Chapter 34
Isabelle
Ever since I was a little girl, I have been obsessed with mysteries and true crime.
That should have clued me in to the fact I would be a star in my own true crime video, but I digress.
What I loved most about them is trying to find what others missed.
The answer is always there, looking you straight in the eyes; you just have to be able to see past your own nose.
I know the answer to reversing the curse is here, just waiting for me to find it.
Now that I’m by myself, I no longer have the distraction of my husband.
The air around me is crisp with the pungent odor of death.
It seems to linger over the entire kingdom, eclipsing the castle in ominous shadows.
I can’t help but feel a pull to the castle, a feeling of being home and desperately wanting to rid my space of the dark entities.
Which is laughable, since my husband is the darkest entity of them all.
Still, something unnatural lingers here.
It’s like a call, one of desperation, telling me I’m on the precipice of…
something. Slowly, I gravitate toward the poisoned river, perching upon the rocky soil, just a few feet shy of the water.
I’m tempted to touch it—in the same way I was tempted to touch the roses in Oziel’s room. Well, our room now.
Everything I’ve learned and been told about the curse floods my brain.
The attack on the demons and turning them into stone.
Oziel believes a cure can come from the River Hel, but not in its current state.
It seems likely his theory is correct, or why would someone go to so much trouble to poison the river?
More importantly, why would someone want to do damage to something that affects them as well?
Unless it’s not hurting them, and this person has kept their power this entire time. But then that also begs the question…why? What is their goal?
I shake my head, getting ahead of myself.
One thing at a time. According to Oziel, the curse started the day a bouquet of flowers was left on his doorstep.
I know very little about the Nephilim, but having spoken to one, it doesn’t seem likely they would send flowers as nothing more than a symbol of Oziel’s weakness.
There’s magic in those flowers; that much is for certain.
I remember being pulled forward, tethered by an invisible thread, as magic hummed in the air around them.
The energy was impossible to ignore. It’s the same pull I feel from the river—a deep, aching need, as if it’s calling to me.
Like two halves of a whole, the roses and the river are bound together, connected by something older than Mescos itself.
Maybe even older than time.
The river isn’t just in danger; it’s sick. Dying. The once-healthy waters clouded, the magic’s hum all but silent now. A plea to anyone who will listen. I’m here, trying to listen. Trying to figure out what they need, but my mind keeps coming back to one thing: those damn roses.
The roses aren’t just beautiful; they’re powerful.
The more I think about them, the more certain I am that they hold the key to restoring the river’s strength.
Not just a symbolic offering, but a true cure, pulsing with the same ancient magic that flows through the water.
The petals glow with a promise I don’t yet understand, but plan to soon.
There’s no explaining it or shaking this feeling taking form inside me.
A thought has blossomed and is growing strong. I have no proof of this newfound idea—nothing to back up this claim. But I know, deep in my bones, these flowers aren’t just meant to be a reminder of the curse. Perhaps their magic can heal too. The pull toward them is too strong to ignore.
I need to touch them.
I jump up at the realization, the words filling me with newfound determination I haven’t felt in a long time.
Apprehension clouds my excitement though, because when I propose my idea to Oziel, I don’t think my husband will take kindly to it.
There is a chance I’m wrong, and the moment I touch the roses, I’ll turn to stone like the other demons.
I would be lying if that possibility doesn’t scare me, but I also know something much more terrible could happen if I don’t do it.
There’s really no choice. Steeling my resolve, I head back to the castle. Oziel mentioned he’d be in his study, but I’m not sure how much time has passed since he left. Maybe an hour? He could be on his way to find the traitor, but I don’t think he’d search without me.
The castle is quiet when I enter. Only a few guards stand at their post, silent except for the occasional whisper.
A few acknowledge me as I pass, and I return their bows with a tight smile.
I really need to learn the proper way to greet people here, but considering my focus is keeping the demon kingdom alive, that falls low on the list.
The hallway leading to Oziel’s study is quiet, which isn’t surprising.
He prefers solitude and little distraction when he’s working.
The door to the study is closed when I reach it, and I place a hand on the wood.
Normally, the door would open without me having to do it myself.
My husband is in tune with the castle, from what I gathered, but specifically everything I do in the castle, and my arrival shouldn’t be a surprise for him.
Though, I imagine he’s too busy trying to figure out the demon who is betraying him to open a silly door for me.
Grabbing the handle, I push the door open. The room is dark—darker than other parts of the castle. No fire burns brightly in the hearth, nor are sconces lighting the way. Faint light flickers in through the window, but something dark is blocking it.
“Oziel?” My voice echoes around a seemingly empty room. “If you're working in the dark, this is a bit much. Even for you.” I try to keep my voice light, even as my heart speeds up.
As I step into the room, an unnatural chill seeps into my bones, spreading like ice through my limbs and making them ache. The air feels thick, weighted with something unseen, pressing against my skin.
“Oziel?” I call out again, my voice barely more than a whisper. But the only response is the hollow echo of my own words, bouncing off the unseen corners of the space.
My eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness as I venture deeper inside.
Shadows stretch and shift, playing tricks on my vision, and an unsettling feeling crawls over me, like I’m being watched.
The sensation clings to me, prickling the back of my neck, as if unseen eyes are lurking in the darkness, observing, waiting for whatever is about to unfold.
My body connects with something hard, stealing the breath from my lips. “What the fuck?” I mumble, rubbing the shoulder that smashed into the object by the window. “What the fuck are you keeping in here, Oziel?” I murmur to no one in particular as I reach out…
…and feel cold stone against my fingers.
My body locks up, every muscle tensing as my mind scrambles for a rational explanation—anything other than the truth I can already feel sinking into my bones.
A flicker of light from outside spills into the room, casting shadows over the figure before me.
As the dim glow spreads, more of its form is revealed. Solid, unmoving, utterly lifeless.
The sheer size of it is staggering, towering over me by at least a foot.
Its shape is unmistakably demon, yet it is no longer flesh and blood.
Every inch is carved from cold, unyielding stone.
My breath stutters as I take it in, and my heart threatens to pound out of my chest. I don’t want to believe it, don’t want to think about what this means, but there’s no denying the truth.
This isn’t just any statue.
This is my husband. Oziel.
“No…” The word leaves my lips as a strangled cry. My legs give out, and I fall to the floor, crumpling at my cursed husband’s feet.
Anger is frozen into his expression, as if he saw the curse coming before it took him over.
This wasn’t supposed to happen, not to Oziel.
He was supposed to be my partner, my husband who stood by my side as we faced this evil together.
I didn’t want to care for this damn demon, but he slithered his way into my heart and planted himself there.
He’s part of me, just like I know I’m part of him.
And now that he’s gone, I don’t feel whole. Part of me feels as if it turned to stone too. Tears flood my eyes, running down my cheeks. He wouldn’t want me to cry or give up. Oziel would want me to keep going, but how do I do that when the man I love is nothing but a memory in stone?
Consumed by my own grief, I don’t hear the footsteps behind me until a familiar voice whispers, “Queen Isabelle.”
I whip my head up to see Garvan standing by the doorway—with the encased bouquet of roses in his hands.