Page 50 of Cursed Dreams
She walked, not really aware of where her feet were taking her. The temple grounds were quiet at this hour, the lanterns lining the pathways flickering against the smooth stone. Beyond thetemple walls, the city lay still, its streets bathed in the glow of the twin moons overhead.
Who was he?
She had read about the High Fae before, had spent hours poring over their history, their disappearance after the war against the dragons, their unmatched power and beauty. But she had never seen a name attached to this prince.
Why couldn’t she remember his name?
Her fingers curled tighter around the strap of her satchel. She would find it. She had to.
So lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the figure in front of her, until she collided with something solid.
Pain shot through her nose as she stumbled back, blinking rapidly.
Who in the gods’ names put a wall in the middle of the—
She looked up.
Not a wall.
Vaelith.
Tall, broad, unmovable, his silver eyes sharp as they locked onto hers.
She barely had time to react before his voice, cool and unreadable, cut through the silence.
“You should watch where you’re going.”
A sharp, stinging pain shot through Thalia’s nose, before she could react, something warm dripped onto her lip.
Blood.
She blinked, touching her fingers to her nose. When she pulled them back, crimson stained her skin.
Vaelith cursed, his silver eyes flashing as he reached for her, but Thalia jerked away. She already had enough whirling through her mind without adding this to the list.
Not now. Not him.
She was trying to figure out why a centuries-dead prince had been haunting her dreams, why she felt like her memories were betraying her, why she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. The last thing she needed was Vaelith swooping in like some overbearing, irritating, too-handsome-for-his-own-good nobleman and making it worse.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, swiping at her nose.
Vaelith shot her a look. The kind that told her, You are very much not fine. “You’re bleeding, Thalia,” he said flatly.
“It’ll stop.”
But as soon as the words left her mouth, another warm trickle of blood dripped onto the pristine fabric of her healer’s robes.
Thalia groaned.
Vaelith sighed through his nose, clearly fighting the urge to say I told you so. Instead, he took a step closer, using his thumb and forefinger to pinch the bridge of her nose, applying firm pressure. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his expression one of mild exasperation and reluctant concern.
“We’re going to see a healer,” he said, voice leaving no room for argument.
“That’s unnecessary.”
“You’re bleeding on yourself.”
Thalia huffed, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the fact that he was still pinching her nose. “I’ve had worse.”
