Page 8 of A Cursed Son

Evil deeds sometimes pay off.

Ta-tum, ta-tum, ta-tum. My heart is the loudest sound I hear.

Sometimes we practice jumping from a platform, considering one day we might need to escape through a window or balcony. I love jumping. The moment I’m in the air, with nothing beneath me, is exhilarating but also scary, since I can’t guarantee I will land properly and distribute the force of the land into a perfect roll.

It’s how I feel now, except that descending the tower’s spiral stairs takes much longer than a second—and my anticipation mounts with each step. So many interminable stone steps.

Two guards escort me, and a servant follows with my bag and a bucket. We’re always watched, always escorted when stepping away from our tower. I’m wearing a thin, dark blue linen dress with short sleeves. It’s a cool, practical dress, perfect for travel, but it’s still adorned with expensive rose-shaped embroidery.

The carriage is a simple black thing by the side entrance, lacking the opulence expected from Krastel’s royalty, but the idea is to be discreet when traveling. Sure, in theory the substitutes’ lives are expendable, but it’s going to be too obvious if they put us in a pompous carriage, with a sign on top of it saying attack me.

Then again, there are no attacks and no dangers. Krastel isn’t at war with anyone. I don’t know why Master Otavio is so worried.

Right. He’s not worried, he just thinks I’m incompetent. How easily my mind plays tricks on me, constructing a fictional version of events and trying to convince me that people care more about me than they actually do. Sometimes I’m an idiot.

Is that what I’m doing with Quin? Well, at least I’ll find out. He’s not here yet, so I enter the carriage and wait.

And that’s why my heart is making such a ruckus in my chest. It’s the anticipation, fear, and also the judgemental part of me still shaking her head in disbelief. She’s going to ruin her neck like that.

Of course I feel bad for what I’ve done, for making my sisters sick, but I don’t believe for a moment that I could have gotten Master Otavio killed. It was all lies. Nobody knows what kind of poison was used because the healers aren’t familiar with calapher. At least that’s what Otavio told me, and he wouldn’t be lying when teaching me about poisons.

See, I might have to assassinate or incapacitate someone one day, probably my husband, if I marry in place of Princess Driziely, and I can’t leave a trace or raise any suspicion. My master would never claim that a poison is rare if it isn’t. At the same time, I doubt he has never taught my sisters about calapher, considering they might be the ones who’ll need to assassinate or incapacitate someone one day.

It’s odd. While the idea of killing a person is revolting, I wouldn’t mind an opportunity to be useful to my kingdom, to prove my worth. Sometimes, I even hope that an act of bravery might change the way they see me, that I might be accepted despite being a darksoul. I know it’s nonsense, but I still yearn for the chance to prove my value.

As murderous thoughts of glory cross my mind, the door of the carriage opens and I remind myself to act natural. Act natural, act natural, and yet, my stomach flutters at the anticipation of spending so much time with Quin.

I turn—and realize it’s not him.

My stomach lurches, even my heart slows down under the weight of such enormous disappointment. I can’t believe it.

Prince Ziven sits there, his light brown hair somewhat messy but still beautiful, giving me a smile that’s a hundred times warmer than Quin’s, giving me the look that I’ve always dreamed someone would give me. His hazel eyes are full of adoration, joy, intimacy.

Of course, none of that is for me. His expression sours in less than a second, and he turns and stares at the window.

Surprising. Was he… He and Sayanne… Could it be? Really?

I remember then how he bumped into our table yesterday, how much he’s been having lunch with the Elite Guard lately, and it makes sense. Even then, I’m surprised that Sayanne would manage to seduce him. Or maybe it’s something mutual, something real.

I feel that I have to explain what’s going on. “Sayanne’s indisposed.”

He turns and looks at me like I’m an insect. “Did I ask? I don’t care.”

Rude, rude, rude. I wish I could get near his table and poison his food, add something for diarrhea. Maybe there’s a way.

“Great, then.” I smile and turn to the window. There’s nothing to see, just the side wall of the castle, and yet it’s more interesting than the interior of the carriage with that grumpy prince.

Still, his words make me feel small and insignificant and worthless. Why would an opinion from a drunk, useless prince bother me? It shouldn’t.

I’m quite impressed with Sayanne, though.

I recall her a few years ago, her eyes shining with an odd fervor, her arms grabbing the Book of Seduction. We were so young. And yet, I’ll never forget what she said. “This is the key. For everything.”

I can still see the determined glint in her eyes, her certainty.

Was it the secrets in the book that got Prince Ziven interested in her? I’ll have to read it again, if that’s the case. Perhaps her feelings for him are genuine, but she definitely must have applied what she learned. Stupid me, ignored all that, and now I have to cling to the faint hope that a friendly smile means more than it seems.

But the worst is that my carefully, masterfully enacted plan flopped. All my effort—for nothing.