Page 38 of A Cursed Son

“Maybe. Once you stop it, Astra. Stop trying. It’s useless and bothersome.” His voice is sharp like a dagger, while his black eyes hide a storm behind them.

“You’re delusional. Who in their right mind would want to seduce you?”

“Nobody. We both know that.” He raises an eyebrow and smirks.

I don’t know what he’s smirking at, frankly, and yet there’s a harshness in his eyes… I look down. He’s pretty much telling me to stop the visions and dreams, but how am I going to stop something I can’t control? Can I confess I can’t control them? I don’t even know if he’d believe me.

“There’s something else,” he says.

Bracing myself for another round of humiliation, I stare at him. “Yes?”

“They’ll try to hurt you to hurt me.”

“I see. I’m your shield now.”

“No. You’re my weakness. Or at least it’s how they’ll see it. It’s why you need to be hidden.”

I scoff. “Just say I’m your prisoner.”

“You know you are.” He throws his hands up. “But you’ll need to be careful, wife. You’ll be a target. For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry for that.” He manages to say that softly.

Not softly like in the dreams, thankfully, but he still sounds kind, as if he hadn’t just called me a pathetic, unattractive, failed seductress.

“Yes. Poor you. So sorry.”

He shrugs. “Well, if you can’t handle the game, don’t play it.”

“I heard a different one. Don’t play with fire if you don’t want to get burned.” I narrow my eyes. “But I guess you know that already.”

His smile doesn’t leave him, but he turns and looks out the window. I’m partly relieved to be spared of his digs, partly worried that perhaps I pushed him too far.

Pointless tears are still threatening to leave my eyes. Part of me is furious at myself, in disbelief at the ridiculous, immature words I uttered. Part of me is furious at him, thinking he deserved every cruel insult.

At least both parts agree that none of this bodes well.

I dare look out the window, don’t see Mount Eye in front of us, and assume we’re going south. But where? There are fields around us, a fresh smell of leaves—and something citrusy as well. That’s his smell, I realize, and I have to control my head not to turn to him.

He’s been silent for a long time, and I fear that if I break that silence, he’ll surround me in a block of ice until we get to our destination. It does feel like there’s ice around me, ice between us, so maybe there is some magic at work, something dreadful that chills my insides.

But then, this is what my life’s going to be. The fae prince didn’t wed me so we could become friends and have a lovely time together. I’m his prisoner, paying for what I’ve done, paying for the danger he thinks I could pose. None of it was my fault, but he doesn’t know it, and I sure hope he never finds out.

When I look back at our interaction, I definitely want to disappear—again. Congratulations, Astra! Truly impressive. I mean, maybe I’m not an expert in seduction, but even a nitwit knows that telling someone he’s half-cooked is not the way into their heart. And while I have no intention of enchanting him, pissing him off is a terrible survival strategy.

How do I fix what I’ve done? If I’m too compliant, he’ll be suspicious—or worse, he’ll think I’m trying to seduce him. If I keep defying him, I’ll just aggravate him to a point of no return—assuming we haven’t reached it yet. Haha. I mean, I have to be optimistic here, right? My best bet is to wait for him to calm down, observe him, then start over and find a way to gain his trust.

I try not to look at him as he runs a ringed hand through his black curls. Duh. I guess I just did, but I look away and swallow. He’s so ridiculously good looking. I know, I know. It’s not what I thought before. He’s like the kind of food that tastes strange the first time you try it, but then, after a while, you realize you like it and even crave it. I’m not saying I like him, obviously, much less that I crave him. I mean the way he looks.

He might be able to lie, if he stared at me in the face and claimed he was ugly and owns a mirror. Only one of those statements can be true. I glance at him again, notice his eyes on me, and look away quickly. Oh, no. He’s going to think I’m playing games, and I’m not. I hope my tan is saving me and hiding the warmth on my cheeks.

What I do know is that my mind will explode if I keep second guessing and trying to control my face, my body, my expressions, my thoughts.

“Astra.” There’s no anger or irritation in his voice and it surprises me—or perhaps scares me. I turn to him, and he sighs. “I’m sorry. I mean, I don’t think I removed you from a decent life, but you obviously hold a different opinion. This won’t be forever.” He’s gentle again. Oh, he loves to make me confused. “Once my brother’s defeated, we’ll annul the marriage, and you’ll be free to do whatever you wish. I have no intention to keep you forever.”

His words sting, and I’m not sure if it’s because he used the verb keep, as if I was an animal, or if I’m smart enough to see the well-concealed reminder that he loathes me. I chuckle. “Cause I’m obviously pathetic and despicable.”

“I didn’t say that.” He throws his hands in the air. “Wife. By the gods. I’m trying to comfort you. I already said I won’t touch you. You should have seen yourself; you were pale. I mean, I should be offended, but I wasn’t. Now I’m saying I’ll set you free, and you’re upset?” He takes a deep breath and covers his face with his hands.

“You’re reminding me I’m your prisoner.” There’s no bite in my words. I’m tired of fighting and dreading going too far again. “And you know you might never defeat your brother.”