Page 50 of A Cursed Son

He runs a hand over my hair, perhaps aware that he can dissolve my anger with a few sweet words and caresses. “I did what I had to do, azalee.”

“You should have given something else. Anything.”

I close my eyes, still in disbelief, still unable to grasp how much he’s risking. I’m so furious. And terrified. And he’s not even taking it seriously.

My eyes open and I realize I’m not in that castle anymore, but in the river hideout. River hideout? How come I know the name of this place? My heart’s still beating fast, but it was a dream. At least I was angry this time.

Was I angry because he married me? No. I was angry that he gave something away. But then, I doubt the dream has anything to do with our current reality. It was more like a memory, a vision.

Or maybe it’s just that I’m so angry at him that I dreamed about it. Will he have the same dream as me? I wish there was a way to find out if that’s really true, a way that wouldn’t reveal that I’m dreaming about him.

I’m still trembling with an odd anger whose reason I can’t fathom. Unless it’s because he ripped me away from my life, he’s forcing me to be here, he made a mockery of sacred wedding vows and keeps mocking me every time he calls me wife in jest. I guess I do understand where the anger comes from.

There’s another smell in the room, and I realize it comes from my pillow cover, a sweet, calming lavender scent, and my eyes close, the anger slowly disappearing as my thoughts fade into the nothingness of sleep.

When I open my eyes, slanted sunrays cross the thin curtains of the Amethyst Palace windows. Not the Amethyst Palace, the river hideout, with its calming sound of water and leaves outside, and a citrusy smell. I feel strong arms around me, and his body. His body? Part of me thinks this is right, part of me is alarmed.

“Marlak?” I dare whisper, hoping I’m imagining things.

“I don’t want to fight anymore.” He kisses my neck and wraps his arms tighter around me. “I missed you.”

He keeps kissing my neck, and then he bites my ear softly, as if to remind me that he remembers the cave. I should stop him, I know, but I don’t want to. I like those kisses, and I can still recall him looking at me, that playful glint in his eyes.

You’re crazy if you think there’s anything I wouldn’t do for you.

For a moment, I want to believe it’s true, I want to believe it’s him, I want to believe love like that exists. His ragged breath, so close to my ear, undoes me. I want this, I want him.

His hands then move apart, one of them caressing my abdomen, then moving up, over my nightgown, while the other moves down, reaching my thighs, then up again, between my legs. I want more. I want his hands all over me, inside me.

It’s as if he can understand my thoughts, and then suddenly, with a firm pull, he rips the nightgown and lowers my breastband, freeing my breasts, caressing one of them with his hand. His tongue caresses my ear, while I can feel him hardening behind me, so close.

So far. I want him inside me. His fingers between my thighs are also teasing me, perhaps waiting for the moment I finally cave in and beg. Cave in. A nice description of our first encounter.

I want to chuckle. Chuckle until I break down laughing, chuckle until I break down crying. I want to laugh at myself, laugh at the absurdity of avoiding my husband, laugh at my ruined nightgown.

Ruined nightgown.

But I slept wearing a dress.

My eyes snap open and I recognize my new room in this strange house on this tiny island. I look back and, to my relief, see nobody behind me. I am still wearing a tight, uncomfortable dress. Inside out. I guess I didn’t notice it in the dark. Great.

This dream felt so real, so strange. I hope Marlak didn’t dream about it too.

I try to close my eyes and get some more sleep, but then I hear three knocks on the door.

“Can I come in?” Marlak’s deep voice could shake the foundations of the house.

“It’s early.” I was going to say I was sleeping, but I guess that’s ruined now.

“Are you dressed?”

Would he enter if I said I was naked? Then he’s going to wonder if I’m sleeping naked. Oh, whatever. I sit up. “Yes.”

He comes in, closes the door behind him, leans against it, and crosses his arms. “What did I ask you?”

He means the dream. Of course he does. I want to disintegrate and disappear, but I manage to pretend I’m not mortified and instead, feign confusion. “To leave the door unlocked? I did, as you can see.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then stares at me. “Yes, I asked you to do that, and I appreciate the trust. But I also asked you to stop the mind magic, stop trying to get into my dreams.” He glances at me, as if realizing I’m wearing a crumpled dress, and not a nightgown. “Stop it.”

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