Page 15 of Cursed

A wave of nausea crashed over me and I fought to steady myself, but the revelation felt like ice clawing through my veins.

All of those accusations Bastian and his brothers had thrown in my face… I’d hoped that they were lying.

But Lucian had no reason to lie.

Betrayal ran deep in my blood, and I feared it would drown me.

“Can you imagine the look on your father’s face when he realized the very person he trusted most had outmaneuvered him?” Lucian’s chuckle was dark and rich, and his icy gaze never left mine. “Oh, the irony.”

I struggled for breath and to keep my composure. He was saying this to upset me—nothing more.

“Tell me, Avril,” he said, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over my skin, “how do you feel knowing that your lineage is steeped in such delightful betrayal?”

“Stop!” The word slipped from my lips before I could bite it back. I flinched at the way my voice echoed in the room before it was swallowed by shadow.

Lucian’s amusement only deepened, and his lips twisted as he reveled in my turmoil. “What will you do now, dear girl?”

“I— I don’t know.”

Lucian stalked around me, and his fingers hovered just inches away from my shoulder and the bare expanse of my back. I could feel the ripple of his power against my skin and I bit down hard on my tongue to keep from whimpering.

“Julia was an eager pupil,” he continued casually. “She was passionate about power and the darker magics—the secrets that the Sages had kept from her. Oh, how she yearned for my approval! When Dario conspired against me— she couldn’t bear the shame of it.”

Anger rose inside me, hot and fierce.

My mother? How was it possible?

Julia had never spoken of my father. I hadn’t even known his name until that very moment.

“Did you not know?” he asked. His tone was gentle, but edged with venom.

“N— No,” I whispered.

I wanted to shut my eyes tight and run from the room, but I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to look at him—how could I? But as he walked away from me and back toward his desk, something else drew my focus—an enormous painting that hung on the wall above the fireplace. Its colors were deep and vivid, and the dark gilded frame was heavy and ornate. But it was the figures within that commanded my attention. Dark and shadowy, wraithlike forms writhed in torment, their painted faces twisted in expressions of agony.

“Look closely,” Lucian taunted, sensing my distraction. “Those shades bear witness to the consequences of ambition. Ofarrogance. Their cries will echo through the ages— trapped forever in a realm of shadows.”

A chill crept up my spine as I studied the grotesque tableau. Each brushstroke seemed alive with pain and I could almost hear their silent screams and sensed the way their desperation sought to wrap around me like a shroud. The oppressive atmosphere grew heavier and pressed against my chest as I fought the urge to flee.

“Who— who are they?” I choked out.

“Those are the souls of those who have tried to stand against me,” Lucian continued. His tone was light and casual, as though he were speaking of a bright painting of summer flowers. “They should not have been so foolish. What better punishment for betrayals… Do you not agree?”

I tore my gaze from the portrait and forced myself to meet his stony stare once more. This was madness—

My mother had betrayed my father, but what did that make me? Anguish and fury churned inside my chest, yet all I could manage was a whisper: “Why?”

A knowing smile danced on Lucian’s lips. “These souls—” he gestured grandly, “have given everything for power. Each brushstroke records their failures, their folly. And I am the one who has emerged stronger.”

A chill slithered down my spine at the thought of these damned shades trapped within the painting, their anguished cries muted beneath layers of oil and pigment. “You keep them here?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Keep?” He chuckled softly, and the sound echoed through the dim room like the toll of a distant bell. “Theyserveme, Avril. They whisper secrets of their dark magic, and their power courses through my veins. Perhaps, Avril, you might find such a fate appealing? Or would you wish to begin a collection of your own?”

I shuddered at the thought of such a horrific possibility.

Never. Never. Never.

But before I could respond, Lucian moved with unsettling grace toward the towering bookshelves that lined the walls. The shelves sagged under the weight of ancient tomes with cracked and worn spines—I didn’t want to think of the dreaded knowledge their dry pages contained.

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