Page 3 of Bound by Wishes (Enchanted Deceptions #1)

A voice purred in my ears, beckoning me from the unholy darkness that had claimed me for far too long. My body disintegrated into a puff of magic as it was forced from the prison walls of the lamp. As the shadowy haze around me gathered, my body returned to its normal shape and size, save for the fact that my lower half was completely made of black smoke, whipping beneath me like a tail.

I inhaled deeply, breathing in the musty-smelling air. Only when I detected notes of something sweet and tantalizing did I open my eyes to find its source. Trembling before me was a half-drowned woman with cuts and abrasions on her otherwise creamy skin. I ignored her, glancing around my surroundings.

The power that normally coursed through me was but a whimper of its former glory. I felt weak and oppressed, like someone had dammed up my magic, keeping it just below the surface. Anger and frustration pulsed through my veins, making me grit my teeth against the pressure building inside me.

Without another thought to the girl cowering on the ground, I burst from the damp cavern like a shooting star. My body turned to smoke as I left the cave, my magic transporting me where I wanted to go. Within minutes, I was inside the walls of the palace. I needed to work on my aim. I had intended to go to the throne room, but instead, I found myself in the courtyard. I glanced at the fountain in the center of the garden. Its clear waters poured into a mosaic basin below, catching the sunbeams and scattering prisms of light across the courtyard.

“Halt! Or I will cut you in two!” a voice boomed from behind me.

I turned toward the voice, wondering what fool was getting ready to lose their head for speaking to me in such a way.

“I suggest you stop waving that sword at your king before I use it to carve out your intestines,” I growled as he stopped before me.

A fleeting look of shock flickered across his expression before he regained his composure, his grip on the sword tightening as he stood his ground. "You must be mad. Razoul is our king, and you are not him."

Anger festered within me, my words getting ready to explode, but I was abruptly interrupted by six more guards rushing toward us. I found myself surrounded, each guard brandishing a sword at my chest. I scanned my surroundings, assessing the situation that was unfolding before me .

“Who are you?” One of them demanded, pressing the tip of his blade closer to my midsection.

I refused to explain myself to them. With a flourish of dark magic, I willed myself out of the circle of death, vanishing from the courtyard in a swirl of black smoke. As the wisps of darkness faded, I found myself once more in the familiar confines of my old room within the palace.

The room was silent and still, ravaged by the passage of time and bearing traces of neglect. Dust danced lazily in the dim rays of sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, lining the walls that led onto my massive balcony. The bed was stripped of linens, and my mahogany desk was bare. At least Razoul hadn’t claimed my old space for himself.

The state of the room had me wondering how long I’d been trapped inside that cursed lamp. With urgency gnawing at my soul, I whisked myself away from the grim room and into the scroll room, where ancient tomes and scrolls would hold the answers to my questions. The air crackled with energy as I arrived in the well-organized room. The massive door was secured and locked, but I didn’t need doors.

My legs reappeared as I walked over to the shelves, scanning them with dwindling patience as I scoured the weathered scrolls. They remained just as I remembered, still shelved according to chronological order. I unfurled the latest scroll, skimming its contents.

As I scanned the inked script, my upper lip curled into a snarl of disbelief and rage. There, in bold letters, was Razoul's name where mine should rightfully be. My heart skipped a beat as I came upon the year recorded on the scroll, the realization hitting me like an iron fist to the stomach.

Anger erupted within me like a dormant volcano suddenly awakened, and with a primal roar, I hurled the scroll across the room. It struck the wall with a thud, unfurling across the floor in a cascade of parchment. Five hundred years! That amount of time was like a blink of an eye to me, but they were mine, and Razoul had stolen them from me while he ruled in my stead.

My vision blurred with a red haze, fury pulsating through my veins as I clenched my fists, the urge to end my brother's life consuming me. With trembling hands, I reached for the door handle, intent on finding him and wringing every stolen year from his worthless neck. But my feet were rooted to the spot, as if some invisible force held me back.

A strange sensation washed over me, as if the very air around me crackled with power. The silly genie magic within me stirred, its presence whispering to me like an annoying fly swarming near my ear. “You can’t kill him.”

The realization struck me, jolting me from the grip of my murderous rage. My little brother was smarter than he appeared. Not only had he diminished my power, but the curse forbade me to kill for my own desires or revenge.

Stepping over the bunched-up scroll lying on the ground, I reached for another, this one dated five hundred years ago. I wanted to see how my disappearance was recorded so I knew what to expect when I brought my brother’s treason to light.

As my eyes roved over the black ink on the page, confusion wrinkled my brow. There was no mention of me at all, not a single trace of my existence recorded within the scrolls. I grabbed another scroll, then another, only to find the same unsettling absence of my name. Panic clenched my throat, threatening to suffocate me.

I snatched the genealogy scroll from the shelf, my heart pounding with dread and pent-up anger. As I unrolled the ancient parchment, I scanned the names of my ancestors, searching for the familiar lineage that should have included my own. But there, nestled between my mother and father's names, was only the single name of Razoul.

Shock coursed through me, leaving my legs weak and unsteady. I stumbled backward, collapsing into a nearby chair as the weight of the havoc crashed down on me. Razoul, my own brother, had somehow managed to remove my presence from history, erasing me as if I had never existed at all. How could he know how to do this? He may be a power djinn, but he was young and ignorant and had half the training I had.

My body broke out in a cold sweat. How was I supposed to regain my throne when no one even knew I existed? There had to be a way to undo this curse. I remembered Razoul using some kind of ancient book when he cornered me and cast me into the lamp. If I could find that book, I could possibly undo what he did. But how was I going to find the book when I couldn’t freely move about the palace? Even with my powers, I was bound to be discovered.

All thoughts of my current chaos came to a crashing halt when the golden cuffs encircling my wrists suddenly ignited with a searing heat. The metal radiated a fiery red glow, its burn biting into my skin. An invisible force tugged at me, compelling me toward the woman I abandoned in the cavern. I knew she was the one who had released me from the lamp, but I had not anticipated the magic within the cuffs to bind me to her in such a way.

No matter how hard I fought against the pull of the magic, I was helpless to its powerful force. My body began to turn to smoke, transporting me to her against my will. Within seconds I was back inside the dark cavern. With a quick snap of my fingers, the cavern lit up in a subtle warm glow, the dim light chasing away the shadows.

The woman was still huddled on the ground, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her body quivered with a tremor, though I couldn't tell whether it was from my presence, her damp clothing, or her dire predicament. The word 'sayyida' lingered on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it back, unwilling to label this humble woman as my master in my language.

My gaze raked over her slight frame, noticing her hair had dried since our earlier encounter. It was a frizzy mess of tousled waves that flowed over her shoulders, the color of dark espresso.

As I edged closer to her, she lifted her eyes to meet mine, revealing irises the color of rich dark chocolate with swirls of liquid honey. She pressed her back firmly against the cavern wall, pure fear flickering in her expression.

“What are you?” Her timid voice squeaked, reminding me of a mouse about to be squashed.

I stopped moving, hovering a few feet away from her. Afraid that if I ventured any closer, she would bolt like a wild mare. “A genie, sayyida.”

That pesky word slipped past my lips unbidden, leaving a taste as sour as a batch of spoiled wine on my tongue. Her eyes lit up, and I knew it was too late to recall the word. Like it or not, the once-feared king of all of Jalam had turned into a mere servant, and the tiny thing before me was my master.

Anger pumped through my veins so loudly that it drummed in my ears at my diminished status. I blinked a few times, trying to think clearly through my rage. She may be my master, but perhaps she was also the answer to getting inside the palace and exacting my revenge on my brother. I just had to figure out how to get her to agree to help me and prevent her from using all three of her wishes. Because once she made her third wish, I would be trapped in the lamp again.