Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
EMYR
I’m a mess. I sit in the garden with my head pressed to a tear-soaked marble bench. My wings wrap around my body. Each fresh tear stings my salted skin.
My friend will die soon. My kingdom is crumbling. Ophelia is gone.
The most dreadful part is that my father is right. He may be the reason for the curse, but I’m the only one who can break it, and I’ve failed. Perhaps I could have been a better partner for Ophelia. There must be some way I could have made her want to stay.
We could have been married. We could have saved everyone.
“Please.” I cringe at the congested sound of my voice and grip the edge of the bench. My bony knees press into the cold, hard ground, surely bruised by now.
I’m pathetic. Just pathetic.
“You poor thing,” a soft voice murmurs. “What are you begging for, princeling?”
I lift my head. The flash of purple wings, even accompanied by stark white hair, reminds me of Ophelia. But no. Of course, it is not her. It’s the strange Moon Fae from the tavern. Why, oh why, is she following me? Each time I see her, she torments me. Each time, I think it’s my beloved.
“Leave me.” I sniffle and turn my head away, embarrassed at the idea of a stranger seeing me in this state.
“I can do that, if it is truly what you want—or I can help.”
“How could you help?”
“With a simple wish, of course.”
Wish magic is not to be trusted. It may be helpful at times, but other times, it’s useless. The worst fae can even use their magic in tricky ways, as we often do.
“Can a wish cure a curse?” I ask dryly.
“Sadly, it cannot.”
“Then what good are you?” I stand and brush off my knees, attempting to regain my dignity. “I apologize for my bluntness, but this day has been horrible. Dwelling on faerie tales and wishes will do me no good.”
“But you are a fae. Why don’t you believe in our magic?”
‘There is greater magic.” I gesture to the darkened garden. “Look at the evidence. This dreaded curse can take one of us at any moment, and we’ll rip one another to shreds. We’ll hurt innocent mortals. This cruel magic is something your wishes cannot break.”
“Marrying Ophelia will break the curse. Of that, I am certain.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“I have my ways.”
There is no need to ask what those ways may be. Each Moon Fae has a psychic gift. For Ophelia, it’s the ability to know what one is feeling. Others can see the past, future, or present. What this fae does with her magic is none of my concern.
“She doesn’t wish to marry me,” I say, “and I don’t wish to beg her to, no matter what you heard on this particular evening. It was a moment of weakness, that’s all.”
No one was meant to hear me pleading for her. I have half a mind to fly away, but my wings are worn from a day of soaring in the sky, searching.
“Do you truly believe she does not love you?” Her eyes narrow. “Let us forget what the letter said—”
“How do you know about the letter?”
“—as I said, you must forget that, and you must also forget that she is gone. You know her. She is the only one who can break this curse. Allow me to repeat myself: do you believe she does not love you?”
“I—”
It feels wrong to claim she loves me now that she’s left, but what’s worse is pretending our love wasn’t real. It was. I shake my head, and a fresh tear spills down my cheek.
“No.” My voice breaks. “She loves me. Our love would’ve broken the curse.”
The Moon Fae takes a step closer. “Then listen carefully. I may not be able to break the curse, but I can help you find her—and free her.”
“Free her?” My eyes widen. “Whatever could you mean? Has someone taken her?”
“Yes. I can tell you where she is, but you must move swiftly, you must move alone, and you must not trust anyone but me.”
This is moving far too fast. I cannot save my kingdom—how am I supposed to save Ophelia?
I swallow thickly. “Gods…”
“You will be putting yourself in great danger if you rescue her.”
“Do you think that is why I’m hesitating?” I let out a derisive laugh. “No. If I free her and she doesn’t wish me to, that will make me the villain in her eyes.”
“Then free her just to free her, without the expectations.”
That is the right thing to do, isn’t it?
This Moon Fae may lie. She may lead me to a trap. None of that matters. There is a chance she is telling the truth, too, and I will do what I can to grant my beloved her freedom.
“Fine,” I say. “I will leave at the break of dawn.”
OPHELIA
I bang a raw, red fist against the door. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Please,” I scream, my throat rough and dry. “Let me out!”
We spent a day in the dusty room without food or water. Do my stepsisters know I’m here? They must, and they’re ignoring my pleas. They’ve never shown me any care at all.
No one is listening. No one is coming. Even my stepmother doesn’t ascend the stairs to tell us to stay quiet. It’s as if our pain means nothing to these dreadful beings.
“Stop wasting your energy.” Helena runs an old piece of cloth along the windowsill, collecting dust.
This is what she has been doing with her time. I scream, and she cleans. I suppose it is the only thing that brings her comfort.
“What else am I to do?” I croak. “No one is coming, which means we must free ourselves.”
“Ah, but is this how we find freedom?”
“I don’t know another way.” I press my fingers to the door. “My stepsisters. They may free us, or else they will go for help.”
“If that is the case, they should have come already.”
I sniffle. “Perhaps you’re right. They were never to be trusted.”
They are the reason I left in the first place, and now… I’m alone. Utterly, completely alone.
At night, we cram into my little bed. My bones are weary, and this bed doesn’t offer enough space for proper relaxation. When I was small, it seemed so spacious. As I grew older, it was still fine to sleep in—for one person.
Two grown fae is another story.
Even with our wings tucked safely away, we can hardly fit in the bed. We turn onto our sides, our backs pressed together. Helena never ceases wiggling, even once she has fallen asleep. Her cold feet brush against mine, and she mumbles in her sleep.
I was aware of these quirks before, having shared a bedchamber with her for months, but it’s unbearable when we are this close. How is anyone supposed to sleep in this state?
I’m covered in dirt, my throat aches from crying, and my heart is heavy.
What is the chance that Emyr is truly on his way to save me? I’ve seen him run from threats, and I’ve always known I am the one who must free myself.
That has not always been the case, though, has it? There was someone else who freed me last time.
Isa.
A tear slides down my face.
“Please,” I whisper. “Isa. Can you hear me?”
She always shows up when I need her most, and she does so without problem. Can she hear me now, now that I am trapped?
“Dear one,” an ominous voice whispers. “What has that wicked witch done?”
I sit upright. Isa’s voice is soft, but it’s undoubtedly her. It’s almost as if she is next to me, but I look around the room, and she’s nowhere to be seen.
Have I begun hearing things?
“Isa?”
“Over here. In the window.”
That’s right. Windows are portals, too, aren’t they?
Sure enough, her vision dances through the glass, a little projection of her plump form. She can’t save me this way, can she?
My voice shakes. “You’re not truly here, then?”
“I am not,” she says, “but your prince is on the way to rescue you.”
My eyes widen. “Truly? He is, and he knows where to find me?”
“I alerted him as soon as I had the vision of you trapped in this house, and I am sorry to see that it was true.”
“You had a vision of me?” My fingers press against the cool glass.
“I did. My visions of you are quite vivid.”
Wasting such magic on me is peculiar. I tilt my head to the side. “Is there a reason for that—for me showing up in your visions?”
“We do not have time to speak of this. Another day. Magic like this is difficult to sustain, as you have already experienced. Have you had any luck creating another portal? With the window, perhaps?”
How does she know I crafted a portal? I suppose there is no time to ask that, either.
I shake my head. “No. Just the one.”
“Do not try again. Not yet. You will only wear yourself out. It should be a last resort.”
“But—”
“He’s coming. You’re not alone. My magic will support you both.”
“Ophelia?” Helena says in a groggy voice. “Who are you speaking to? Are we in trouble again?”
“No. No. It is—” I glance from my friend to the window, but the image of the Moon Fae is already gone. It’s as if she never appeared at all, and perhaps she didn’t. “Nothing. I had a bad dream.”
EMYR
Dawn breaks.
“A royal carriage attracts far too much attention,” Isa says, sliding into her carriage. “That is why we must take mine.”
“If you insist.”
“Yes,” Tibalt mumbles. “This carriage is quite incognito.”
Tibalt, however sarcastic he may be, is correct. I don’t see how her carriage will attract less attention. It’s vast and silver, practically glittering in the morning light. But there’s no time to argue with her. We may only have one chance to escape before my parents realize I’m leaving.
My wedding is but a few days away, after all, and I should be planning and visiting the tailor. I haven’t spoken to Minetta or her dreadful parents, but my father made it clear that I only have one option.
Isa is the one who made me realize I have other choices to make. There’s more I can do.
Isa told me not to trust anyone but her, and while that would usually be an alarming thing to say, I have accepted it as true.
She’s the only one coming up with real solutions.
If Ophelia won’t have me, if she asks to leave after I break her free, that will be the end.
I will shut my mouth and marry any princess my parents pick.
But I won’t give up without trying. The sorceress wished for me to learn what true love is, and I am. True love doesn’t give up.
I climb into the carriage behind her.
Tibalt slowly drives forward. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“I’m going,” I say. “If you don’t wish to come, I can drive myself—”
“I am already here, am I not?” Tibalt snaps.
He is. Even if he disagrees, Tibalt has always gone along with my worst plans. Isa told me to trust no one, but Tibalt is the exception, and she hasn’t argued against his presence.
“We will not have to drive long,” Isa says. “I can create a portal once we draw nearer.”
“And where is she?” I turn my attention back to her. “You claim to have answers, but you won’t give them to me. I don’t even know what you are to Ophelia.”
“I am her helpful guide.” Her eyes twinkle. “I am the reason she went to the ball. That is all. I am a granter of wishes, and she is a soul who harnesses hundreds of unmet desires. Naturally, I would gravitate to her.”
“Uh-huh.” I lean back and cross my arms. “And what about my answers? Will you grant me the wish of the great guidance you profess to give her?”
“Despite your attitude, I will tell you, for it is important to know what you will find. You will go to the home where Ophelia was raised. Her stepmother has her captive, but it is more than that.”
Her stepmother? Ophelia told me tales of how wicked her stepmother was, but I can’t imagine she would be this evil. No one would.
Nevertheless, I nod.
“Ophelia’s stepmother is a sorceress.” Isa’s expression becomes grave. “The sorceress. She is the one who cast this spell on your land, and if my suspicions are correct, she captured Ophelia to keep you from breaking the curse.”
My hands clench into fists, grasping my coat within them, desperate for anything to tether me to the realm. “How can that be?”
“I don’t know each detail, but I am sure you will have a chance to ask her yourself.”
“This isn’t the time to jest.” I run my fingers through my limp, frazzled hair. “She took Ophelia because… because she knows our love would break the curse? Yes?”
“Yes.”
“That means we can break it?” My tears overflow. “That means she loves me?”
“It means she is your true love.”
True love isn’t always returned, and the sorceress is one example of that. She loved my father enough that seeing him with someone else wrecked her, turning a harmless witch into a treacherous sorceress.
I understand the unspoken truth behind what Isa says. Ophelia may not love me in return, but it doesn’t matter. She is in danger. We were friends before we were anything more, and I would free any of my friends from such a horrendous place.
“Forget the curse,” I spit. “We’ll free her. The rest will have to wait.”
Isa seems to accept the answer, settling back and placing her clasped hands on her lap. “Then our journey continues.”
“Forget the curse?” Tibalt laughs bitterly. “How can we forget it? Do you not feel it, even now that the sun has risen?”
It’s a fair point. The curse is ravaging others I care for, and I’ve spent my life ruined by it. My parents are destroyed by it. Tibalt is right. I cannot forget the curse and must resume my attempts to break it.
But I’ll save Ophelia first. Queen or not, curse breaker or not, she’s a fae in my kingdom. I have a duty to her.
And… she is my friend. She will always be my friend.
“Ophelia deserves freedom,” I say. “We all do. Whether or not it breaks the curse, she’s my true love, which means we are closer to ending the darkness. That counts.”
“It does,” Isa says. “Do not underestimate the power of love, princeling.”
Though she speaks to me, I have a feeling the comment is directed at Tibalt. Once upon a time, he and I agreed on romantic topics. He thought it was silly that I would be forced to marry for love, and we laughed at the idea of loving only one person.
Now, his silence speaks, but I don’t know what it says.
“We’ll rescue our friend,” he says. “You’re right. That’s what I would do for anyone. Hells, I would do it for you—despite how greatly you annoy me.”
I crack a halfhearted smile. Only Tibalt can make me grin when I want to rip each of my pretty hairs out of my scalp. “And I’d do the same for you.”
“You’d never get the chance.” He scoffs. “Not without me there to guide you.”
“Then it’s good that you are always by my side.”
Though I do not know where I am going or how powerful the sorceress I will face is, having my friend with me is ultimately what grounds me.