Page 105 of Heirs of the Cursed

His thoughts clouded his judgment. The twins had begun to show symptoms, and it was only a matter of time before Daviniawould suffer a slow and painful death. Soon, Annemarie and Sirio would succumb as well. And eventually, so would he.

Killian couldn’t give a shit about his life, whether he was doomed to the Akhirat or ascended to the Seraphic Plain. But Lên Rajya was in danger, as were his siblings.

For a fleeting moment, all the shadows within him stilled as his gaze fell upon Naithea at a short distance. The weight of his worries lifted, softened by the calm she weaved around him, quieting the darkness that had long haunted his soul.

“Naithea,” he called to her.

She froze.

When he met her boreal eyes, Killian smiled mischievously.

“Good morning,” she replied, holding her hands behind her back and her gaze on the citizens that walked around them.

“You left without saying goodbye,” he said as he approached her to stroke her cheek. “And you’re eerily quiet. Has something happened?”

“Not at all.”

“What is it, then?”

“I’m just taking precautions. It’s not safe for us to be seen together.”

Naithea was more distant than usual as she twirled the six-pointed star pendant between her fingers with nervousness. Something wasn’t right . . . Still, he’d learned not to push her into telling him what troubled her, since it wouldn’t lead him anywhere.

He nodded hesitantly. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

Something very important that had been rattling around in his head since that morning, waking up alone in the brothel. After taking in what Naithea was capable of, worry had begun to torment him, for the attack on one of his father’s most valued soldiers had put her in the spotlight he wished to keep her from.

The heralds had informed him of his father’s new orders: he was to deliver Naithea to the gallows and secure Soldier Biceus’ transfer to the capital for treatment by the royal physician. But Killian’s feelings for Naithea had led him down another path; one filled with lies and secrecy.

A betrayal to his king.

To his own father.

All to cover up for the woman heloved.

“I’ve been doing some research about your magic in Bellmare’s records,” he revealed at last.

A brief flicker crossed her face, but Naithea held herself as she said,“Those records aren’t public.”

“Being commander of the Royal Army has its perks.”

Or prince of the kingdom, he reminded himself.

“What did you find?”

Killian had turned to the library’s guardians for access to the records of dryadalis magic dating back four centuries. Such records were established by King Edrivann in the year 404 of their era, known as the Fall of Dawn, before the first war between the dryadalis and the daimonas broke out. The king had created the records to hunt down and kill daimonas who infiltrated his armies, and also those who lived in peace in the rest of Lên Rajya.

After three hours of long reading, Killian was disappointed to discover that there was no magic that could resemble Naithea’s, which greatly complicated his plans to protect her.

“Well?” she asked again, worried.

“Nothing. That’s the problem.” Killian shook his head. “I’ve never seen magic like yours before. It seems history hasn’t either.”

“What does that mean then?”

“It means that your magic isn’t purely dryadalis.” He stepped closer to her, narrowing the space between them. “It means that one of your parents must have had . . . daimon blood.”

“It can’t be true,” Naithea said shakily.

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