Page 25 of Cursed

“Stop!” he called, but I wouldn’t listen.

I couldn’t.

My blood surged with the urgency to escape, to put distance between myself and the man who knew too much. Every step propelled me closer to safety, yet deeper into the grip of uncertainty. Had he been watching me? Creeping into my dreams and twisting my thoughts with his dark magic— I’d thought it could be Bastian… but Valen—Why did that hurt more?

I looked over my shoulder to see if Valen was following me, but the artfully sculpted boxwood bushes blocked him from my view. As I careened around a corner, I slammed into a solid object.

“Oof!”

I tumbled to the ground in an untidy heap and my palms scraped against the damp paving stones.

The guard loomed over me, and his face was an impassive mask, carved of pale stone as he peered down at me.

I scrambled to my feet, and he reached down to grab my elbow and hauled me up the rest of the way.

My palms stung and my side was wet and muddy.

Valen’s laughter echoed faintly from the twisted pathway, and I shivered as I watched the mist snake through the naked trees.

I tried to wrench my arm out of the guard’s grip, but he held me tight.

“I have to— Please—”

The guard let out a grunt and turned back toward the mansion, dragging me with him.

It was useless to struggle.

The guard remained impassive as he dragged me up the stone steps to the mansion entrance. His tug jerked my arm uncomfortably, causing a sharp dullness of pain to flare through my shoulder. I gritted my teeth and offered no resistance.

Finally, we reached the imposing doors of the mansion. They groaned as they opened and I stumbled into the foyer.

The guard released his grip, leaving a neon glow of pain in its wake.

The guard led me straight to my chambers without uttering a single word.

I should have been grateful.

I couldn’t predict what might have happened if I’d been left alone in the garden with Valen and his poisoned flowers.

But gratitude was impossible.

How could I be grateful for this treatment?

The guard stopped in front of my door and I fixed him with a glare. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

He didn’t answer, and I had to guess that he couldn’t do it.

The servants could enter as they wished, but my stepbrothers couldn’t pass the power of the sigils without my permission, and neither could the guard.

Irritation prickled through me.

I reached out and grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and pushed the door open.

“Thanks for nothing,” I snarled as I walked past him. The subtle curtain of the protection spells skimmed over my senses as I entered the room.

I kicked the door shut and relished the sturdyclickof the lock as it fell into place.

I slipped out of my ruined flats, stripped off my muddy slacks, and threw the exquisite cashmere sweater into the corner of the room.

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