Page 48 of Bound By Wishes

I stood on wobbly legs, my vision swimming as I focused on Ranen, who clawed desperately at his throat, struggling for air. My heart pounded in my chest, but I forced myself to turn toward the sarcophagus. I walked over, scanning its surface for any clues, any hidden mechanism that might open it. No matter the cost or the horrors within this tomb, I would unlock it if it meant saving him.

“Don’t,” Ranen growled, his face twisting in pain and anger.

I swallowed the emotion that swelled in my throat. “I don’t have a choice,” I whispered.

Razoul’s body language screamed of impatience. “Open it now,” he demanded.

“I don’t know how,” I hissed through clenched teeth, frustration lacing my words. “There’s nothing written in the stone except the warning not to open it.” My gaze shifted tohis. “And I don’t care what you say, I’m not a direct descendant of King Thalorian.”

Razoul stepped around the coffin, stopping a few inches in front of me, but I refused to back down. “No one can read the language carved in this tomb except a direct descendant,” he said, his gaze locking onto mine.

“I hate to break it to you, but I am not a princess,” I snapped. “I’m an archaeologist. Of course I can read it.”

Razoul ran his hand almost lovingly across the stone. “These symbols cannot be taught or learned,” he murmured with dark admiration. “They are laced with an ancient curse, bound only to his bloodline.”

I glanced at the symbols again, and uncertainty began to creep in. I searched my memory, trying to recall anything about these strange markings, but nothing came to mind. I couldn’t name them, nor did I remember ever learning about them in school or from my father. They were entirely foreign, yet something about them felt eerily familiar, like a forgotten dream hovering just out of reach.

“I tire of this,” Razoul seethed. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward the tomb. “The blood of King Thalorian sealed this tomb, so I will use the blood of his descendant to open it.” His gaze darkened as he leaned in closer, a twisted smile playing on his lips. “The only question is, how much will be needed?”

I watched in growing horror as Razoul drew a dagger from beneath his tunic, its steely blade catching the light with a menacing wink. Panic seized me, cold and unrelenting, and I struggled desperately against his iron grip.

Ranen roared with anger, sounding more like a beast than a man. “If you so much as scratch her,” Ranen growled,his voice a low, dangerous rumble, “death will be a mercy compared to what I will do to you. It may take me an eternity, but I will end you, brother or not.”

Razoul ignored Ranen’s threat, leaning in closer to me. “Go ahead and struggle,” Razoul whispered in my ear, the dagger hovering just above my skin. “But make no mistake—I only need your blood, not your life. Try me, and I might just decide to take both.”

I froze, my body going rigid as survival mode kicked in. Panic clawed at the edges of my mind, but I forced it down, knowing I couldn’t help Ranen if I was dead. Razoul's knife hovered at my throat, the sharp edge grazing my skin with a featherlight touch. I held my breath, every muscle locked in place, afraid that even the slightest movement might provoke him. His cold eyes flicked toward Ranen, who was still fighting against Razoul’s magic.

With agonizing slowness, Razoul withdrew the blade from my throat, allowing me a shaky breath. But before I could fully exhale, he seized my wrist, twisting it painfully until my palm was forced upward. The cold steel kissed my skin as the sharp sting of the knife bit into my flesh. He slowly dragged the blade across my palm. The searing pain intensified with each agonizing second. Blood welled up in my hand, pooling in the shallow wound. Ranen’s furious roar echoed in the room, a sound full of helpless rage.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Razoul taunted me with a cruel sneer, his words like venom in my ears, before yanking me toward the coffin. He slammed my hand onto the stone, the rough surface biting into the wound and amplifying the searing pain.

Blood oozed from beneath my palm, and I watched inhorror as the porous stone greedily drank it in, the crimson streaks disappearing into the ancient rock. A menacing hiss escaped from the seam of the tomb, as if the coffin itself was awakening from a long, cursed slumber. Razoul finally released me, and I yanked my hand back with such force that I lost my balance, tumbling backward onto the cold stone ground.

I stared in disbelief as my blood opened the tomb, just as Razoul said it would. There was no other explanation. I was a part of this cursed bloodline and a direct descendant of King Thalorian.

Razoul cackled wickedly as he pried open the sarcophagus, the sound echoing off the stone walls. I scrambled to my feet, heart pounding, as I edged closer to Ranen, who had gone deathly still. His dark gaze was locked on the tomb, filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. With one final shove, Razoul sent the stone lid of the tomb crashing to the ground. It split in two with a loud crack as it struck the floor.

My heart fluttered in my chest as a skeletal hand shot out of the tomb, its bony fingers curling around the edge. It was covered in sickly pale-gray skin. Razoul stepped back, allowing the creature room to emerge. The unnerving sound of bones creaking and grinding against each other filled the room as the thing in the coffin began to rise.

“Ranen,” I gasped, staring in disbelief at the creature who was crawling out of the sarcophagus. “Please tell me this is another one of my nightmares.” I tugged on his pants legs. “You can wake me up now.”

“This nightmare is real,” he rasped.

Razoul extended a hand, helping the Nightshadecreature out of the tomb. His familiarity with the thing made my skin crawl, almost as if he adored it. The creature emerged fully into the dim light. The height and the delicate shape of its pelvic bone unmistakably revealed it as a female. The purple gown she wore was tattered and frayed with age, clinging to her skeletal frame like a haunting echo of her former glory.

Her face resembled a mask of death, her hollow eye sockets surrounded by shadows and set with unnaturally glowing eyes that pierced through the darkness. Her nose had almost completely decayed, leaving only a deep depression, while her mouth hung open slightly, exposing cracked and crumbling teeth. Strands of black hair, streaked with silver, framed her withered face.

The Nightshade turned toward Razoul. She reached up, running her bony fingers gently across his face in a gesture that seemed intimate. The way they interacted made me wonder if he had just resurrected his long-lost lover. I stepped back, the movement drawing her attention away from Razoul and to me. She let out a screech so piercing it felt like it might shatter my eardrums. But as soon as her gaze fell upon Ranen, she froze. Time seemed to warp into slow-motion as an unsettling stillness overtook her.

With sluggish movements that betrayed how long she had been trapped within the coffin, she made her way toward us. Each step was labored, her body creaking and groaning as if protesting any movement. She stopped in front of Ranen, her hallowed stare running up and down the length of his body. Something within me wanted to shove her aside and step protectively in front of him, but what chance would I have against the Nightshade?

Razoul eased forward, stopping beside the creature. “I wanted to let you see him one last time before I killed him,” he spoke softly to the Nightshade.

Panic swelled in my chest. Ranen’s desperate, haunting eyes turned to me, drawing the creature’s attention. I braced myself as the Nightshade raised her skeletal hand to strike me.

Razoul intervened, stepping in front of her. “We will need her again,” he reasoned. “Her blood will open King Thalorian’s mines.”

My head swam with confusion. Why would they want me to open his mines?

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