Chapter Eight
Avari
Despite the pain and the anxiety clawing at my chest, instinct, or perhaps sheer stubbornness, drove me to act on the faintest chance of escape.
I wandered from corridor to corridor, getting lost in the airy maze of walls and paintings as I searched for the only thing that could save my life. A portal.
Although I'd set out at the break of dawn, it surprised me that there wasn't a soul in sight. It worked in my favour. Especially when, after turning left once more, I recognised the carved wooden column I'd passed on the day I arrived.
I headed down the corridor, only to stop in my tracks when I realised the portal had been sealed shut with the king's flames and guarded by soldiers armed to the teeth. Clearly, he had no intention of letting me escape.
Still, finding it at all felt like a small victory.
The effort left me exhausted and frustrated, and by the time I tried to find my way back, I was still taking wrong turns and stumbling into awkward encounters with the castle's seemingly non-existent staff.
Perhaps they were simply watching. Or perhaps they avoided me earlier because they were every bit as hateful as their king.
My watch showed just before seven in the morning. It was time for breakfast. I followed another servant to the main staircase and climbed to the fourth floor, each step feeling heavier than the last as my aching legs threatened to give way.
My thoughts kept circling back to the portal below. I sighed heavily as I realised there was no way to break through his seal. The moment I touched his wall of fire, he would know. I didn't even want to consider what he would do to me then.
Perhaps the curse killing me would be a blessing. At least it wouldn't be him enjoying my final breath.
But it wasn't just the wall of fire. There were the guards too, built like walls and trained to kill. I didn't stand a chance. I wouldn't have stood one even if I hadn't been so depleted.
The constant restraints on my power were starting to wear me down.
My body was growing weaker, and my mind was beginning to lose its clarity, as though a cloud had settled over my thoughts.
It wove through them like a thorny branch, and every time I tried to think too deeply, its thorns dug in a little further.
Being cut off from my life force felt like suffocating from the inside, as though the curse had reduced my lungs to a fraction of what they once were. It was shameful.
By the time I reached the dining room, my pulse hammered and my breath came in shallow bursts.
Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I stepped inside. The king and Michael had already eaten. The tension in the air made it clear he wasn’t pleased about my lateness. I didn’t dare check how long I had taken.
My body felt heavier by the day, my heart stumbling in my chest with a broken rhythm, like a butterfly frantically trying to escape with broken wings. I couldn't fix it. I knew he could hear it; he probably enjoyed the sound of my body betraying me.
When I dared a glance, he shot me a look of contempt and muttered something about training before storming out.
The silence in the room was deafening. I didn't know how to react or compose myself in front of Michael, not when genuine care shone in his troubled gaze. It was filled with such concern that, somehow, it made the weight in my chest even heavier.
‘Is everything all right, princess?’ he asked.
Finding the courage to face him felt impossible. And was my heart skipping beats now? I couldn’t tell any more.
Did he know what his king did to me? He would see the physical signs, though I’d hidden the bruises beneath a turtleneck.
Michael seemed kind, but that didn’t mean I could trust him. Even if he understood me, his ruler wouldn’t care. That bastard would enjoy watching another witch die.
I sighed and focused on my breakfast instead of his question. Choosing a bowl of cereal, I said quietly, ‘I’m fine.’
Lying never sat well with me, and this one felt heavy.
‘Princess, you don’t look fine,’ he replied softly. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
Like a train had run me over. ‘Okay.’
‘Please…’ he pleaded. ‘Is it because he trapped you here?’
Looking at the deepening lines on his forehead, I couldn't find the energy to answer. I just kept eating. I wished I'd fought the order to train the Fogoyan King harder. I wished I'd refused outright. I wished for so much, and none of it would ever come true.
‘I want to go home.’ The words cracked out of me before I could stop them—a last plea before the curse swallowed me whole.
Michael's shoulders sagged before he rested his elbows on the table and slouched. ‘You must know I can't help with that. But is there anything else? Anything at all?’
I didn’t reply. His expression fell, but I stood and left without a word.
As I walked away, I wondered if I could trust him at all.
Would he even believe me if I told him my own mother had cursed me?
The Elders hadn’t. They’d called me mad and threatened punishment for slandering a ruler.
I had always known the curse was elaborate, but not how deep it ran.
For it to be undetectable by witches or fae, I didn’t even know what it meant and how she crafted it.
But I needed to stop; thinking about my mother in my final days felt too cruel.
She’d already stolen everything that mattered.
There were more pressing things than Michael and her anyway.
I needed to lie down and rest before training with the murderous psychopath who’d looked ready to snap earlier.
That didn’t bode well. The session itself wouldn’t be physically demanding, except for the climb.
The stairs alone might finish me off. I could already picture myself coughing my lungs out before even reaching my room again.
It still baffled me how being late for a meal could make him that angry. Maybe punctuality was sacred here, or maybe cruelty was. His eyes had looked darker than usual when they met mine, full of disgust before he left. As fae they changed with his temper.
Wrapped in a thick duvet, limbs cold and heavy, I felt my dragon reaching through our strained bond. But I was too tired to answer. What could I say to her anyway?