Page 19 of Cursed Dreams (Shadow and Dreams #1)

"Finding myself in the company of a fine fae or human woman," he said, wiggling his brows.

Thalia groaned. "Of course."

Nyla shook her head, amused. "You are incorrigible."

"Thank you, I try."

The laughter was contagious, and despite her reservations, Thalia found herself smiling. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

"Alright," she said, shaking her head. "What time are we meeting?"

"After dinner," Cellen declared. "We shall sneak away under the cover of darkness, like outlaws in the night."

Marand smirked. "Or like idiots who don’t want the high priestess to see them sneaking out."

"Semantics."

With the plan in place, excitement buzzed through the room. Thalia still had her doubts, but she couldn’t deny that a part of her was looking forward to it. A night of freedom, laughter, and maybe just a little bit of trouble, it might be exactly what she needed.

Cellen had apparently taken city fashion as a challenge.

He was draped in a deep crimson tunic, cinched at the waist with a belt that did nothing to hide the fact that it was cut far lower than any respectable shirt should be.

The fabric was loose but tapered at the wrists, and the slight shimmer of enchanted stitching in gold caught the light.

The deep neckline plunged scandalously low, revealing the smooth lines of his muscular chest, a fact he was clearly aware of, given the way he posed with a smug grin.

His breeches were dark, fitted leather, polished boots climbing up to his knees.

He looked like some rakish nobleman from one of her mother’s novels.

"Ah-ha!" Cellen grinned, twirling for effect. "You were saying?"

Thalia groaned, covering her face. "Why are we friends?"

"Because life would be dreadfully boring without me."

"She has a point," Marand whispered.

Cellen leaned in, waggling his brows. "What was that, Marand? You admire me? You’ve finally succumbed to my charms?"

Marand gave him a flat look. "If I ever succumb to your charms, I expect to be checked for head trauma."

Nyla laughed, shoving Cellen toward the tavern entrance. "Enough preening. You dragged us out here, so you lead the way."

As they stepped inside, the warmth of the tavern enveloped them, thick and alive with music, laughter, and the clatter of tankards. The scents of spiced wine and sizzling meat filled the air, mingling with the ever-present scent of ale-soaked wood.

Thalia still felt a bit uneasy, this was nothing like the quiet evenings of studying and tea in the temple, but as Cellen tossed an arm around her shoulders and dramatically declared, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived," she couldn't help but laugh

Cellen returned triumphantly, balancing four goblets in his hands with the skill of a man who had definitely done this before. He set them down with a flourish, sloshing only a little of the amber liquid onto the already-sticky table.

"Drink up, my dear friends!" he declared, sliding a goblet toward Thalia. "This is the finest mulled mead in the city, well, the finest in this particular district. I may have picked the cheapest option, but let’s not dwell on minor details."

Thalia picked up her goblet hesitantly. The warmth of the drink seeped through the metal cup, and the rich scent of honey and spices curled into her nose. She took a careful sip and blinked in surprise. It was delicious—sweet, but not sickly, the spices warming her throat as it went down.

Marand, noticing her expression, grinned. "Good, right?"

Thalia nodded, taking a bigger sip. "Why have I never had this before?"

"Because we’re usually busy being responsible," Nyla reminded her, already halfway through her own drink.

"Ah yes," Cellen sighed dramatically. "But tonight, we live!"

And live they did.

By their fourth round, Thalia was warm and giddy, her head light as laughter bubbled from her lips with ease.

They had abandoned their seats long ago, swept up in the lively music of the tavern.

Nyla had found herself a broad-shouldered local man who twirled her around with impressive enthusiasm, while Marand had latched onto Thalia, both of them spinning in wild, uncoordinated circles, giggling uncontrollably.

Cellen, of course, had somehow acquired an entire fan club. He lounged at the bar, a group of women draped around him, all laughing and batting their lashes as he wove some ridiculous tale that had them enthralled.

"Look at him," Marand huffed between laughter as she spun Thalia again. "He could charm the stars from the sky if he tried."

Thalia snorted, her head spinning delightfully. "He already thinks he has."

The tavern felt alive, the music thrumming through her bones, the scent of spiced wine and woodsmoke wrapping around her like a second skin. She let herself be pulled into the rhythm of the dance, the alcohol making her limbs loose and carefree.

Mid-spin, her gaze caught on something, or someone, across the room.

She stilled, her breath hitching.

Vaelith.

He stood at the far end of the tavern, half-shadowed, watching her with that unreadable, bored-yet-not-bored expression of his.

Their eyes locked.

The room around her blurred, the music, the laughter, the heat of the tavern, all of it faded into the background.

Her stomach flipped, her pulse skipping against her throat.

Of all the people in this city, of all the people in this room, why was he here, why was he staring at her like that? And why, despite the alcohol buzzing in her veins, did she suddenly feel sober under the weight of his gaze?

Thalia stumbled back to their table, her breath still uneven as she plopped into her chair, fingers tightening around her cup.

Her mind whirred, struggling to process the weight of Vaelith’s stare.

She hadn’t seen him since arriving at the temple, not once.

Hadn’t even thought of him all that much, well, perhaps in passing, but that didn’t count.

Yet, there he was, standing in a seedy backstreet tavern, staring at her like she was something he intended to consume.

"Alright," Marand plopped down beside her, sharp-eyed despite the amount of mead she’d consumed. "What just happened?"

"Nothing," Thalia said quickly, too quickly.

Marand arched a brow, clearly not buying it. "Liar."

Nyla maneuverer her dance partner closer to their table.

Thalia sighed, rubbing her temples. "It’s just…" she hesitated, looking between them before exhaling and giving in. "I saw Vaelith."

That got both Nyla and Marand’s attention. Nyla, who had been deep in conversation with her dance partner, turned in interest.

Cellen, who had just returned to the table, sliding in like he owned the place, blinked in confusion. "Who?"

"Vaelith," Marand repeated, her voice dropping slightly.

Cellen’s brow furrowed before recognition dawned. "Ahh, the scowling Lord Commander himself. And here I was, thinking we were having a good night."

Thalia groaned, tipping back the last of her drink. "I don’t understand him, or me or ... I don’t know."

"Oh?" Nyla leaned in, propping her chin on her hand. "Explain."

Thalia hesitated for only a moment before the alcohol loosened her tongue.

"Back before I left for the temple, there was my magic assessment.

He was there, to test my ability, when he did.

it hurt, it felt like he was pulling something from me “ Nyla's brow creased “ What do you mean pulling something from you “ “ It’s hard to explain it was like he was trying to reach something deeper inside me, like my well of magic wasn’t quite what he expected and after wards he looked at me like he was surprised, ever since I've been left feeling like there’s something wrong with me, you've all seen how my magic is a white light yet most healers are golden “ she sighed

“Tell me I'm mad please, tell me your assessment was the same “she looked expectantly to Cellen and Nyla who both shared a sad expression, Thalias heart dipped.

“I'm sorry Thalia but mine wasn't like that, I’m sure there is nothing wrong with your magic” Nyla said with a sympathetic tone “You wouldn't have been accepted to train in the temple if there was “Thalia knew she was trying to be reassuring but it wasn't working.

“And now he’s sitting over there and it’s all so confusing !!“she barked bitterly

“Confusing how ?” Cellen asked surprisingly serious for once.

Thalia waved a hand. "Hot and cold. One moment, he’s distant and unreadable, the next, he’s… looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Marand prompted.

"Like I’m prey."

Silence settled over the table for a beat. Then—

Cellen slammed his cup down. "Right. This calls for stronger drinks."

Thalia barely had time to protest before he was shoving a small, dark purple drink into her hands. "Down it," he ordered. "For courage."

She eyed it warily. "What is it?"

"A very bad decision," Marand said, grinning.

Nyla giggled. "Which means you should definitely drink it."

Thalia sighed, muttering a curse before tossing it back in one go. The moment it hit her tongue, she gasped.

It burned. It burned like fire and tasted like regret.

"By the gods," she coughed, slamming the empty glass down. "What was that?"

Cellen grinned. "Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you, my dear friend, are going to march over there and confront him."

Thalia wiped at her mouth. "That is not happening."

Marand grinned, looping an arm around her shoulder. "Oh, but it is. You’re wondering what’s going through his head? Well, ask him."

Cellen nodded sagely. "Or… demand answers. Either way, you’ve got the perfect excuse now, drunken bravery."

Thalia hesitated, but then, her gaze flickered back across the room.

Vaelith was still there.

Still watching her.

The way he sat, casually, as if he owned the very air in the room, the way his sharp, piercing eyes followed her every movement, calm and assessing, sent something both infuriating and thrilling through her.

Enough.

This prey bites.