Page 3 of Of Curses and Beauty

The man he had been had a reason to wake up each morning and push through every obstacle. That man had hope for the kingdom he would have ruled and the queen he’d find to stand at his side.

Now, all of those things were out of reach. He’d had one wish beyond being a good king, but in isolation, he had no hope of breaking the curse or finding the love for which he desperately yearned.

Like a caged beast, he worked constantly against the mounting frustrations that threatened to overtake him. Idleness was his enemy. He pushed his desires to the back of his mind, executing the same menial tasks day in and day out to keep from losing himself entirely.

Every day he woke, ate, cut wood, ate again, then slept. Rarely did he deviate from the choreographed steps of his clockwork dance, careful to maintain the ruse of living.

Whenever he stumbled toward the edge of madness, one thought kept him from plunging headfirst into the abyss—revenge.

As though conjured by his dark thoughts, the hunched figure of the crone appeared beyond the fence. Even the wind held its breath as the wicked creature beckoned him with a clawed finger. While logic begged him to stand his ground, anger propelled his legs forward toward the target of his vengeance.

He stopped as he neared the fence post, the witch wisely remaining out of reach. “What in the skies do you want?” he rasped. His voice, though unaccustomed to conversation, traveled easily in the now quiet forest.

The witch bared her teeth in the semblance of a smile and he braced himself for what was to come. “The time has come, Prince. Today, you will be a free man.” Her hand uncurled, palm up in silent request. “You need only take my hand and I will remove you from this cursed place.”

Daric regarded the proffered hand skeptically.

“Well, come on, boy,” she snapped. “I haven’t got all day.”

With a sigh, Daric braced one hand on an upright and swung himself over the fence. It was low enough that he didn’t have to put much effort into the jump. He landed lightly in the soft grass, but when he looked up, he found he hadn’t made it to the other side. As always, his feet remained firmly within the boundaries of his curse. The cottage mocked him where it stood, before rather than behind him.

A cackle erupted at his back and he turned to see the witch doubled over with laughter, pressing a hand to her middle as her face became an unflattering shade of puce. With a fresh burst of fury, Daric stormed back toward the cottage only to be halted, spun, and held in place by invisible hands.

The witch’s touch disgusted him.

He made several attempts to shake off the phantom hands, his body trembling from the effort, but it was no use. Unable to move so much as a toe, he clenched his jaw and waited for the hag’s laughter to subside.

Minutes passed before the witch finally straightened, wiping a tear from her eye as she sighed in contentment. “That will never get old.”

Daric willed his eyes to say all that he could not. If he had even an ounce of magic, he’d fight back. As it was, he could do nothing but wait until she decided she was done with him. With any luck, she would soon tire and leave.

“As much as I enjoy our little visits, Prince, I’ve actually come with some news.” With unnatural speed, she plucked a falling leaf out of the air and tucked it into the folds of her cloak.

Daric blinked, confusion and surprise battling within him as the witch continued speaking as though nothing was amiss. Navigating the witch’s moods was like trying to dodge raindrops in a storm. No matter how hard he tried, she always managed to throw him off-kilter.

“We are expecting company.”

If he hadn’t already been completely immobile, Daric would have frozen at the proclamation. His eyes flicked to the witch, begging the old woman to read his mind and answer all the questions he had.

Who? Why? Whynow?

The witch acknowledged his questioning gaze with another sneer. “Be ready, Prince.”

Her laughter remained long after she’d faded away to nothing. Daric swore if he ever got free of this place, he’d strangle the life from that witch with his bare hands.

Chapter 3

Alaine

Alaineknewshe’dmadethe wrong choice the second she walked through the door of her family’s modest, two-story home. Her mother and father sat facing each other at opposite ends of the dining table, entrenched in conversation which ceased abruptly as she entered. When their heads snapped to her in perfect unison, they looked like a pair of guilty school children caught doing something wrong. She almost chuckled, but the despair on her mother’s face, coupled with the pity on her father’s, froze her laughter in her throat.

A draft followed her inside the house. It stalked beside her, stealing the warmth from her fingertips and dancing ice-cold claws up her neck. She shivered as much with cold as a premonition. Her unease lingered as she bolted the door closed and rushed to her parents.

“What’s happened?” Alaine asked, checking first for any other signs that something was amiss. Nothing else in the house appeared to be out of order, but the looks on her parents’ faces suggested bad news.

She hoped there hadn’t been another death in the family. The recent passing of her paternal grandfather had come as a terrible shock to her family and they were still feeling the effects several months later.

Her father scrubbed a hand down his face while her mother rose to wrap her in a tight embrace—an act wholly out of character that set Alaine’s teeth on edge.

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