Page 51 of Of Curses and Beauty

“He bears the Verril crest.” Alaine’s father pointed to his signet ring, the one item he still possessed of his past life.

“Any common thief can steal a ring. It does not verify your wild assertions.” Oil coated Baxter’s words as he sneered at no one in particular.

Daric fiddled with his ring absently, its solid weight a constant reminder of what he gave up to find love—to find Alaine. “As I said, I have no claim to that title, nor any ambition to see myself reinstated, but it is nevertheless who I am. I did not come here to deceive, but rather to shed light on the truth of this situation. The Martans should know the duplicity of the deal you made with them.”

Baxter spluttered in the wake of the accusation. “I have never spoken falsely in my entire life. These allegations are unfounded and outrageous.”

“Tell that to the Magistrate.”

Daric exhaled in relief as a disembodied voice announced the arrival of Eudora.

Her fiery hair shone from a shadowed alcove by the entry, the perfect complement to the fierce expression revealed when she stepped into the light. On her heels came the Magistrate, wooden cane tapping out the rhythm of every other step. He was followed closely by the two guards from earlier, both with a firm grip on their weapons, looking like they would rather be any place else.

“Hi. I’m Eudora.” The witch smiled brightly as she shook hands with the Martans, her confidence smoothing over the tension caused by Daric’s brusqueness. She placed her arm around Alaine’s mother’s shoulders and gently guided her away from the group. Daric heard Eudora’s quick, whispered words as they passed. “If you do anything to keep my girl from getting her happy ever after, I’ll turn you into a stray cat—and not a cute one. One of those mangy, flea-bitten ones with one eye and half a tail.”

She accentuated her promise with a small show of sparks shooting out from her fingertips, a wicked gleam in her eyes. Alaine let out a surprised chuckle even as her mother paled and touched a hand to her chest.

The tapping finally ceased as the Magistrate reached them, his breathing labored after the short walk from his office.

“Go ahead, Maggie,” called Eudora. “Let them know what you found.”

The older man looked up sharply at the nickname, but let it pass without reprimand as he caught his breath. With a shaking hand, he pulled a pair of spectacles from his pocket, placing them carefully upon his nose and ears before retrieving a folded slip of paper from another pocket.

“Lord Baxter, Mr. Martan.” The Magistrate nodded his head to both men respectfully and squinted to read off his paper. “It has come to my attention that the circumstances surrounding a certain loan of the late Mr. Martan have been called into question. As such, I have scoured the documents at my disposal as Magistrate of Maribonne and representative of both the Baxters and the Martans.”

Alaine danced from foot to foot, swaying in and out of Daric’s periphery. His hands itched to reach for her, but he kept them firmly clenched at his sides, prepared to take on Baxter if it came to blows.

“I have found,” continued the Magistrate, “that not only is there no evidence of the sum ever being transferred to the late Mr. Martan, but the only documentation I can find referencing such a loan appears to have been created post-mortem, by none other than Lord Baxter himself.”

Chapter 45

Alaine

Sheheardthewords.

Heard them and understood what they meant—that she was free—but her body refused to respond to the joy she felt in her heart. Rather, she watched the next few moments unfold in slow motion like an outsider looking in.

Her mother collapsed. Her father, engrossed in conversation with the Magistrate, failed to notice that his wife was no longer vertical. To his credit, the Magistrate looked only slightly put off by the barrage of questions from her father. The two guards that had accompanied the Magistrate stood slightly off to the side. Though they no longer looked poised to draw arms, they watched the unfolding events with apparent trepidation, likely unsure how to proceed without orders.

Daric clapped Eudora on the back and she smiled over her shoulder at him. They looked for all the world like two old friends celebrating a victory. Alaine wondered how she had ever thought there was something more between them.

When Eudora stooped to attend to Alaine’s mother, who showed no signs of movement beyond the slight rise and fall of her chest, Daric turned, slowly scanning the chaos that had erupted. Alaine waited for his eyes to sweep over her like the clouds parting to reveal the sun. Closing her eyes in anticipation, she loosed a breath, letting go of all the stress and pain of the past weeks. She felt the gentle caress of Daric’s gaze and breathed in the sweet scent of a fresh start. Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes as they fluttered open and focused instantly on Daric.

Daric’s answering smile faltered and slipped as she felt his stare pass over her shoulder. His eyes widened, lips forming the shape of her name as two thickly muscled arms circled her.

Alaine knew, without seeing, that it was Baxter’s arms wrapped around her, one at her neck, the other at her middle. She shuddered in response to his warm breath crawling along the back of her neck. Pressed tight against him, she instantly noted the difference between Baxter and Daric. The places where she molded so perfectly to Daric became angles that refused to align with Baxter’s.

She struggled in his grasp, twisting and bucking in an attempt to loosen his hold on her, but he only squeezed tighter. The arm around her neck threatened her airways and she halted her futile attempts to escape.

A flicker of motion in her periphery made her realize the room had descended into perfect stillness, the people around her all but statues. All except Daric, who took another step toward her and her captor.

Baxter, having also noticed Daric’s approach, whipped Alaine around, positioning her between the two men. She stumbled, nearly losing her footing but for the solid grip holding her upright. With her past behind her, literally holding her hostage, the future she yearned for remained just out of reach. She nearly came undone at the fear in Daric’s face as he pulled free his blade.

“Release her, or I will kill you where you stand.” The bravado in his voice masked the worry in his eyes, the promise of violence curling around the edges of his words.

Alaine couldn’t see the guards, but she heard the clamor of their approach.

“Did you know,” said Baxter without a hint of concern, “that you can kill a person with a sharp twist of their neck?” As if to emphasize his point, his fingers crept up her neck to cup her jaw. The gesture might have appeared innocuous—affectionate, even—to anyone who couldn’t feel the fragile restraint he had on the anger within.

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