Page 42 of Heirs of the Cursed

Naithea clenched her jaw and tried to concentrate on the ink decorating the yellowed pages of the book she held in her hands.

She scanned the map of the kingdom, her fingertips tracing the familiar lines that formed the city where she’d resided all her life. Scared that the pages would tear between her fingers, she flipped through the book with great care.

The next entry caught her attention, detailing the Allencort family of Lên Rajya, heirs to the throne for over four hundred years.

The text spoke of Kirus’ parents, King Ivarion and his consort, Saenella. A rather ordinary reign compared to that of their son, who had revolutionized commerce with the exploitation of metals from the mountains and expanded the Royal Army into the largest military ever seen.

According to the book, Kirus had inherited his father’s anger, as well as his iron heart, which had been softened by the arrival of a daimon with whom the king had betrothed him. For a dryad and a daimon, together, could beunstoppable.

Naithea’s breathing became ragged as she read about Ro’i Rajya, the kingdom that had fallen before her birth. Her fingers had already closed over the page, excited to learn more.

“It’s a dangerous thing what you’re doing,” said a familiar voice over her shoulder. “The soldiers of the Royal Army could take you to the gallows and wouldn’t stop to question your intentions.”

She turned cautiously to look at Dyron Selmi.

“Is that a threat?” Naithea asked.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he assured her.

“I learned better than to trust a man. Turning me in could guarantee you a chest of gold vramnias.”

“It isn’t wealth I seek. Much less from a man who crowned himself king.”

Naithea raised one of her eyebrows in confusion and intrigue. King Kirus might be a vile man, but never before had anyone dared to call him a tyrant out loud. It was a very serious accusation that could bring one closer to a fate far more fearsome than death.

“What do you mean?”

“To know about the present, you must learn more about the past,” Dyron Selmi whispered and took a step closer, until his one good eye rested on the book Naithea held closer to her chest. “This part of the story is my favorite.”

Dyron turned the page and the large words in ink, red as blood, caught Naithea’s attention: The King’s First Betrothed. She raised her eyes to the wizard, intrigued by his words before lowering them back on the pages.

King Kirus’ betrothed possessed magic never seen in the realm of Laivalon.

Naithea couldn’t help but wonder what kind of dark powers the First Betrothed had had in her veins enough to captivate the king’s attention.

The regents of Lên Rajya had granted them a week of courtship before planning a five-day celebration to which nobles from both kingdoms had been invited to. In the short time they spent together, the prince and the daimon discovered that the goddesses had approved of their engagement uniting them in body and spirit, making them Anam Cara.

Naithea patiently scanned the words before pausing over the daimon’s portrait. A portrait that seemed to have been disfigured and erased with water; too poor an attempt to eliminate her from history. Neither her face, nor her name . . . From the choice of words to describe her, it was clear that the world hated her.

But she confirmed it by reading that she had abandoned the heir of the kingdom at the altar, breaking all sense of happiness.

“She betrayed him,” she said breathlessly.

Dyron Selmi nodded. “Yes, she did.”

“But they were mates . . .” Naithea read the words once more, believing she’d been mistaken. “Who would betray a love that is almost impossible to find?”

Such things as mates were fairy tales that mothers whispered to their daughters before betrothing them for money to an old, repulsive man. Her mother hadn’t lied to her about such things, but Naithea still remembered all the nights her sisters had talked about the Anam Cara bond with nothing but illusion shining in their eyes. Hoping that they would come for them, that they would rescue them from their miserable lives.

Hoping for a miracle.

Naithea had dismissed the possibility of such an ancient bond existing, considering it as nothing more than a myth.

“A bond of mates doesn’t necessarily mean eternal love.”

“How so?”

A faint smirk tugged at Dyron’s wrinkled lips at Naithea’s confused expression. “Do you know the kinds of bonds that exist between dryadalis and daimonas?”

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