Page 134 of Heirs of the Cursed

Darcia could still feel the blood sliding down her skin, like an invisible yet permanent stain. She had killed someone in cold blood, succumbing to that terrible darkness that hoveredviolently over her whenever she was afraid or angry. She’d given in to her lineage as a daimon, as a cursed princess, as amonster. . .

She had taken a life.

And yet she felt no remorse.

Alasdair’s moan of pain, the most comforting sound she’d heard in a long time, moved her forward. He was alive, he could still be saved. Darcia ran toward him and knelt at his side. Her pulse had begun to tremble as the earth smeared with the remnants of blood. But even so she rested her hand on his, as if that gesture would somehow heal his wound.

“Tell me,” she asked him. “Tell me what I can do.”

“It’s not a deep cut,” he hissed, lowering his tormented gaze to the wound. “Let’s get out of here first.”

“You shouldn’t move . . . We need to treat . . .”

She couldn’t continue the sentence. The distant sound of soldiers approaching and shouting in different directions made her heart stop. Darcia gathered all their belongings in a hurry. Lykeios, who was limping on his injured leg, approached them with the pack ready to obey orders. Their fangs, like their fur, were stained with blood and remnants of Conrad’s dogs.

She turned her gaze to the corpses. She frowned as she saw how the man’s skin had begun to rot, even when only minutes had gone by. The stench of the corpse made Darcia want to vomit.

What had caused it?

“Put the satchel on his back. He can handle it,” Alasdair whispered between gasps of pain.

“He’s hurt. I’m not going to do that to him.”

“Don’t be . . .” Alasdair halted as a shot of pain ripped through his body. “Stubborn.”

“Shut up,” she commanded.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Darcia ignored the title and slung the pack tightly on her back instead. She helped Alasdair get back on his feet, who still kept a hand on the wound on his chest. He made a great effort to keep her from carrying the full weight of his body, but the pain was taking its toll.

From one moment to the next, he collapsed.

“Alasdair!” she whispered, leaning him against a tree.

Suddenly, a stabbing pain in her head pressed against her temples, making her whole body about to give in to the weight she was carrying. She heard thoughts too loud, felt emotions too intense. For a moment, she thought she was about to pass out too.

The thought of yielding crossed her mind. Maybe everything would be easier if she did. She’d spent her whole life struggling to survive, to live . . . And it had gotten her nowhere except a life as a fugitive and a broken heart.

Her eyes met the man she held in her arms. Alasdair, who had fought by her side, who had risked everything to keep her safe. If she was caught, he’d be imprisoned as well. If she died, so would he. And she’d never forgive herself.

The wolves approached her with a wariness that echoed in the forest. Their presence, majestic and wild, enveloped the air with a mixture of intrigue and respect.

Among them, one stood out for its youth; its fur lacked the marks of time that adorned the older ones. With a firm step, the wolf approached Darcia, its twinkling eyes reflecting intense curiosity. Gently, the animal extended its muzzle and brushed her leg, as if seeking to convey a message of encouragement and solidarity.

Darcia heard the army soldiers approaching, the horses running to where the men laid dead. As she heard Harg Koller’s voice in the distance shouting orders, she came to her senses.She wasn’t going to let them catch her. Not when she’d come this far.

Mustering her strength, she moved forward and let the wolves lead them to safety.

The rain became more violent after a couple of hours. Darcia almost thanked the goddesses when the wolves stopped in front of a cave protected by fallen trees and bare trunks. She pulled the satchel inside, and, after making way for the wolves, helped Alasdair down, who regained consciousness every few seconds only to lose it again.

She took off her cloak and placed it over a rock so Alasdair could lean against it without suffering icy pinpricks in his spine. Darcia rummaged through the satchels to find the ointment he had applied days earlier to her wound. There wasn’t much left, but it had to be enough.

Alasdair regained consciousness as she pulled the shirt away from the cut.

“If you wanted me to take my clothes off, all you had to do was ask.”

“Will this do?” she asked, ignoring him.

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