Page 6 of The Prince's Curse

Baron Simmons blinked, clearly confused.

With a firm grip on Haldric’s forearm, Fendrel propelled him onward. “I’m afraid we’re on important business and can’t stay to chat. Good day to you, my lord.”

“O-of course,” the baron said as they hurried past him down a nearby corridor. “Please give Duchess Janelle my regards.”

Like with Fendrel, the name stirred something in Haldric’s memory, eliciting a flicker of recognition. Perhaps the name belonged to an important noble he’d heard about? That would explain why there were so many soldiers here, though not all thisYour Highnessbusiness.

Most of their original escort peeled off, leaving just Fendrel and four guards to guide him down a series of winding passages. Haldric struggled to squash his rising concern when Fendrel paused before a sealed door and knocked, waiting to open it until a muffled voice bid him to enter.

The room within was better appointed than the rest of the manor. Judging by its fine furnishings, Haldric guessed thesewere the baron’s private quarters. The baron must have given them up for the woman seated there at a table.

If this was the ‘Duchess Janelle’ Baron Simmons had mentioned, she appeared nothing like Haldric would have expected. Stocky and muscular, she wore full battle armor. A pair of twin axes sat on her hips, and a pale scar twisted down her cheek from her hairline to her jaw.

Despite her coarse appearance, she smiled broadly when she saw him. “Haldric! It reallyisyou. By the Goddess, you’ve led us on a merry chase!”

Haldric was too stunned to move as she wrapped him in a rough embrace, squeezing hard enough to make his bones creak. A strange tickling sensation prickled the back of his mind. He couldn’t help but feel as if he knew this woman, had somehow met her before, even though that was impossible.

He stood ramrod straight until she released him, taking a couple steps back to regard him with a fond expression that made his skin crawl with its overfamiliarity. “Thank the Goddess you’re all right. We need to get you back to Revesole as quickly as we can.” A scowl split her face as she glanced at Fendrel. “What of the traitor mage? Is he in chains where he belongs?”

“Escaped, Your Grace,” Fendrel replied with a crisp salute. “But he can’t have gone far. I have soldiers patrolling the entire area. We’ll root him out.”

The woman’s scowl deepened. “You’d better. Dismissed, marshal.”

With another salute and one last unreadable glance at Haldric, Fendrel strode from the chamber. That left Haldric alone with the too-familiar woman who may or may not have been a duchess.

Eyeing the pair of axes, he swallowed and asked, “Please, will you tell me what’s going on? Why does everyone care so much about me and Benjin? Are we…are we under arrest?”

The woman snorted a laugh as she returned to her spot at the table. The wooden chair creaked beneath her armored bulk. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not here to arrest you—we’re here torescueyou.” He fingers brushed the handle of one of her axes. “Though, I can’t say the same about your companion.”

“Benjin?” He struggled to piece together what had happened that morning with everything this woman and Fendrel had told him so far. “But…why would I need saving fromBenjinof all people? And why does everyone seem so convinced that I’m some long-lost noble?”

The woman glanced to the left, though so far as he could tell, there was nothing there except empty air. Perhaps she was simply avoiding his gaze.

After a span of heartbeats, she turned back to him, her mouth firming into a determined line. Her fingers left the handle of her ax as she steepled them together on the table, her demeanor shifting in an instant to that of a diplomat about to convey delicate information.

“I’m afraid there’s much you don’t know, Haldric. At least, not anymore.”

His stomach roiled. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’ll just spit it out. Your memories have been magically altered. The life you think you have here is a lie.”

A lie.

The words bounced around in his head, and though he knew what they meant, they felt like gibberish to his ears.

“That’s not possible,” he said, his voice faint.

She grimaced. “While I’ve got no magic myself, the Grand Magus assures me you’re the victim of an insidious curse. It whisked you away from the capital, stripped you of your proper memories, and hid you here in this backwater village. It’s takenus months to track you down, but now that we have, you can finally go home.”

“Home?”Slowly, he retreated from her until his trembling back pressed against the door. He could hear muffled voices and footsteps outside—guards watching for any attempt to escape, no doubt. “My home is here with Benjin.”

“Your home is in the palace at Revesole,” the woman said with a hint of impatience.

“And who are you to tell me all this?”

A sad smile flickered over her lips. “My name is Janelle Demeroux. I am the Duchess of Catia, sister to King Roland Demeroux…and your aunt.”

Haldric reeled as if struck. His chest and throat felt too tight. Mutely, he shook his head as though to will the impossible declaration away. Janelle ignored him, speaking in the same tone one might use when explaining something to a child.

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