Page 7 of Cursed Dreams (Shadow and Dreams #1)

“And now , of course,” he continued, “I’ve only gotten stronger. My water affiliation is second to none! You should see how far I can summon the tide now.”

“How impressive,” Thalia said flatly.

Goldora, either oblivious to her daughter's growing discomfort or actively ignoring it, clapped her hands together. “Oh, you two must dance!”

Thalia’s stomach dropped. “Oh, no, that’s really not—”

“Nonsense!” her mother chirped, already nudging Marcus forward. “It’s a festival! Enjoy yourself, darling!”

Before Thalia could formulate an escape, Marcus swept her into his arms, spinning her onto the dance floor with an ease that made her regret every decision leading to this moment.

The village musicians played a lively tune, a blend of drums, flutes, and lyres weaving together into a melody that made the festival square come alive.

The rhythm was fast, demanding quick steps and fluid movement, something Marcus had no trouble with, given his self-proclaimed superior athleticism.

Thalia, on the other hand, just wanted to vanish.

As Marcus spun her effortlessly, she caught glimpses of the other villagers watching, some of the young women in particular eyeing her with a mixture of jealousy and admiration.

Oh, please. You’re welcome to him.

“See how easy this is for me?” Marcus boasted, flashing her a grin as they twirled past a group of giggling girls. “Strong legs. Excellent balance. Water magic enhances my agility, you know.”

“Fascinating,” Thalia muttered, barely keeping herself from rolling her eyes.

Marcus didn’t seem to notice her sarcasm, too busy admiring himself. “And, of course, my muscles help.”

Thalia had to physically bite the inside of her cheek to keep from snorting.

“I train daily, ” he continued, flexing slightly as he twirled her again. “A strong body is essential for a strong core. You wouldn’t believe the weight I can lift now. Go on—feel my arm.”

Thalia stared at him, horrified. “I’m good , thanks.”

He grinned, clearly thinking she was just being shy. “I don’t blame you. I am quite impressive.”

Oh, dear gods. I am going to die here.

She glanced desperately toward the sidelines, where Goldora and her friends watched with blatant delight. Meanwhile, the village girls continued to look on in awe, whispering amongst themselves, no doubt wishing they were the ones in her place.

They can have it. All of it.

As the music surged and Marcus spun her again, she vowed that as soon as the dance ended, she was going to slip away, f ar away, and spend the rest of the festival somewhere that Marcus and her mother’s matchmaking schemes couldn’t reach her.

As Marcus twirled her yet again, Thalia felt herself sinking deeper into a quiet, simmering panic.

He was still talking, something about coming to visit her in Vertrose, about how he had an important proposition, but her mind was already scrambling for an escape.

Suddenly the last words hit home –proposition.

Oh no. Oh, no.

She could feel it coming. The pompous, self-satisfied way he was building up to it. The expectation in his voice. He was going to propose , here, in front of everyone.

Her heart pounded in alarm. She didn’t want to do this. Not here , not now . Not at all. She had never given him an indication she was interested in him, why was he so persistent!

Her mind raced, desperately seeking a way out when, there was a shift in the air.

The music hadn’t stopped, the festival still bustled around her, but something had changed. The villagers around them straightened, their laughter quieting as their gazes flickered toward a single point in the crowd.

Thalia felt it before she saw him—a presence both commanding and unreadable, like a shadow cast by a fire she couldn’t see. He stepped into view.

Vaelith.

Tall, taller than any fae she had ever met, with a lean, powerful build that made the space around him seem smaller in comparison.

His silver hair, so pale it nearly glowed under the festival lights, cascaded over his shoulders in an unbound, almost careless way.

His clothing was dark, simple like a soldier, yet somehow made of finer material than anything worn by the villagers, fitting him with an effortless elegance.

But it was his face that made her breath catch.

Sharply cut features, the kind that seemed sculpted rather than born.

High cheekbones, a straight, aristocratic nose, and a mouth set in an expression of perpetual boredom.

His eyes, cold, piercing, the colour of storm-lit steel, swept across the crowd with an unreadable depth, and the villagers responded to his mere presence with something between respect and awe .

No one spoke as he passed, but they all watched .

Thalia’s stomach twisted. Why does he make me feel so… unsteady?

It wasn’t just his presence. It wasn’t just the way people instinctively seemed to acknowledge him as more . It was something deeper, something unsettling.

His gaze flicked to her.

A shiver prickled down her spine.

For a moment, she swore he was looking through her. As if he saw something beneath her skin, something wrong .

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

“Thalia?”

Marcus’s voice yanked her back into the present.

She tore her gaze away from Vaelith, forcing herself to focus on the current problem, Marcus and his proposal .

He smiled at her, clearly assuming her stunned expression was because of him . “I was saying, Thalia, that I’d be more than happy to visit you in Vertrose. I think it’s important to—” he paused, chest puffing slightly, “—secure things between us before you leave.”

Her stomach plummeted .

No, no, no.

This was happening. This idiot was actually about to do this here .

Panic surged in her chest as the music swelled, Marcus twirling her once more as if rehearsing some grand romantic moment.

Her mind spun, frantically searching for an escape, any escape.

Just as Marcus opened his mouth, surely to make his grand declaration, Thalia felt a new hand clasp hers.

A firm, warm hand.

The world seemed to tilt as she was smoothly pulled away from Marcus’s grasp, spun lightly, and found herself face to face with none other than Vaelith .

Her breath hitched.

The tempo of the music shifted, as if the musicians themselves were reacting to his presence. The lively village tune slowed into something deeper, smoother—still celebratory, but now carrying an almost hypnotic rhythm.

Marcus stood frozen, his mouth slightly agape before he quickly forced himself to school his expression into something more neutral. But his clenched jaw, the twitch in his temple, and the way his hands curled at his sides betrayed his feelings.

Yet, what could he do?

Vaelith was important . Respected. Possibly even feared. No one would dare question him, not even someone as arrogant as Marcus.

Still, Thalia didn’t miss the flicker of pure irritation in his eyes before he hastily nodded and stepped back.

Thalia, however, was too overwhelmed to enjoy the victory.

She was now in Vaelith’s grasp, being led into a dance that, despite her lack of preparation, felt almost effortless under his lead. His movements were fluid, precise, unnervingly graceful.

She swallowed hard, nerves prickling up her spine.

What is happening?

"Congratulations," Vaelith murmured, his voice deep yet smooth, as if he found amusement in something only he could understand. "You performed well today."

Thalia wasn’t sure what unnerved her more, the unexpected praise or the fact that he had interrupted Marcus of all people to say it.

"T..thank you," she managed, her voice only slightly shaky.

Vaelith’s lips twitched at the edges. Not quite a smile, but something that suggested he had noticed her unease.

Her heart was still hammering in her chest, not from attraction, certainly not, but from sheer bewilderment.

Her mother had always told her to be polite, so she forced herself to continue. "I… didn’t expect you to be here," she admitted cautiously.

"I was invited," Vaelith replied simply, of course he was all the examiners were . Her cheeks heated.

They moved together through the steps, his hold on her firm but not restrictive. His gaze flickered over her face, assessing.

Why does he look at me like that?

As they turned, she caught sight of her mother across the dance floor. Goldora was watching, a glass of wine in her hand, her usual proud expression now replaced with… something else.

Nervousness.

Thalia blinked.

Her mother quickly covered it up, laughing at something one of her friends had said, but Thalia saw it.

Something about this, about Vaelith, had put her on edge.

Why? What about this male made her usually self-controlled mother so nervous.

As quickly as the thought crossed her mind, the music ceased. The spell of the dance was broken, and Vaelith released her hand, stepping back with his usual composed grace.

“I will see you tomorrow,” he said, his voice polite, distant once more. With a slight incline of his head, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by the swirling festival-goers as if he had never been there at all.

Thalia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She was left standing in the wake of his absence, slightly embarrassed and more than a little confused. What is it about him that takes me so off guard? she wondered, folding her arms over her chest as if to physically shake off the strange energy he left behind.

Before she could spiral further into her own thoughts, a warm, familiar presence appeared at her side.

“There’s my girl,” Rodric said, his voice rich with affection. “Would you do your old father the honour of a dance?”

Her emotions swelled unexpectedly, caught between the weight of the evening and the thought of leaving tomorrow.

She turned to face him and gave a mock curtsy. “It would be my greatest honour.”

Rodric grinned and pulled her easily into the steps of the dance, the familiar rhythm soothing in a way that nothing else had been tonight. Unlike her dance with Marcus, which had been exhausting, or Vaelith, which had been unsettling, this felt easy, comfortable.

The village music swelled around them, lively and joyous, the kind of tune meant for laughing and twirling beneath the golden lantern light. The scent of honey cakes and spiced cider mixed with the crispness of the evening air, making everything feel warm despite the night’s chill.

Rodric spun her, making an exaggerated show of his footwork, and Thalia laughed.

“So,” he said, voice full of mischief. “Marcus, huh?”

Thalia groaned. “ Don’t .”

He chuckled. “Your mother means well, you know. She just worries about you.”

Thalia sighed, glancing toward where Goldora stood, chatting happily with some other villagers. “I know,” she admitted. “She just wants me settled before I’ve even had a chance to begin.”

Rodric hummed, twirling her again. “She loves you fiercely. It’s her way.”

Thalia bit her lip. She would miss her mother, despite the meddling. She would miss all of this, the warmth, the familiarity, the love that wove through every interaction in their home.

They danced in comfortable silence for a while before Rodric’s expression softened.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Something thick settled in her throat. She looked up at him, at the easy, warm smile that had always made her feel safe, and her chest ached.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered.

Rodric pulled her close for a brief, tight hug before stepping back and offering her a conspiratorial wink. “How about I help you make an early escape?”

Thalia blinked. “What?”

“I’ll cover for you,” he said. “Distract your mother. You hate these kinds of things, and you’ve had a long day.”

Her heart swelled—and felt unbearably heavy all at once.

Rodric had always understood her. Always.

With a watery smile, she nodded. “Thank you.”

He squeezed her hand before letting go. “Go on, then. Before she sees.”

Without another word, Thalia slipped away, weaving through the crowds, her heart full of love and gratitude for the man who had always been her greatest source of comfort.

As the sounds of laughter and music faded behind her, she made her way home, ready for one final night beneath the familiar roof that had always been hers.