Page 86 of Of Curses and Courtship

“That only means that with a bit of practice, you could do even greater things.” He shakes his head. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure why Emyr brought you on the trip, but… I see it now.”

My lips tug up at the corners. “Do you?”

“I do. You’re a beast on the battlefield.”

I roll my eyes playfully. “After tonight, I don’t think I am meant for battle.”

“Perhaps not, but that only makes it more impressive. You succeeded in something you are not meant for—and you’re certainly not built for it.”

My brows creep into my hairline. “Should I be offended?”

“Yes.” He rolls his eyes. “You are soft, Miss, and I mean that as an insult.”

After a long ride of disappointment and fear, it feels good to laugh, just for a moment, however halfhearted it is. “I’ve not heard that before.”

“It truly isn’t a bad thing.” He smirks. “Emyr seems to enjoy it.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s quite enough.”

But it does little to stop him from joking and teasing for the rest of the ride. Only once we return do I realize that hisjests are a gift for me—a distraction after what may be the most petrifying day of my life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EMYR

Irun a dagger through the dreaded creature—no.

Not a creature. A man. A high fae with a mess of red hair and freckles. I won’t forget his ruddy face. Dark blood, nearly black, spills from his eyes. The cursed energy smells of sulfur as it soaks into the dirty ground beneath him.

He’s been chasing me for miles. Miles and miles of me screaming in terror before he caught me. My fear is gone now. I’m nothing. My heart still beats, rapid and out of my control, but I feel nothing. Nothing.

His red, leathery wings tell me he is from the Mars Palace, like Tibalt. He has an extra pair of eyes beneath his, but other than that, he is just like my friend.

My stomach lurches.

I pull the dagger from his flesh.

“One more dead,” I mutter. “How many more can there be?”

The curse is worsening. It has been two days since I left the carriage, and this is the second corrupt high fae I have found.

Why does it feel as if they’re followingme?

Dirt and dried blood coat my clothing, and the dagger in my pocket is the only thing keeping me safe. I plucked it from the last fae who hunted me.

It’s clear that the curse is searching for me, and it has always been. Hiding here in this unknown village is for the best.

Ophelia can’t be hurt when I am gone. Tibalt can’t be. I’ll stay here forever, running, and perhaps the cure will work itself out.

This is where I belong.

I drag my feet into the dusty, quiet inn. There’s not a sound of laughter, not a single musician playing, not so much as the tinkle of a piano. Only the slight clink of glasses against the wooden bar—nothing more.

The people here don’t know me. Or perhaps they do, but they can’t recognize me with the hood pulled low over my face. I hardly recognize myself these days. Without saying a word, I slide a piece of gold across the bar. The barkeep knows what to do.

“You look a bit beat up, dear,” someone else says. “Are you all right?”

I turn to my right and nearly jump out of my skin. “Ophelia?”