Page 131 of A Cursed Son

He’s gentle, and yet thinks that dreaming about me is a torment. For a long time, I wanted to be rid of those dreams, and yet now that he’s suggesting it, it feels like losing a part of me. But perhaps he’s right that the dreams create feelings that aren’t true.

He clasps his hands around mine and looks at me. That look. I don’t even know what he’s saying with it, but it doesn’t seem to be that he wants to get me out of his mind.

He then pulls his hands back quickly, I guess because he realized what he was doing. My hand is still up, and I don’t know what to do with it.

I feel a bitter taste in my mouth and something constricting my chest. Are we just going to pretend our kisses didn’t happen? Or are we going to blame them on our dreams?

He’s giving me a questioning look, as if waiting for something. An answer maybe. Some words that could change everything. I wish I could understand what I feel, dive into the depths of my mind, but the idea of getting a glimpse of that is terrifying. Perhaps he’s right.

I relax my face into a semblance of a natural smile. “Let’s break this bond, then. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

He shakes his head, his eyes unfocused. “You feared I would think you were interested in me.”

“No. I…” I don’t know what to say. “It was embarrassing.”

“I understand.”

“No, it wasn’t…” Words fail me. What do I want to say? That the dreams weren’t bad? A thick mist shrouds my mind.

Thankfully, he doesn’t wait for an answer and offers his arm. “Come. We still have a coronation to attend.”

This time, when I place my hand in that space between his elbow and ribs, the feeling is different. It’s hard to delude myself that I’m pretending after those kisses, after what almost happened, and yet the kisses were as ephemeral as the dreams, an illusion to be forgotten.

But something changed. Now I know that he wants me. And then, is any of that wanting real? Or is it because of our mind connection?

We get to the top of the stairs, from where I can see most of the room. Tarlia is talking to some fae noble, Ziven beside her. Very few people are indoors, as they’re probably enjoying the music and bonfires outside.

That’s when I see her. Crisine.

Even though she’s not looking at us, I can still recognize her profile and hair, as if it had been etched on my mind in that vision. She looks stunning in a silk white dress, and is accompanied by a small retinue of fae nobles wearing white cloaks. Marlak must have seen her, but I feel no reaction from him as we descend the stairs. His arm around mine feels so warm, our closeness so heavy.

Then I notice the fae by the door running outside, and another fae coming in, his eyes wide, looking around the room.

“Something wrong?” Marlak asks, his voice booming in the hall.

The fae guard approaches us. “Nothing to worry. The grounds and the castle are safe.”

“Do you need any help?” Marlak asks.

The man hesitates. “There are… death bees down in the village, but they won’t get here.”

“I can help,” Marlak says, then unlaces his arm from mine.

The fae bows. “That… will be appreciated.”

Death bees. I don’t know what they are, but I still remember the leech roaches. I can’t imagine that this attack is a coincidence. “It might be a trap,” I whisper.

Marlak takes my hand and kisses it. “I’ll trap the trapper. Stay here with your friend. You’ll be safe in the coronation grounds, and I’ll be right back.” He looks at me, as if about to say something else, but I guess he changes his mind and turns around.

With that, he descends the stairs, then follows the guard to the back of the room, from where he exits. I remain here, dreadful memories of him poisoned unable to leave my mind.

Below me, the guests who remained act as if nothing happened, go on drinking and talking, or lying on pillows, sometimes exchanging drunk kisses. I reach for the handrail, my steps unsure.

Tarlia approaches me. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a death bee attack in a village.”

She frowns. “Death bees?”