Page 34 of A Cursed Son

The priestess’s eyes are wide, but otherwise, she looks composed.

This is the priestess who taught me about the Almighty Mother and my inner strength, who told me about the tricks of faith, who told me how to see my kindred soul…

It’s shameful that she has to preside over this mockery of the holy wedding traditions. Why did they have to do the wedding here?

“Let us trust the Almighty Mother,” the priestess says, looking at me. I give her a smile, feeling guilty for my inner grumbling. I have to trust. She continues, “Both of you, look at each other and repeat after me. I promise to honor and protect you, love and appreciate you, cherish and respect you.”

I can’t look into his eyes. I’ll get too nervous, so I stare at his forehead while repeating the words. My hands are sweaty, but I don’t want to wipe them on my dress. His voice and mine echo in the chapel, a dissonant harmony that crawls into my ears.

She continues, “From now until forever, we’re bonded in light.”

It’s so final, so wrong. Words have power, and I wish I could mouth the words and make no sound, but it’s just the two of us, and they would notice if a voice was missing. His own voice is the harsh baritone I’ve heard before. At least it cloaks my forced squeaks.

I still don’t understand why he’s here, and can’t believe this is real.

“You can kiss,” the priestess says.

Oh, dear. I suppose the time to panic starts now. I still don’t dare face him.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and his lips close to my ear. That’s a creative way to kiss at a wedding.

Instead of kissing me, he whispers, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you.” Then he kisses me briefly on the temple.

My breath hitches. Now I’m trembling from head to toe.

His tone, his voice, when he whispered, was the exact low, comforting rumble I’ve heard so many times in my dreams.

7

My suitcase and bag feel heavy in my hands as I follow Marlak, still unable to digest the insanity of what’s happening.

I’m leaving.

Without even saying goodbye.

Tarlia’s face flashes through my mind. There will be no later for us. Will we ever talk again? I’ll miss her, miss Sayanne, even with her flaws. I’ll miss Ziven, even if I barely got to know him. I’ll miss my training, my room, my library, my classes. There’s an empty road ahead of me, and I don’t know where it leads. All I see is an abyss separating me from everything I know.

Some ten guards follow us down the stairs. This time, I feel that they’re not watching me, but watching him. Fearing him. They’ve obviously never seen his magic, since even thirty of them would be no match for it. I pause just to catch a breath, and he looks back and frowns, annoyed.

“Give me that.” He points to the suitcase.

I realize I don’t even have an attendant. But it’s fine. “I can handle it.”

I’m not going to let a prince carry my luggage, and it’s not that heavy. My new ugly dresses are the things weighing the least right now.

He nods and continues, without insisting. Was I expecting him to insist? Marlak looks so out of place on these stairs, impossibly broad and large and alien. His scars are visible behind his left ear, and it’s odd how the tattoos don’t really disguise, but rather emphasize them. Monster, Otavio said. He had a good point. And good intentions—which I squandered.

At least I’m not afraid Marlak will hurt me, not in the worst way, at least.

I won’t touch you.

I can still hear his soft, comforting words. I can still feel his quick, gentle kiss. At least he did something to assuage my fears. Perhaps it won’t be that terrible. And yet I can still barely breathe.

In the courtyard, I have no trouble recognizing Marlak’s carriage. It’s a shiny white thing with golden engravings, with a moon and a star on the door. That’s the symbol of the Crystal Court, and I assume this is, or should be, one of the carriages of the fae palace. I wonder if he also stole it after killing his family. That would explain how he hauled the fae relics. And yes, my mind is veering completely off topic. Perhaps that’s what I need to do, in order to face what’s coming. Whatever’s coming.

The inside of the carriage has two seats facing each other, luxuriously cushioned in burgundy velvet.

He sits in front of me, and then we’re on the move. I look down at my dress, the red so much lighter than the seat. A cheerful color. A strange color and a strange dress that, to be fair, doesn’t even fit me properly, the fabric stretched over my chest.