Page 72 of Of Curses and Courtship

CROAK!

A wretched sound comes from the abyss.

“Emyr?” Her voice shakes. “What was?—”

CROAK!

“A… a sick frog, perhaps. We shouldn’t go looking for it. Let us hurry.”

If I were a braver man, I would find the creature, but I’m not. My expertise lies not in facing danger, but learning to avoid it altogether.

As the sound grows, our pace quickens until we’re no longer walking.

I run through the woods, never fast enough to be far fromOphelia. She catches up to me with ease. My fingers squeeze hers, hard enough that she yelps, a desperate attempt at keeping her close.

“Did something get you?” I ask.

“No!”

And the croaking continues. It grows in volume until we come to a sudden stop.

On the forest ground in front of us, the frog fae writhes on its back. It’s larger than the other frogs we’ve seen and something…

Something is terribly wrong.

A dark mist surrounds the poor creature, filling his eyes and that horrid, dreaded mouth. His teeth are pointed.

Have they always been that way?

The darkness falls again, darker than it should be, wrapping us in the mist. I choke on it.

Ophelia’s gloved hand finds mine, rough lace scratching against my fingers. “What is happening? Is this…?”

“The curse,” I whisper, my wing wrapping around her. “We must run.”

OPHELIA

I never imagined I would run from a cursed frog, but there are more reasons to escape. We’re fleeing from the mist itself. Emyr seems not to feel or see it at all, but I do.

Jealousy. Heartbreak. Betrayal.

It’s a thirst for revenge. It’s murder. It is?—

Gods. This frog—admittedly larger than the frogs I’m used to and with several more eyes, but no more threatening than any I’ve seen—is truly chasing us.

The croaking is dreadful. To end the creature’s sufferingwould be kinder, but I don’t know how, and Emyr shows no sign of stopping. My hand finds his. It’s an instinct, I tell myself, a desire to stay safe in this cursed land. He squeezes my fingers as we run along the trail, continuing until we reach the castle gardens.

His breath comes out in shallow pants, and he collapses onto his knees, mindless of the dirt that is surely messing up his trousers. I drop next to him without a second thought. My hands find his again, clutching tight, searching his expression for an answer.

There is none to be found, only pure terror. Is he truly frightened of a little frog? Even if the thing is cursed, wracked by emotions I’d never wish upon my worst enemy, it couldn’t have hurt us.

But fear comes off him in waves, strong enough that I could choke on it—somehow, it’s even more potent than the emotions within the curse. Emyr is lost in a way I never noticed before.

That haunted look in his eye ought to chase me away. After a tragic life, I want a simple one, and I know he can’t offer that—even as a friend. That is why he is both hot and cold, close to me one day and running the next.

It is all terrible. I should run first, but…

I can’t. I’m stuck to this man like a fly in a honey trap, even if I don’t understand why.