death, destruction, and a shadowed land. The end of the Sun Palace as I know it.
My hands shake as I open the book, one with a simple title: A Book of Prophecy.
Prophecies are funny things. Some come to pass, others do not. Some have authors, others are written anonymously. The book may appear simple, bound in red and with a lackluster title, but it’s heavy and with minimal dust. It’s likely to be read frequently, but only by the king himself.
I flip through the pages, my brow furrowed as I look for the one I need. One century ago. The book’s contents are horrid and beautiful. Some are curses, like the one I am looking for. Others are tales of marriage and courtship, of riches and wealth.
Magic is a neutral thing, after all. The sorcerers may choose to use their magic to destructive ends, but surely they could make another choice, just as the witches of my village did. They healed wounds and protected people on their journeys. It was simple magic, yet beneficial.
The most confusing part of this prophecy is the role of the sorceress. Everyone I’ve met speaks of sorcerers and evil magic, and it’s nearly confirmed that a sorceress created this curse.
“Why would one possibly want to save the realm?” I mutter, flipping through the book.
The word halfling catches my attention, and at last, I stop, my finger running down the page. Yes. The words differ from those I’ve heard, but this must be it.
With each line I read, my blood runs colder. It is ice by the end. The words swirl around my head, getting lost in fear…
Darkness takes each land. No one can be free.
The Sun Fae speak of this curse as though it will only hurt them, but the prophecy tells another story. Each land. With its unique magic and architecture, each palace will fall into the darkness, following the Sun. The silvery, violet moon palace will crumble. The beaches. The people.
They’re not my people, of course, not truly, but after one day in the Moon Palace…
It feels like mine.
My heart clenches.
Look to the sun, for he is the one.
Emyr. It could speak of any Sun Fae, but I know it is supposed to be him. He’s the embodiment of the sun.
Tricky fae with their pointy teeth and tight jaws think they are high enough to tiptoe around mortal laws.
A fae clearly didn’t write this prophecy. This part reads exactly like the mortals I know, who muttered stories. It was always the fae who were blamed. We didn’t know of the curse—only that the land would fall, and fae were to blame.
This is why it misled us and made us overlook the truth. We thought the fae were killing our people, but we were wrong.
How much more could we be wrong about?
I peer over the tales of the sorceress, who appears to be the hero in the story. I stop, and my heart does along with me.
A halfling, taken by lustful greed. If she intervenes, both sides will fall.
This can’t be me. How could I bring about the end? I’m trying to break the curse. I’ve been helping Emyr for weeks.
This is all so different from what I believed growing up. It’s as if mortals twisted these words, and… why does this prophecy not speak of the curse at all—at least, not in so many words? Perhaps the two are not connected.
But it feels unlikely.
I’m left with more questions, but should I bother Emyr with them? We are to be wed; that will surely end the curse, and all of this along with it.
“Ophelia?”
Gods. I slam the book shut. A bit of dust puffs into my face, and I sneeze, giving myself away.
“Over here!” I call, shoving the book under the others. “Just doing a bit of research.”
Emyr stands tall, leaning against a stone wall. “You’re still researching curses, hm?” His smile is all sunshine, and I swear the dark room brightens. “Come on. We’ll break the curse in a few weeks. There’s nothing more to learn.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” I stand and brush off my emerald gown—a new one gifted by Emyr. “I shall put these away.”
“Do that.” He nods. “And meet me downstairs soon. I have a private dinner planned.”
“But of course.”
He leaves. I’m alone.
Even with the book closed, I let my mind wander over the final words of the dreaded prophetic curse.
This is not sinister. It is not revenge. It is simply the tale of what we shall know as…
The end
Don’t tell him about the prophecy.
Please, don’t ruin this lovely dinner by discussing that dreaded curse. It’s all we have spoken of for months. We can focus on love now. We are to be wed; the large ring on my finger is proof of that. As soon as the moon is full, we’ll break the curse.
While the ring still elicits bliss, the simple sight filling me with glee, it’s not enough to eclipse the terror that followed me to dinner.
We have the dining room to ourselves, just two people squeezed into the corner of the large table. A white cloth is spread over the wooden surface, and half of the table is filled with golden dishes of delectable food.
Tea, pastries, soup, roasted vegetables, and roast beef so savory a single bite would make my toes curl. In another life, I would reach right for the main courses, but I’m to be a princess—and someday, a queen. I must have more decorum than that.
Soup always comes first.
While I’m not in the most talkative of moods, Emyr has no trouble filling the blank spaces. He speaks to me of his arcane studies, a topic that is his greatest passion, but it is close enough to the subject of curses that I have to bite my tongue to keep from ruining our time together.
Emyr invited me here, to a beautiful candlelit dinner. I mustn’t wreck it with reminders of the pressure that rests on our betrothal. But it burdens me, and I can’t stand being the only one to carry it. He’s never seemed so carefree.
I push the asparagus soup around my bowl and bring the tiniest bit to my mouth.
“What’s wrong, my love?” Emyr asks. “You don’t like the soup? Be truthful. I will have it returned to the kitchen, and they’ll prepare something else for you immediately. Potato leek soup, perhaps. That’s your favorite, is it not?”
“Emyr. You must stop. This soup is enjoyable.” And I know the cooks in the palace work hard, considering I’m friendly with some of them. I would never give them more needless work to do. “There’s no need to go to such extremes.”
“You consider this extreme? I would do far more for you than ask the cooks to plate you a new bowl of soup.”
“But it’s unnecessary.” I give him a halfhearted smile. “All is well.”
“It isn’t.” He leans in, his eyes glistening with something—perhaps fear. “You’ve barely spoken. Are you still upset about the party?”
“I was not upset—simply out of place, and no. That’s no longer bothering me.”
But I’m lying. Minetta’s words still follow me. Halfling. She said it as if it were a taunt, a threat. At any moment, Princess Minetta will run to his parents, and I’ll be banished from the palace. She’ll marry him instead.
The fae, high and common, will continue attacking and dying.
And I still don’t know how she knows what I am.
“You’re never out of place as long as I am here.” He brushes his foot against mine, and the simple contact stills my beating heart.
I look up from my bowl. “Do your parents know I am a halfling, Emyr? Have you told them?”
His face goes white. “Well, no—”
“Good. That’s for the best. I don’t wish for them to know.” My spoon clatters into the bowl, splattering bits of soup onto the white cloth. “It’s only that I am afraid they do know. Somehow, even Princess Minetta knows.”
His eyes narrow. “Princess Minetta is conniving. I will have a word with her.”
“No! Please, don’t. We’ve already done her great harm—”
“She has done me great harm—us great harm.”
I flinch. “Perhaps you’re correct, but I don’t wish anyone to have ill will for our marriage.”
“She will. I’m sorry to state the facts bluntly, but we can’t do anything to persuade Princess Minetta to support our union. It’s pure jealousy, nothing more, and her opinion doesn’t matter to me, nor does it truly matter to my parents. You must believe that. We all have a common goal.”
To break the curse. But if I’m the halfling in the prophecy, am I truly capable of that?
My shoulders relax. I’ve been tense all evening, but he offers me some comfort, even if he can’t remove the entirety of the burden.
“Tell me what this is truly about,” he says, with pressure behind his words.
“I wish to marry you, and for us to spend the rest of our long lives together. What Minetta has to say on the matter is not of any importance, and I’m certain you already know that.
There must be something else that is creating this fear. ”
“It’s that I am a halfling.” My lower lip trembles. “If your parents discover my secret, they may not allow you to marry me.”
“Ophelia.” He takes my hand, squeezing it hard. “There is nothing they can do to keep us from marrying. Please agree with that. We will make our own decisions. Gods above—we’ll elope, if needed.”
“You know what?” I nod and laugh, willing the shadows to be cast away. “Yes. Skipping the wedding entirely sounds preferable.”
“Doesn’t it?” He smiles a crooked smile. “I love you, my future queen. Our wedding is for us, and us alone. Minetta is not allowed to ruin that. She already stole so much time from us.”
“I suppose you’re correct.”
“I am.” He lets go of my hand. “Eat your soup, darling. Let’s speak of better topics—like your wedding gown.”
I glare. “You’re not allowed to see it.”
“Does that mean you have already picked one out?”
“Well… no.”
“What a shame.” He sighs in longing. “I can’t wait to see what a vision you are on our wedding day. You must hurry and choose a gown.”
“And you must learn patience.”
The tension of our dinner easily dissolves into banter. I can recognize Emyr’s attempt at comforting me. He wants me to feel that I belong here, and I know he truly longs to marry me. Those things should be enough.
Why, oh why, is the burden still on my shoulders? It presses harder and harder, forcing me into the ground, until I’m afraid I’ll land in the deepest layer of the Hells.