Page 3

CHAPTER 3

Korven

Soaring from the balustrade, I watched her reach for the prince. In a flash of acrid smoke and a few of my lesser coverts for show, I appeared on the steps below the altar in my fae form.

Gasps and a few well-timed screams rose from the pews, and I smiled at the woman I’d come to curse. “I regret to interrupt this happy occasion, but I have a little something for Princess Seraphine of Riche.”

I tucked my feathered wings behind me, keeping my eyes on her as recognition flooded her face.

The prince grabbed her hand and yanked, ignoring her stumble, screaming, “Guards! Arrest him!”

“There’s no need for that, Your Highness,” I replied, pulling my drop spindle from my pocket. With a wave, the royal guards froze. Everyone in the temple benches froze. It was just myself, Seraphine, and her betrothed who could move or speak, and he was lucky I allowed such a courtesy.

“Now,” I continued, balancing the spindle on one finger, spinning it like a top. Seraphine’s eyes widened at the dark wood of the whorl etched with a pattern of dancing ravens that moved as it spun. “You, my dear, have avoided this curse long enough.” I smirked, taking a step toward her. “It is time you take your dues.”

“K-Korven?” she whispered, dropping her bouquet.

I hummed a laugh. “Phinie,” I cooed, giving her a full smile.

“I will see you slaughtered for this, Ravenfae,” Urik seethed.

“Ravenfae Prince ,” I corrected. “You know the laws of the Goddesses of the Veil as well as I. Your beloved princess was born under a Cursed Moon, and yet the curse was never delivered.” I nodded toward her parents behind us, both frozen in rage. “You can thank your future in-laws for that.”

“You…you’re the one delivering the curse?” she stammered.

“Yes. Now be a good girl, Phinie darling, and prick your finger on the spindle.”

Her violet eyes shifted back to the spindle growing darker in shadows as the whorl began to emit a low thrum. The pointed tip remained sharp and glinted, begging to be touched by a certain princess’s finger.

“What will happen? What is my curse?”

I shrugged, ruffling my feathered wings a bit for dramatic flair. “It’s not clear, even to Reshina. Your curse at birth was to prick your finger at sixteen years old and fall into a deep sleep that would cover your land and your people until the one who truly loved you kissed your lovely lips.” I winked at the prince. “The curse has only grown since then. At twenty-five, who knows what the curse holds? Prick your finger on the spindle, and let’s see what happens.”

I took another step in her direction.

“This is preposterous!” Urik fumed. “I am her husband, and I must receive formal documentation of this alleged curse! Return when you can provide the necessary?—”

“Quiet.” I waved the spinning spindle and his mouth clamped shut. He tore at his face with his fingers, a bottled scream coming from his chest.

“Phinie.” I held the spindle out to her once more. “It grows stronger by the minute. You cannot escape your fate, darling girl.”

Her eyes held mine with reckless abandon. I could not fathom whether she thought me her savior or her doom. Her lips parted and she drew a breath, taking her eyes from me and to the point of the spindle. With one last glance my way, she lifted her hand, raising her forefinger. As her skin broke on the sharp point, she mumbled under her breath, “If this kills me, I’m going to haunt you forever, Ravenfae Prince.”