Page 2 of Of Curses and Beauty

Her exhale of relief morphed into a gasp of shock as she was whipped around like a dog on a leash. With a vice-like grip on her arm, Baxter slammed her against the stone wall of the nearest building.

The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth as a throbbing pain blossomed across the back of her head. Though her vision swam from the impact, Alaine could feel the heat of his breath searing her cheek as he pressed into her space.

Rough stone bit at her soft flesh as she tried and failed to disappear into the wall behind her. She scanned the streets around them, desperate for help, looking for any way to escape the terrifying man who held her.

The village that had been bustling only minutes earlier was now quiet. The few people she could see turned their heads away, offering her nothing. She expected no less when all this village had ever given her were cold shoulders and leering eyes.

Baxter took hold of her chin with deceptively soft fingers, so at odds with the punishing grip around her arm that she flinched at its gentleness. A hot tear escaped the corner of her eye as he forced her to look at him. She cursed that tear and any sign of weakness that she bore to this man, knowing they would be used against her.

“I have been a patient man, Alaine, but I will not continue to tolerate these childish games of yours. When I want something, it is only a matter of time before I get it.”

His gaze raked over her from head to toe. A sensation like a thousand spiders skittered over her skin and she shuddered. Though fully clothed, she had never felt more violated than in that moment when his eyes lingered on her curves. If she could, she would crawl into a hole, emerging only once her beauty had faded and Henrik Baxter had no more use for her.

“I will have you,” he growled through clenched teeth. “This is your final chance to decide the terms before I stop asking nicely.”

With a grunt, he shook her once—hard and jarring—the motion stealing the breath from her chest. Fearing another attack, Alaine squeezed her eyes shut as he drew back. Her lungs burned as she waited for the next blow to land. When none came, she cracked one eye open.

Baxter had gone.

At her instant relief, air flooded her lungs in heaving gasps. Though welcome, her respite was short-lived. The streets were once again occupied, the villagers having abandoned their hiding places in the calm following the storm. Some huddled in small groups whispering. Others stared at her outright.

Recovering her wits, Alaine bid her heartbeat to slow as she stepped away from the wall. Wrangling her panting breaths into a semblance of composure took more effort than she wanted to admit, but she pressed her lips together and forced deep, even breaths through her nose. She refused to look at her throbbing arm and arranged her cloak to hide the blossoming evidence of Baxter’s attention. A bead of moisture slipped down her cheek. She didn’t know if it was perspiration or the remainder of the tears she’d been holding back, but she swiped it away with the back of her hand, unwilling to let these hateful people see her shaken. Their actions thoroughly disgusted her and she felt ashamed for hoping there was even one kind soul among them.

With confidence she didn’t feel but had plenty of practice faking, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, tucked her book beneath her arm, and strode away. She made sure to meet the eye of each person she passed, allowing all her venom and accusation to shine through.

Never had she felt more abandoned in her own town.

Only when stone walls became open fields did Alaine allow her tears to fall. They were silent, angry tears. Tears of mourning as she grieved the loss of the life she’d never live. She wanted to rage. She wanted to run. She wanted to open her book, step into the pages, and live forever in a world of happily-ever-afters.

A choked sound escaped her, halfway between a laugh and a sob. Real life was nothing like the fairytales she loved so much. It was only a matter of time before her responsibilities caught up to her. Courting. Marriage. She’d been lucky to escape them for this long.

When the dirt path forked before her, she hesitated. Only one path led home, but inside her was a growing desire to walk a different road. Somehow she knew the choice she made would determine more than just the direction of her feet.

To the east, lay her family, her duty, her past. But to the west, the tranquil forest beckoned her heavy heart. She knew what choice the heroines of her stories would make, but the question remained—would she find what she sought in the forest beyond, or would it prove yet another disappointment to heap on her shoulders?

At that moment, she preferred the safety of not knowing to the potential disillusionment of stepping into the forest and discovering she was not the heroine in her own story. If that made her a coward, so be it. She didn’t have an enchanted sword or a fairy godmother. She was in this alone and if she knew one thing, it was that lone women garnered no favor in the real world.

Chapter 2

Daric

PrinceDaricHalversonwasnot faring well. He squinted against the sun as it crested the trees of his glade, cursing its warmth as he panted from exertion. Sweat dripped from every pore. It drenched his hair and impeded his grip on the axe held at his side. He glanced at the pile of wood beside him, more than enough to last him through the next several weeks, though he knew he’d be back at it again tomorrow.

Deciding he was finished for the day, Daric let the axe slide from his grasp and topple into the grass below. He plucked up his shirt from where it lay discarded and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow and neck.

When his stomach rumbled, he debated ignoring it, unwilling to surrender any bit of daylight to being indoors. Especially in that dreadful cottage. Just glancing toward the offending structure where he resided was enough to put him in a foul mood. Its magical properties did little to sway his opinion in the other direction.

Over the years, Daric had come to resent the small, enchanted cottage that caged him, its stone walls reminiscent, yet wholly different, from the castle he’d once called home. Within, he couldn’t help feeling trapped. Though the boundaries of his imprisonment truly extended to the rotting wood fence that encircled the cottage, it was only under the thatched roof that his skin crawled with the overwhelming need to escape.

For centuries, he’d had no human interaction beyond infrequent visits from the witch who had cursed him to this solitary existence. Being confined to a cottage in the woods and the small plot of land around it played tricks on his mind. Some days he teetered on the brink of insanity, the emotional toll almost as great as the havoc wrought upon his fortitude.

Physically, he hadn’t aged a day—hadn’t changedat all. Even the length of his hair remained the same as the day he’d arrived. Inside though, he felt ancient, withered, and beaten down by time, a contrast to the strange reflection he saw in the mirror of a young man. A young man who no longer existed.

In the early years of his curse, he’d raged, violently and viciously. He was angry at the world, the witch, but mostly, at himself, for becoming ensnared so easily. Each failed escape attempt marked his soul in a way he knew was beyond repair. By the time he gave up trying, he was a shell of the prince he’d once been.

After ten years, he gave up hope of rescue as well.

When one hundred years had come and gone, he realized that everyone he’d known had passed on. Everyone who had possibly loved him, missed him, and mourned him, was gone. His mother and father, his friends and guards, he’d outlived them all. For whatever reason, it was that thought, and not his years of isolation, that made him feel truly alone. And after three hundred years of it, he’d all but lost his mind.

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