Page 121 of Heirs of the Cursed

“You’re awake.”

Darcia stood up sore against the ash trunk. The scent of the night and the icy winter wind shook her for an instant. She watched as Alasdair mashed a strange ointment against the palm of his hand. When he crouched down in front of her, she couldn’t help but pull away in slight fear.

“I won’t harm you, gorgeous.”

“You’ve always been there,” she said. “You are the street violinist . . . And at the mayor’s ball, you—”

“Being always in the shadows can get boring,” he said,. “Don’t move, though. You might open your stitches.”

Stitches?

Darcia pulled the cloth away from her shoulder to see the wound caused by Conrad and his stupid dagger.

“May I?” Alasdair asked, and only moved closer when she nodded. He smeared a couple of fingers with the ointment and placed it on the wound. Darcia snorted as the sting seared her skin. “It’s a remedy from the old academies.”

“What’s in it?”

“Poison,” he said, and Darcia’s eyes widened. Alasdair traced his fingers over the wound again with. “Natural clay, calendulaand a little mugwort. If I wanted to hurt you, I’ve had plenty of time to do it, haven’t I?”

Darcia sighed and lowered her gaze. She let him continue to smear her skin with the herbs and mud before cleaning his hand with a worn piece of rag that hung from his belt.

“Would you like some water or food?” he offered.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to starve,” he said, grabbing a bag hidden among some bushes. Among the shadows of the night, Darcia caught a glimpse of the black wolf licking his paw with heaviness. “He arrived ten minutes ago. It seems he knew when you were going to wake up.”

“Is he yours?” she asked curiously.

“Wolves belong to no one. Lykeios is no exception. He just likes me enough not to bite my head off.”

Darcia tensed involuntarily when she saw the wolf approach her. He wasn’t like the ones she’d seen before, the ones she’d supposedly lived with. As imposing as he was, Lykeios didn’t pounce on her. He merely reached over to sniff the ointment on her wound, as if he wanted to make sure it was good for Darcia, and sat down close to her.

“He likes you,” Alasdair stated, leaning his weight on another log with his arms crossed.

“More than you, you mean?”

“You say that as if it were hard.”

In another life, she’d have laughed. But the pain in her body and soul prevented her from doing so, as reality hit her.

Darcia was a cursed princess, one of the rightful heirs to Ro’i Rajya’s throne.

And she had a sister.

Her memories rushed back to Caeli. Her dead girlfriend on the floor of the circus, where they had both worked so hard to get the money to leave and have an eternity together. Still, she’d died toprotect her, and Darcia couldn’t help but wonder if she’d have done it anyway if she’d known who she really was.

She brought a hand to the pocket where she still kept the braided bracelet, and the pit of her stomach tightened.

“I’m sorry about your girlfriend,” Alasdair said in a mournful whisper. “I truly am.”

Darcia closed her eyes. She no longer wanted to live in a world without Caeli. She’d promised her that they would leave without looking back, together, to seek a better life. Now that the pieces of her true life came together, Darcia had to move forward without her by her side.

A strange new taste settled in her mouth—bitter, cold but satisfying at the same time . . .

The taste of revenge.

She had nothing left to lose; everything was gone. Her family, her friends, her home, her love . . . And Darcia wouldn’t let that go unpunished. Especially not knowing that Conrad, or the Fiend as he preferred to call himself, was on the loose. She’d hunt him down herself, but first she had something important to do.

---