Page 29 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

28

Bellmare

Naithea and Ward spent every free moment in each other’s company, ignoring the destruction that loomed over the kingdom. As if neither of them had duties to fulfill but to care for what they could build if there weren’t chains around their necks, forbidding them to pursue that life they both wanted but none dared to speak aloud.

They’d spent the night in one of the brothel’s many rooms—kissing, laughing, and delighting in each other’s caresses.

Surrounded by those four walls, it was just him and her.

In the early morning, they still lay in an embrace. Her entire upper body was above his hard chest, where she could feel his erratic heartbeats. Despite his gaze, lost in the ceiling, Ward caressed her naked back in soft movements.

“There’s something bothering you, I can see it in your pouty face,” Naithea murmured, not really sure if she wanted to know what troubled his mind. “Besides being great in bed, I’m a good listener if you haven’t noticed.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied, kissing her forehead to avoid worrying her.

But she’d been paying attention, and when he said it was nothing, it was everything.

“You can lie to your soldiers all you want, but I don’t give up so easily. What is it?”

Ward kept quiet for a long minute. “We are getting closer to the princesses and once that happens . . .”

He’ll have to leave for Camdenn , she finished his troubled thoughts.

And she would stay there, trapped under Madame Dimond’s unbreakable deal. The one she had been trying to pay for years and that only extended further.

“Can we not think about our inevitable future?” she begged, hiding her face in Ward’s throat. “I want to be here, now. With you. Let us not be bothered by those things.”

She couldn’t think of it just yet. Naithea wanted to spend every second they had left enjoying each other, without fearing what would happen next. Because when she did, the thought of losing him pierced her heart with the worst kind of pain.

Ward readjusted himself in the bed and held her face, descending his to kiss her lips. An energetic vibration coursed through her body, a feeling she’d never felt before. Naithea moaned softly as she kissed him back, letting herself be drowned in that dangerous sensation. She wanted to feel his lips against hers, his body protecting hers . . .

Forever.

But forever was a promise neither of them could make.

When Ward pulled back, he said, “I wish I could freeze this moment forever.”

“In this moment or in me?” she provoked him, surrounding his hips with her legs as she pulled him closer to her; his hard cock caressing her entrance.

“You have the dirtiest mind, love.”

Naithea laughed at that. She gathered all her strength to push him to the bed, until she was on top of him. Her legs were on each side of his muscular body, yet she didn’t feel so self-conscious about her nudity, because he saw everything in her. Everything she was.

Ward groaned as every inch of their bodies brushed.

“Are you already regretting giving me all the control, Commander?”

“You look too good for me to regret anything at all,” he purred, moving his hands up her legs. Ward sat on the bed and moved closer to bite her nipple. “Really good.”

“So possessive . . .” She caressed his hard chest with her nails, marking him. “You have already paid for all my nights.”

“I just like to protect what’s mine.”

Naithea didn’t roll her eyes as she would. She simply allowed herself to be intoxicated by the words he’d just admitted aloud.

“Does that mean you’re mine as well?” Naithea asked with passionate flames shining in her boreal eyes. “Is your body mine to please?”

“Yes,” the commander responded in an exhale, as she lowered her body to his and sunk her hands into his white hair.

“Is your heart mine to protect?” she asked again.

“Only yours . . .”

“And is your soul mine to—”

“To do with as you please,” he finished the sentence for her. Ward brushed her hair back from her face and held her affectionately, holding her gaze. “It’s yours to hold, yours to destroy. But only yours.”

Naithea strolled through the marketplace with her sisters after leaving Ward asleep in the brothel.

A silly smile was plastered on her face as she saw that her hands still glowed under the sun’s rays. In that night of passion, the commander magic had marked her with each one of his caresses on her body. Now, hues of starlight were etched in her skin.

“Come on, Sundi,” Faithe’s insistence brought her back to reality. “Tell us more about him!”

It was the day of the month when Madame Dimond allowed them to take their measurements in Bellmare’s most prestigious dressmaking store. It was not out of love, but to buy new seductive and revealing designs for the dressmaker to bring to life and her hetairas to attract new customers.

“There’s nothing more to tell.”

“ Liar ,” Larka crooned.

Sundi crossed her arms and the seamstress spread them apart once more to take her bust measurements. “Why would I lie?”

“Because you like him,” Kaena and Anera answered simultaneously.

“You’re like pirates over a chest,” Naithea said, shaking her head. “She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

The hetairas shifted their gazes from Sundi to Naithea, fulminating her completely.

“You are the least appropriate one to defend her,” Regnera pointed out with a stern tone. “Do you think we don’t notice what’s happening with the commander?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Naithea whispered as she stroked a silky honey-colored fabric.

“Oh, hush,” Baelisa mocked. “You’re a worse liar than Sun.”

“Besides,” Caisen moved toward her, “Jehanne can attest otherwise.”

“Don’t you dare,” Naithea warned her.

“I’m sorry, Thea, but they’re right.” Jehanne shrugged. “The Commander of Death’s reputation precedes him. And yet, when he’s with you, he’s different somehow. Protective, almost primal.”

Sundi stepped down from the small altar and Tanea took her place, combing her ash blonde hair behind her shoulder and raising her arms to her sides so the seamstress wouldn’t poke her with the sharp needles she held in her hands.

“The soldier I spent the night with even asked for you to join us,” Caisen remarked.

Sundi wrinkled her nose. “Disgusting.”

“Thank you,” she replied ironically before focusing her attention back on Naithea. “He also said he’d never seen the commander act that way over a female before.”

By the time the dressmaker had each of their measurements, they covered themselves from the cold and exited the store. The conversation about Ward hadn’t yet ended and Naithea scolded herself for defending Sundi. She knew them as well as the back of her hand. They wouldn’t let the matter go, much less now that the Royal Army’s soldiers had begun to interrogate young women more impatiently.

Some of her sisters had been exempt from such interrogations because of their ages, but others like Caisen, Anera and Tanea were still suspects until proven otherwise. Naithea remembered how terrified her sisters had been, how they’d held hands with each other as they waited for the soldiers to interrogate them.

“Do you love him?” Baelisa asked.

“It’s too soon to know.”

Tanea’s bright eyes searched hers. “More importantly, can you love him knowing what he has done?”

“Commander Ward is a pawn of the throne, just as we are pieces for Madame Dimond to move as she pleases,” she said. “I cannot judge him by what he has done under the orders of his king.”

Her sisters watched her silently, scanning Naithea’s face and every emotion she tried to hide from them when she spoke of Ward. Although her feelings for him were new, she had yet to decipher those of the commander for her.

After all, Fawke Biceus had been right about one thing: once they found the princesses, the Royal Army would return to the capital. Naithea’s insecure side would mock her for believing that someone as prestigious and honorable as Ward would ask her to join him in Camdenn. She’d scold her and accuse her of naiveté; a part of her still did at night, when she’d watch him sleep beside her, replacing that deathly countenance with a peaceful expression.

Naithea would ask him later that day, when they met for their training session.

In the meantime, she had other, more important and urgent things that required her attention. Things like the poem Dyron Selmi had entrusted to her and which she was to investigate to unveil its hidden secrets.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the black-inked words that had glowed in the darkness of the store as if they had been etched with fire. Naithea had to unravel the meaning of each verse if she wished to discover the message it hid, beyond the danger she already knew about the holly of death and the broken promise that would bring chaos to Laivalon. Still, it was the first verse of the last stanza that resonated in her mind like a promise.

Light and Darkness will rise.

Naithea waved goodbye to her sisters and headed to the library in search of more knowledge. It was a long shot, but she’d promised herself that she’d find a way to decipher it.

Libraries were sacred places that guarded the knowledge of the world. Some said that many of these even hid information from other worlds, not as far away as one would believe. Naithea supposed that such knowledge would be protected in remote and impenetrable places, not in a common city like Bellmare. Still, if she was lucky, she’d find something about the curse.

Naithea turned down the alleys of the market, heading for the library. She knew how risky it was—especially now that Madame Dimond’s spies followed her closely.

She ignored them all and instead focused on her mission. Dyron expected to hear from her soon. Yet a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks as she walked among the stores that had been built in a circular shape near the square.

“Do you have news for me?”

Her blood warmed in recognition, but Naithea hid behind one of the small wooden stores. The only thing that veiled her was a curtain of gauze that danced in the icy wind drifting in from the harbor.

Behind it, stood Ward. Despite wanting to approach from behind and surprise him, something stopped her from doing so. He had company: two men in uniform that she’d never seen before were standing in front of him.

“We met one of your soldiers on our way here,” one of the men reported. “He thinks the compass revealed a trail about the lost princesses, sir.”

“We’ve been searching for weeks and that bloody artifact hasn’t been of any help.” Ward massaged the space between his eyebrows, wearily. “How do I know we weren’t fooled?”

“The magic that protects the princesses is powerful and ancient. You’ve been doing research on it yourself.”

“A dead end.”

“Since your letter arrived at the capital, we’ve investigated every dryad and Two Blood that possesses black magic devices,” he replied. “Everything brings us back here.”

Ward sighed. “What else did Soldier Pyre say?”

“The compass has pointed west of the city, toward the shores of Salismar Ocean.”

Naithea’s heartbeat quickened at that, because there, by the harbor, was the brothel. That was where her sisters lived, the only family she had.

An icy feeling of fear ran through her.

Fear for her sisters and the fate that awaited them.

Fear for the city that had become her home.

Fear for her own survival.

“Anything else?” the commander pressed.

“The curse is spreading. Princess Davinia’s condition has worsened and the twins began to show symptoms.”

“I need you to be more specific.”

“Ginebra and Gideon became ill last night,” he said quietly, as if he feared the commander’s fury would be unleashed upon him. “The healers are already treating them, of course.”

Ward tensed his jaw, controlling his emotions, trying to keep them at bay. Even from a distance, Naithea could see the tears that had begun to sting his eyes, as if he was suffering in silence from the news the heralds had delivered him. But the tears were replaced by a mask of rage and fury, so quickly that Naithea wondered if she had imagined them.

“Why on the Akhirat are you telling me this?”

“I . . .”

Ward grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket. “You made a week’s journey from the capital, wasting resources, not to mention my time, to give me news that could have been delivered in a letter,” he snarled. “Get out of my sight and don’t you dare show yourselves around the camp.”

“As you command, Your Highness .”

Killian Allencort had lost his temper.

Despite his relentless efforts to find the lost princesses, his father had controlled his every move, barely allowing him to breathe without permission. The delay had cost precious time—time they didn’t have, not with his sister’s life hanging by a thread. The heralds’ presence was an irritating distraction. If it weren’t an act of defiance against the king, with punishments too hard to bear, he would have snapped their neck and left their remains for the wolvers in the forest to finish.

His thoughts clouded his judgment. The twins had begun to show symptoms, and it was only a matter of time before Davinia would suffer a slow and painful death. Soon, Annemarie and Sirio would succumb as well. And eventually, so would he.

Killian couldn’t give a shit about his life, whether he was doomed to the Akhirat or ascended to the Seraphic Plain. But Lên Rājya was in danger, as were his siblings.

For a fleeting moment, all the shadows within him stilled as his gaze fell upon Naithea at a short distance. The weight of his worries lifted, softened by the calm she weaved around him, quieting the darkness that had long haunted his soul.

“Naithea,” he called to her.

She froze.

When he met her boreal eyes, Killian smiled mischievously.

“Good morning,” she replied, holding her hands behind her back and her gaze on the citizens that walked around them.

“You left without saying goodbye,” he said as he approached her to stroke her cheek. “And you’re eerily quiet. Has something happened?”

“Not at all.”

“What is it, then?”

“I’m just taking precautions. It’s not safe for us to be seen together.”

Naithea was more distant than usual as she twirled the six-pointed star pendant between her fingers with nervousness. Something wasn’t right . . . Still, he’d learned not to push her into telling him what troubled her, since it wouldn’t lead him anywhere.

He nodded hesitantly. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

Something very important that had been rattling around in his head since that morning, waking up alone in the brothel. After taking in what Naithea was capable of, worry had begun to torment him, for the attack on one of his father’s most valued soldiers had put her in the spotlight he wished to keep her from.

The heralds had informed him of his father’s new orders: he was to deliver Naithea to the gallows and secure Soldier Biceus’ transfer to the capital for treatment by the royal physician. But Killian’s feelings for Naithea had led him down another path; one filled with lies and secrecy.

A betrayal to his king.

To his own father.

All to cover up for the woman he loved .

“I’ve been doing some research about your magic in Bellmare’s records,” he revealed at last.

A brief flicker crossed her face, but Naithea held herself as she said,“Those records aren’t public.”

“Being commander of the Royal Army has its perks.”

Or prince of the kingdom , he reminded himself.

“What did you find?”

Killian had turned to the library’s guardians for access to the records of dryadalis magic dating back four centuries. Such records were established by King Edrivann in the year 404 of their era, known as the Fall of Dawn, before the first war between the dryadalis and the daimonas broke out. The king had created the records to hunt down and kill daimonas who infiltrated his armies, and also those who lived in peace in the rest of Lên Rājya.

After three hours of long reading, Killian was disappointed to discover that there was no magic that could resemble Naithea’s, which greatly complicated his plans to protect her.

“Well?” she asked again, worried.

“Nothing. That’s the problem.” Killian shook his head. “I’ve never seen magic like yours before. It seems history hasn’t either.”

“What does that mean then?”

“It means that your magic isn’t purely dryadalis.” He stepped closer to her, narrowing the space between them. “It means that one of your parents must have had . . . daimon blood.”

“It can’t be true,” Naithea said shakily.

Killian knew how she felt. He’d privately consulted the Healer of Weapons about her magic, and when Osmond had voiced the possibility of dark blood coursing through Naithea’s veins, he paced his tent, devising a plan to keep her safe—even if it meant a life on the run with her. His father could torture and punish him for the rest of eternity, but he wouldn’t let the same fate to befall her.

He wanted to murder Fawke Biceus with his bare hands for putting Naithea in danger because of his arrogance and bloodlust.

“It’s not uncommon, love. Many people have strange magic because of their ancestry. The fact that yours has never been seen before doesn’t mean anything. Only that your herseki, your light magic, hasn’t been fully understood yet. What do you remember of your parents?”

“Not much. My mother died when I was a child. She got sick until every bone in her body splintered.” Naithea’s voice broke as she averted her gaze to the powerful waves to soothe her thoughts with its roar. “I remember not being able to hold her.”

Killian wanted to ease the pain in her heart, in her soul. There was so much agony and guilt in those boreal eyes that he so admired. Yet the prince refrained himself from doing so, afraid that the mere touch would push her away. Naithea was determined, but also stubborn, and he knew better than most how much she hated to be seen as weak . . .

“The healers . . .”

She raised her gaze toward Killian, filled with undecipherable emotions. “They refused to save her. I sold some of our things so I could pay for their services and ease her pain, but even that didn’t help.”

“Where was your father?”

“He abandoned us,” Naithea said immediately. “I don’t even remember his face.”

“If he was a daimon, maybe his magic was powerful enough for you to inherit it. Perhaps that’s why you are unable to control it. Many of the Two Bloods born in Lên Rājya have been abandoned for that reason.”

It was also why they were taking so long to bring the Dark Twins out into the open, but Killian didn’t utter it aloud.

“If that’s true, he can have it back if he wants,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her body. “I don’t want it.”

“When did your magic first manifest?”

“In the streets. I couldn’t control it until it was too late,” Naithea admitted, trembling.

That brought a momentary relief in Killian’s mind, but even then he asked the question to which he was so afraid of the answer, “And before?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s strange,” he said. “Do you remember getting sick as a child, when your magic manifested?”

There was an eternal pause before Naithea deigned to respond.

“Is this an interrogation, Prince Killian ?”

His body froze in place at the sound of his name in Naithea’s lips.

She knew it. Somehow, she’d figured it out.

The pain in Naithea’s face was worse than any stab wound. The tears that swirled in her eyes, the vein that throbbed in her forehead to contain her emotions, and the way her hands closed around her body as if she feared for her life, almost got him to his knees.

“Naithea, let me explain . . .”

But she was already gone, tearing down forever everything they had built.