Page 48 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Not Afraid

Hattie

I stood at Noble’s window with my back to him, listening to him dress.

My thoughts had been swirling on the way here, trying to make sense of what I’d learned over the past twelve hours, but the moment he opened his door—bare and obscenely, unfairly perfect—the chaos in my mind had ceased. It was hard to think about anything with Noble standing naked in front of me.

After about a minute of rustling fabric, I asked, “Are you decent yet?”

“No,” Noble said, an edge of humor in his tone.

I turned around. He was wearing pants, but he was right, he wasn’t decent. Not with his lean torso on display, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist that—I now knew—led to a lower half that the famed sculptors of Lothgaim would probably pay a fortune to study and commit to marble.

When we were adolescents, Noble and I had spent our summers swimming and lazing on the banks of the Wynhaim River, but most of my glimpses of his physique had been stolen and brief. Our bodies had changed since then. My curves had softened, while his lanky frame had filled out with hard muscle.

But we were still us .

As I regarded him in the dimly lit room, that was what struck me the most. My attraction to him wasn’t simply about the endless smooth skin and brawn—it was the heart that beat inside his chest. Strong.

Loyal. Kind. He was always trying to do the right thing for others—even if it meant hurting himself.

The man before me didn’t look like a monster; he just looked like Noble . Best friend. Forbidden love. Home .

He took a seat on the edge of a small writing desk opposite the bed. “You came to talk?” he prompted. With his hands flat on its worn surface, I noticed a bandage wrapped around his forearm. The white fabric was stained black. When Noble clocked my observation, his jaw ticked.

I cleared my throat, suddenly unprepared to discuss his condition. “Not yet.”

When he met my eyes again, he wore a confident grin. “Too stunned by my beauty to speak?” he asked, bouncing his eyebrows. He always knew when I needed levity.

I chuckled halfheartedly. “Something like that.”

“Why don’t we talk about something easy, first?” he suggested. “How are your classes?”

I let out a long sigh. “Fascinating. Overwhelming. Sometimes I feel like the weight of all the new information is crushing me like a toppled bookcase, but in an exhilarating way.”

“You always wanted to be an alchemist.” He sounded happy for me, proud.

“I almost didn’t apply,” I admitted, “for fear it would draw unnecessary attention to myself. Risk being identified.”

“Understandable. But you deserve to chase your dream. I’m glad you took the risk.”

In spite of the tenuousness of Phina’s research, I had to agree. “Me, too.”

Noble pushed off the desk. “Tell me more.”

So, I did. While Noble made himself busy lighting candles and building a fire in the hearth, I told him about my professors, my studies, the interesting concepts I’d been learning.

As I did, I felt my shoulders relaxing, my nerves softening; it was like old times, when I used to ramble on and on about alchemy, with Noble listening contentedly.

But as I settled into the comforting topics, Noble’s movements remained reserved, stiff. He knew why I was here. Once the fire was crackling merrily, he hung a kettle on a hook over the flame for tea. Then he faced me again, a good five feet separating us.

I trailed off, trying to spot a sign of wretchedness and seeing none. His hair was rumpled from tossing and turning. His green eyes were soft and searching. His evasive smirk was gone; in its place was a tilted, apologetic frown.

A heavy silence spread between us.

When I spoke again, my tone was light. I needed lightness if we were going to get through this conversation. “So, you’re cursed. Were you ever going to tell me?”

He smiled sadly at my misplaced sass. “Oath.”

I nodded, accepting that his deception hadn’t been willful. But the fact that his Oath limited his ability to speak of his condition implied… “Your curse is a part of your former knighthood?”

He couldn’t answer, of course, but when a tense crease bracketed his mouth, I knew I’d guessed right.

“Is it a Fenriran Order?” It must’ve been. “ Fates , that means that the Lord of Fenrir…” I wiped a hand over my face, shook my head, not believing my own line of thinking but also seeing no other explanation. “The Lord of Fenrir created the curse.” Or, rather, one of his ledgermasters had.

The crease beside Noble’s mouth deepened.

“But why ?”

“Power.”

Out of all the Seven Territories of the Kingdom of Marona, Fenrir had always been the most disgruntled and resistant to unity. A weapon of war , Viren had guessed—and she’d been right. “He wants to create a weapon,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “To— what —oppose the king?”

Noble didn’t answer.

“ Fuck .” I began to pace the rug in front of the hearth, feeling sick with dread.

If the Lord of Fenrir’s adepts created the curse—only to find that they were unable to control the monsters—that meant they must’ve also created the Order of the Valiant to clean up the mess.

No wonder there were assassins lurking around the Collegium, suspicion rising.

If other territories confirmed that Lord Haron was responsible for monsters… a conflict would be inevitable.

I couldn’t imagine what sort of magic had been used on the knights of Noble’s former Order, but it must’ve been dark and twisted. All at once, I was absolutely certain that this wasn’t just about Gildium in the blood. There had to be more to his affliction.

I halted and faced Noble again. “How long did you serve your Order?”

“Seven years.”

I stifled a gasp. “Did you know what you were getting into?”

“No.”

I rested a palm over my heart, as if to contain the thunderous pounding in my chest.

Noble took a step toward me—just one. “Hattie…” he began, and the shame in his tone—I wouldn’t allow it.

“No apologizing.”

“A thousand apologies still wouldn’t make right the ways I’ve deceived you,” Noble said. “You should be angry with me. Or fearful. Probably both.”

“The primary thing I’m feeling toward you right now is concern.”

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with me.”

I scoffed. “You sound like my aunt.”

He cracked a true smile, but it was brief.

“How do you contain it?” I asked—but maybe I already knew.

Wordlessly, Noble went to the desk and opened the small drawer, retrieving an empty glass vial from inside.

He held it out to me. Our fingers brushed as I took it from his grasp.

Something low in my belly fluttered at the contact.

I tried to ignore it as I sniffed the mouth of the bottle, then brought the glass rim to the tip of my tongue, tasting the residue of what it had once contained.

The flavor was unmistakable because it was mine: a Black Lace Hylder tincture. I’d tasted it on his tongue when we kissed in the gardens and had written it off as the scent of the nearby shrub confusing my senses; I hadn’t wanted to taste it on him, hadn’t wanted to face the possibility…

“That was you in the alley,” I realized.

Noble’s lips pressed into a tense line. “Angry with me yet?”

“No, although I’m a little angry with Phina for keeping so much hidden.”

The kettle over the fire began to whistle, drawing our attention. Noble turned, removing it from the heat. For about sixty seconds, he busied himself with making our tea, and I was relieved to have a temporary respite from this conversation.

When Noble finished preparing our tea, he set my mug on the small desk, pulled out the single wooden chair, and gestured for me to sit. Settling into the seat, I cradled the mug in my hands and sagged with all the tension I’d been carrying.

“I know it’s no excuse,” Noble said, sitting on the edge of the bed, across from me, “but I wanted to tell you. I just—”

“Couldn’t,” I finished for him. “I know.” I blew on my tea, took a sip, smiled at the comforting flavor. “Chamomile.”

“It’s your favorite,” Noble said. “Or, at least, it was.”

“Still is.”

He nodded, as if he was committing that updated information to memory .

“If Hylder suppresses your…affliction,” I began delicately, “then what’s the purpose of Phina’s research?”

“Hylder is not a long-term solution,” Noble replied. “It barely contains—” He broke off, clenching his teeth—his Oath must’ve been limiting him. “The efficacy is worsening.”

“Phina told me the Black Lace tincture is more potent.”

“It is,” Noble said, and he sounded almost pleased that I had been the one to discover the better varietal. “It’s not as effective as your tincture from Waldron, though,” he added.

“Any idea why?”

He shook his head. “It’s half the reason Phina brought you in, but…”

“But my experiments have been inconclusive.” I set my tea aside. “What happens when it stops working?”

“I turn.”

…into a monster remained unsaid.

When I’d seen that hooded figure in the alley, the violent shaking and moaning—knights arguing and the urgency to provide Hylder—it had all seemed so alarming . But as I regarded Noble now, with the light of the candles splashing gold across his handsome, masculine features, I was not alarmed.

I felt protective—angry.

A cold, icy fury swept through me like a winter wind. I stood and began to pace again. “How did they do it?”

Noble’s throat bobbed, drawing my attention to the thin line of his Oath tattoo that ringed his neck. “I don’t know much, Hattie, but the little I do know, I am not permitted to say.”

“How much does Phina know?”

Noble shrugged. “Probably more than I do, but not enough to undo it.”

All the secrets really did get in the way of research—safety be damned.

I thought back to that night in the alley and who exactly was present. “The Order of the Mighty knows about you. As does the Order of the Valiant?”

“How do you—?”

“I spoke to Mariana.”

Noble stood, tea sloshing out of his mug. “You what ? When?”

I waved vaguely in the direction of the Ire. “Tonight. Just before I came here.”