Page 9 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

ARLET

A few hours of chatting and weaving pass, and I remember just how much I desperately miss this. Teaching is good… but this fills my soul.

It makes sense. Creating art is chaotic, but somehow, it always ends up working out. A part of me likes the peaks and valleys of not knowing if something will work until the very end.

After finishing three blankets, I pull my shoulders back, stretching out the stiffness just as the sound of footsteps at the door makes me turn.

Queen Estela enters, flanked by two bodyguards and a nursemaid pushing a strange cart-like contraption carrying her two sons. One is enormous—Kai. He is her and Teo’s adopted son, a giant prince from the fallen kingdom. In the common tongue, adopted girls and boys are called "starling children," those blessed by the goddess and welcomed into the family.

The other, her birth son, Leo, is just slightly smaller, though still young, his skin tinged with that familiar purplish-blue hue. Her son by birth.

Seeing her, my oldest friend, usually brings joy. But not today.

Fuck. Has she come to talk to me about missing my meeting yesterday? Or… did she know about what happened ou tside my home?

The entire room stands at attention, bowing as the deep enduar phrase rumbles behind me, "The stone moves beneath your feet."

Fira’s voice is loudest when she says, “Queen Estela, Aevum Duarum , be welcome in this place.”

I take note of the enduar phrase that has started appearing more often—"Eternal One of Two." A clear reference to the fact that she is blessed by both Grutabela, the enduar goddess, and Ashra, the goddess once worshiped by humans.

But humans have not so easily returned to the idea of a deity. After so many years without divine guidance, without prayers answered or miracles granted, worship feels foreign. Ashra’s name lingers like a half-forgotten legend, a whisper of something once revered but now met with skepticism.

Ashra has few shrines, but she lives on mainly through the glowing queen before me.

Estela smiles, and the whole room bends toward her. “Thank you, friends. At ease. I’ve come to speak with Ladies Fira and Arlet.”

A twinge of discomfort spreads up my back, but I force a smile. I’m still off-kilter from this morning. “Wonderful,” I say.

Not just me. This is good.

I glance at my loom, at the fabric I had just finished threading, before standing and joining Fira’s side.

“What can we do for you, My Queen?” Fira asks, ever smooth and polished.

Estela steps closer, Fira herding us into the back corner of the space as the other weavers work. The clacking doesn’t stop, and it drowns out the pleasantries exchanged.

Though she wears the authority of a ruler, there is still an ease between us. A familiarity that makes it hard to stay detached—especially when I see the children up close.

In the back of my mind, a voice speaks. What if I lose myself again?

Then, her and Teo’s starling child, Kai, reaches toward me.

The gesture is small and innocent. And it loosens something inside my ribs. I’m in control right now, and he recognizes me—of course he does.I’ve cared for him many times .

Estela gives me a knowing glance before shifting her attention back to Fira. “I know that the last few days have been a mad dash to the finish line, but we still have further to go. As you know, tomorrow, the Mating Journey begins, and I wanted to check in on the progress of the banners.”

I nod, glancing at Fira, who offers a small, satisfied smile.

“We finished all of the requisitions three days ago. Lady Arlet was keen to complete the list before her ascension,” Fira says. “The committee you set up for the journey already took all the crates to the lower floor. I believe Mother Liana was involved.”

Estela’s face glows with approval. “That’s marvelous. Thank you. Since that is out of the way, I have something else for you, Lady Arlet.”

She turns toward her assistant, a sharp nod passing between them. The enduar woman produces two scrolls, stepping forward to hold them out to me.

I frown, hesitating before I take them. “What’s this?”

Estela’s smile takes on a teasing edge. “The first is a list of men participating in the Mating Journey. All nine hundred and eighty-seven of them.”

My stomach twists.

“And that—” she tilts her chin toward the second scroll, her eyes gleaming with something far too amused for my liking— “is what you have somehow neglected to complete for Lirenne. Now, I know you have been busy with your new position, but remember—all unmarried members of the council are required to go. We went over this during the council meeting, but you didn’t attend. In that scroll, you will find a list of questions about yourself and your preferences.”

Then, she winks.

Something unpleasant slithers through me, curling like smoke in my ribs. I hadn’t forgotten about the damn scroll. I had just… let it hang in the air, floating above me, unclaimed, undisturbed. Lady Fira, sensing the discomfort, returns to her duties.

Hope is a dangerous thing. I’d been in only two relationships, and neither had ended well. I purposefully didn’t think of the Mating Journey because I knew my heart would start to conjure ideas, like this could be what I’ve been waiting for. The thing that will change everything and cause me to recognize a mate. And then I would finally have an increased measure of magic to let me get pregnant.

Right now, that thought is especially comforting because having a husband would make me ineligible for the Elf King’s awful proposal.

But another part of me is tired. Exhausted from pain. Tired of betrayal and rejection. Of being an option, never the choice.

I clutch the scrolls, feeling their weight, the jewels glinting in the floating lights. Lirenne is the enduar in charge of the festival, and she has been sorting scrolls for over a month. She has developed a mathematical system to help her match potential couples together while still preserving a flexibility that would let everyone at the festival at least see each other.

The week after would be spent filled with mating ceremonies. It is to be a long month for me. It would be a kindness to let me just… skip it all.

Estela’s voice softens. “Given our friendship, I have told Lirenne to accept your scroll at the beginning of the festivities. And I think it would be a good idea if you made note of any men who seem to stand out.” Another knowing look. “Perhaps it will lead to a more successful day.”

Well, ouch.

Something pinches inside my chest, a quiet, relentless ache. I don’t covet Estela’s power nor her husband. But the idea of what she possesses? Love. Family. Trust.

She has always had that, and it has always hurt. I hunger for such things.

This isn’t helpful. I know she means well, that she wants me to move forward. To heal. But this—this isn’t the answer.

I twist my hands and her expression changes.

Her brows furrow, a crease forming between them. “Arlet? Was I too forward?”

I hesitate. Then, finally, I say it.

“I don’t wish to attend.”

She blinks. “But you must, it?—”

“A foreign king wants to carry me away as a bride. I don’t know if I’m in the right state of mind to find a mate,” my voice snaps, sharp as a blade.

It’s a mistake.

The air changes, crisping at the edges.

Estela exhales slowly. " Querida ," she says firmly, "you don’t have to do anything that doesn’t feel right for you. I know you are overwhelmed.”

The words should be soothing. But instead, they crack something inside me.

Daniel. Joso. King Arion. They all swirl before me. Of the two lovers I’d had in my life, both had broken my trust and it came down, sadly, to one thing. My inability to give them a family.

I lost Daniel’s child, and my crystal never produced a song for Joso. Not only was I not barren, I was not chosen by those I chose.

The one person who had chosen me is dangerous.

Damn it all.

I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. I need to focus on my work.

For so long, everything inside me has felt like one or the other. All or nothing. Hope or despair. Love or rejection.

I don’t know what I want anymore. A family, yes. But… what about love?

For too long, my love has been measured by what men wanted from me—whether or not I was meeting their expectations. Arion only wants me because he believes I’ve never been with another.

Daniel wanted to waltz back in after everything.

Joso avoids me.

I can’t take it.

Estela watches me carefully. “Just say the word, and I won’t make you go,” she says.

I open my mouth. “I don’t…”

Then, footsteps sound behind us. They are heavy and measured. Familiar.

A deep, rumbling voice cuts through the tension.

"Queen Estela. "

The sound filters across the now-crowded weaving hall.

Vann.

Silence follows his words. Every single person pauses then turns, watching as he moves through the rows. And despite the way I study his face, he never once looks at me.

Yet he commands the room.

The way he saunters into my work, my place, makes the rows of weavers watch him with equal parts awe, desire, and fear. He has never been a charming man—not by any stretch of the word—but he is a force.

A figure larger than life.

He holds people in place around him, like our planet holds the moon.

Which begs the next question: What the fuck is he doing here, and why does he look like he wants to set something on fire?

A clammy sweat covers my skin. Has he come to ask about the spider again?

"Lord Vann, what a surprise. Is something wrong with my mate?" Estela asks.

Vann bows before her, his gaze sweeping over the room with an intensity that makes my stomach tighten. He reaches into the cloak draped over his shoulders and pulls out a long white nightgown.

My nightgown .

My spine locks straight, my breath catching in my throat. The gown soaked with Aradhlum blood.

No. Not here.

My pulse hammers. What is he doing? He opens his mouth, and before he can speak, I lunge forward, grabbing his wrist in a desperate, instinctive motion.

The second our bodies make contact, he freezes. His eyes, sharp as winter’s edge, lock onto mine.

I’ve never looked into them for this long.

Something shifts behind them, the solid silver turning fluid, bending, tilting—or maybe it’s just the world around me spinning. His wrist is cold but heat from his skin seeps into my hand, spreading up my wrist like an infection .

"Arlet?"

Estela’s voice feels far away, but I can’t look away from him.

"Can someone tell me what is going on?" she tries again, sharper this time.

I rip my gaze from Vann’s, forcing myself to breathe. “Lord Vann seems to want to discuss something better left to a private conversation.” My voice is tight, my fingers still clamped around his wrist.

Together, our small group heads to the area carved out of the back of the weaving room. It’s full of tools, threads, discarded scraps, metal buttons, and a dozen crates filled with other supplies.

I let go of Vann’s hand as Estela turns.

The queen’s face solidifies into something cold. “What was so urgent?”

He shrugs, but I don’t miss the way his fingers flex—how his grip tightens on the gown.

"Do you remember last night," Vann says, his voice calm, controlled—but cutting. "When I found Arlet screaming in the middle of the passageway?"

My breath stills.

Estela’s face pinches in concern. "What?"

Vann lifts the middle of my nightgown, the fabric stiff with dried blood. "I found her outside, standing over a dead aradhlum ."

Estela gasps. "Were you attacked?"

I hadn’t even thought about that. My mind races, flipping back through blurred memories, searching for something—anything—that makes sense.

Vann continues before I can answer. "This is its blood. I found her disoriented outside her house this morning, standing over a severed leg. Two nights before, a man named Daniel was seen near her home. I went looking for him today, and he’s gone. I think he brought the creature there. Maybe he poisoned her."

“You don’t think… I attacked the spider?” I ask.

A cold sweat breaks over my skin. My heart pounds too fast.

"Why would we think that? You are not a violent person, Arlet," Estela says softly.

I remember the blood on my fingernails .

"She needs to get out of here and go see Ulla,” Vann snaps, his jaw tight. Then he hands the nightgown to me.

Estela glares at him. "Lord Vann, I think it's best you leave. I'm sure there is plenty that must be done before tomorrow."

Vann’s gaze lingers on my face. He doesn’t speak, but I feel his stare before he turns and strides away.

The second he’s gone, I take a deep, shaky breath and clench my fingers around the nightgown. Estela watches him leave, still frowning.

“He can be overbearing,” she says a moment after. “And forgive me for pushing so hard about the Mating Journey. I didn’t realize how difficult the past few nights have been for you. Are you all right?”

A heavy weight presses on my temples. I need to rest. But my mind is frayed, a live wire ready to snap. I also need to work. There is so much to do. The new program, the blankets, the meetings… It’s too much.

"Arlet," Estela starts, but I barely hear her.

“Sorry. I am fine,” I say a moment later. “And you are right about the Mating Journey. It’s my job as a new council member. I will fill this out and bring it with me.”

She pulls me into a hug. “Oh, I’m so glad. Now, take the day off— rest . I will see you at the festival.”

I nod absently, force a smile, and slip out of the room. Estela leaves first, called away by the cry of one of her sons. Once she’s gone, I throw the nightgown into the scrap bin, then sit down and resume my work.

“Everything all right?” Lady Fira asks a moment later.

I turn to her and smile. “Yes, sorry. It was something about the Mating Ceremony.”

She nods. “Of course. Gods, he’s handsome. Don’t you think?”

“Lord Vann?” I ask.

A few others grin, giving their own versions of “yes.”

I bite my lip. Vann is… untouchable. Handsome? Perhaps. But very much not mine .

“I don’t know, I’ve never noticed?” I say. Another lie. Hostia , what is wrong with me lately?

Everyone around me begins to chatter and gossip once again. I need to go to Ulla’s in a little while, but I should finish this project first. I don’t want to rest. Apparently, I’d rested enough in a day that is entirely lost to me.

There is work to be done.