Page 9 of Gilded Curses

Most of those immortals wore all white clothing, but a few dozen or more wore more elaborate clothes of vibrant colors. Many were also dressed in dark blue as they stood toward the front of the crowd, and despite the proclamation of being a peaceful race, the men and women in blue all held weapons.

What are these things?

He didn’t know, but now that things were calmer, the man standing before him started clapping again. The others all followed suit as they beamed, cheered, and some stomped their feet.

As they continued to clap, Orin shifted his grip on his sword. They didn’t act like a threat, and he didn’t know if they were the ones who’d kept them in the Cursed Realm, but they were here, and he was eager to kill something.

Unfortunately, there were far too many for him to take on. Peaceful or not, their sheer numbers would overwhelm him after a while.

He was irate enough to hack through a few dozen of them before then, but he couldn’t take them all on, not even with Zeth and the witches at his side. Plus, he didn’t know if these things were the enemy or the freedom they’d been seeking.

If they were the key to freedom, killing some of them probably wouldn’t ingratiate him into getting their help to escape this place.

“Welcome! Welcome!” a tall, platinum-haired blond man said as he strode toward them and stopped a few feet away. His voice held that semblance of a French accent. “Rest easy, my friends. My name is Desmond, and you are safe with us. We’re so happy to have you here. Finally, someone has succeeded!”

The man’s eyes were so pale a shade of blue, they were nearly as white as his hair, but specks of gold sparkled within them. He was handsome in a way that would make some women fall at his feet, but the gleam in his eyes would make others feel like they were facing a ravenous dragon.

Those wiser women would back away from his too-dazzling smile with his too-white teeth and the too-perfect alignment of those teeth. It was the smile of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Orin didn’t want Sahira anywhere near this man. He’d far prefer to face the spiders again and the sticky web they’d weaved than the trap he was certain they’d just walked into.

“Succeeded in what?” Sahira demanded.

Desmond’s smile never faltered as his head turned toward her. “In escaping the Cursed Realm, as you call it.”

“Of winning the game,” a beautiful, dark-haired woman with brown skin added.

Orin somehow managed to keep his face impassive while inwardly his blood boiled. A game! This was only a game!

“And we know how much you love games, Orin,” Desmond said.

Orin showed no response to this man knowing his name or anything about him. Instead, he forced a smile. It grew bigger and more natural when he imagined pummeling Desmond’s too-perfect countenance into a bloody mess not even his mother would recognize.

“I do enjoy a good game,” he agreed.

Orin’s blithe reply didn’t fool Desmond, but that stupid smile never left his face. Oh yes, once he got the chance, Desmond was as good as dead.

“Have you been watching us?” Elsa demanded.

Desmond clapped his hands before turning away from them. The immortals gathered around him fell back to give him space to walk.

“It’s time to return home. Come along now, so you can reap the benefits of your glory,” Desmond called over his shoulder.

Orin glanced at Sahira as all the rest of the immortals encircled them, making it clear they had no choice but to follow.

CHAPTER TEN

It wasn’t until they came over the top of one of the many hills that a gold-flecked city appeared below them. A castle sat in the city’s center, surrounded by walls stretching for hundreds of acres around small, cabin-style homes.

There were hundreds of those cabins inside the walls but not a single one outside them. Sahira didn’t understand the intense security; from what she’d seen so far, it was a peaceful land, and the big bonus was that nothing had tried to eat them yet.

If these immortals were concerned about giant monsters or sand creatures eating them, they didn’t show it. And if scarogs were about to descend, they wouldn’t have walked the few miles it had taken to greet her and the others.

Even with the weapons carried by those in blue, some of the monsters they’d faced throughout this would have eaten a good chunk of them. And if these immortals were worried about enemies, why did they build their castle in a valley?

Every other realm, and every immortal and mortal with a brain, built their fortress high so they could see an attack approaching. Not these immortals.

The hair on her nape refused to settle as the wooden gates of the bailey swung open. She almost planted her feet and refused to continue, but there were so many of them, and they’d never let her remain outside. She didn’t have to fight them to know that.