Page 73 of Fated to the Wicked King

But here it was.

One last Heartlamp.

“Is it…really possible?” My eyes widened in awe. “When I asked the king regarding this, he said he’d already considered it. He’d said he had already consulted you.”

The Duchess’s blue eyes glazed over for a moment. “Why, yes, he did, didn’t he? It is quite odd that I don’t seem to recall—” she stopped short. “Oh.”

Chez was briskly shaking his furry head, as though he himself was snapping out of a trance. “Son of a⁠—”

“Oh.” The Duchess’s tone lowered. She shook her head slowly. “That crafty, gorgeous specimen of a man.”

I looked from her to Chez. “What? What is it?”

She waved one hand in the air. “His Majesty cast a memory spell on me so I would forget.” She gestured to Chez. “Cast a spell on us. So we would never tell you.”

My pulse started to race. “Tell me what?”

“Yes, yes, I remember it now. A few moons ago, His Majesty had come to me with the quandary. He was intent on swapping your mystical hearts back. And I had told him there was only one option. He considered it. Then he rejected it.”

My mind spun. “But why?”

There was a pause before the Duchess replied, “I am sure you are aware, our conventional process of ‘heart harvesting’ does not necessarily put any weight or care toward the well-being of the person whose heart was being taken. However, in your case, both your life and the king’s would need to be preserved quite carefully. It’s very tricky to return stolen hearts. It’s never been done, or should I say, it’s never been done well. That one time, there was a misstep in the spell—ahh…” She clicked her tongue. “Tragedy. I explained this to His Majesty, and he ordered me to abandon my task. He said he would find another way.”

My heart hammered in my chest, as if in knowing recognition. “When did you discuss this?”

The Duchess put a finger to her chin. “Oh, about seven moons ago.”

I almost stopped breathing. Seven months. The king had known about this solution for seven whole months. He hadn’t told me. Not only that, he had lied to me when I’d explicitly asked him about it. He had even erased Chez’s and the Duchess’s memories so I would never find out.

It didn’t even make any sense. He’d told me that the magic in my heart, which he was wearing, had already dissipated. If he was so eager to get his own mystical heart back, why would he hide such crucial information? Was he really so hungry for power that he wasn’t even willing to try if it meant endangering his tyrannical reign over the land?

I would have been willing to risk my life if it meant getting my heart back. I wasn’t even sure if I could journey back to my world if I was still wearing his cursed heart. It was entirely possible that I was trapped on Wünder if I was not made whole first. But it was a gamble I had been willing to make.

The Wicked King was content to keep me imprisoned, to keep me cursed. He’d said it over and over. I belonged to him. He owned me.

That crafty, gorgeous specimen of a man.

He was a coward.

Twenty-Two

WHITE KNIGHT

Despite the lateness of the hour, my anger propelled me through the Duchess’s villa to hunt down the maniacal tyrant bane of my existence, except he wasn’t in any of the guest rooms.

I checked through the rear courtyard, past the gardens which had long since surrendered to wild abundance—lush and overgrown, heavy with the scent of damp earth and sweet blossoms.

Beyond the estate, the land dissolved into a tranquil lagoon threaded with narrow waterways, where ancient willow trees leaned low over dark, glassy water. Moss hung in silvery veils from every limb, swaying gently.

I skidded to a stop upon spotting the stately but darkened figure across the way.

What was the king doing all by himself in the garden in the middle of the night?

Clenching my jaw, I marched across the stone walkway, whilst tamping down the apprehension threatening to creep along my skin.

He was still the Wicked King of Wünder.

Steel-blue eyes lit up upon spotting me approaching, but his expression remained neutral.