Page 11 of Cursed Dreams
Thalia felt it before she saw him—a presence both commanding and unreadable, like a shadow cast by a fire she couldn’t see. He stepped into view.
Vaelith.
Tall, taller than any fae she had ever met, with a lean, powerful build that made the space around him seem smaller in comparison. His silver hair, so pale it nearly glowed under the festival lights, cascaded over his shoulders in an unbound, almost careless way. His clothing was dark, simple like a soldier, yet somehow made of finer material than anything worn by the villagers, fitting him with an effortless elegance.
But it was his face that made her breath catch.
Sharply cut features, the kind that seemed sculpted rather than born. High cheekbones, a straight, aristocratic nose, and a mouth set in an expression of perpetual boredom. His eyes, cold, piercing, the colour of storm-lit steel, swept across the crowd with an unreadable depth, and the villagers responded to his mere presence with something betweenrespectandawe.
No one spoke as he passed, but they allwatched.
Thalia’s stomach twisted.Why does he make me feel so… unsteady?
It wasn’t just his presence. It wasn’t just the way people instinctively seemed to acknowledge him asmore. It was something deeper, something unsettling.
His gaze flicked to her.
A shiver prickled down her spine.
For a moment, she swore he was lookingthroughher. As if he saw something beneath her skin, somethingwrong.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
“Thalia?”
Marcus’s voice yanked her back into the present.
She tore her gaze away from Vaelith, forcing herself to focus on thecurrentproblem, Marcus and hisproposal.
He smiled at her, clearly assuming her stunned expression was because ofhim. “I was saying, Thalia, that I’d be more than happy to visit you in Vertrose. I think it’s important to—” he paused, chest puffing slightly, “—secure things between us before you leave.”
Her stomachplummeted.
No, no, no.
This was happening. Thisidiotwas actually about to do thishere.
Panic surged in her chest as the music swelled, Marcus twirling her once more as if rehearsing some grand romantic moment.
Her mind spun, frantically searching for an escape,anyescape.
Just as Marcus opened his mouth, surely to make his grand declaration, Thalia felt a new hand clasp hers.
A firm, warm hand.
The world seemed to tilt as she was smoothly pulled away from Marcus’s grasp, spun lightly, and found herself face to face with none other thanVaelith.
Her breath hitched.
The tempo of the music shifted, as if the musicians themselves were reacting to his presence. The lively village tune slowed into something deeper, smoother—still celebratory, but now carrying an almost hypnotic rhythm.
Marcus stood frozen, his mouth slightly agape before he quickly forced himself to school his expression into something more neutral. But his clenched jaw, the twitch in his temple, and the way his hands curled at his sides betrayed his feelings.
Yet, what could he do?
Vaelith wasimportant. Respected. Possibly even feared. No one woulddarequestion him, not even someone as arrogant as Marcus.
Still, Thalia didn’t miss the flicker of pure irritation in his eyes before he hastily nodded and stepped back.
