Page 49 of Cursed Dreams
The next few weeks passed in a blur of routine and relentless study. Thalia fully immersed herself in her hospital shadowing, growing more confident in her diagnostic skills and treatments with each passing day. She had finally been given the opportunity to care for her first solo patient, a young fae boy who had suffered a badly broken arm and a dangerous infection that was slowly spreading. The responsibility had been daunting, but under Master Elric’s watchful eye, she’d carefully set the bone, administered healing salves infused with her own magic, and remained vigilant through long, quiet hours, watching for any sign of worsening. When the fever finally broke and the boy woke with a pain-free smile, Thalia felt something bloom in her chest, pride, fierce and quiet, and the deep satisfaction of healing not just a wound, but a life.
Evenings were spent in the library, her fingers smudged with ink as she took notes and pored over endless texts alongside Nyla, Cellen, and Marand. Their studies were intensive, but the companionship made it bearable, especially when Cellen and Marand weren’t too busy bickering or throwing flirtatious jabs at one another. Thalia and Nyla often exchanged amused glances,whispering behind their hands about whether the two even realized the growing tension between them.
Aric remained a mystery, but his humour and warmth never wavered, even as they studied his condition relentlessly. He welcomed them eagerly during their visits, regaling them with stories from his youth and playfully chiding them for their serious expressions. His wife, a stunning human woman with deep auburn curls and soft brown eyes, often sat beside him, their hands intertwined. Their love was evident in every shared glance, every soft-spoken word. Their small daughter, a bright-eyed three-year-old with a mischievous streak, often tumbled into the room, climbing onto Aric’s bed and demanding stories. Thalia found herself enchanted by their family, even as she and her friends continued searching for a cure.
Sprawled in her usual chair in the library, Thalia flipped through a heavy text on fae illnesses, only half-listening as Cellen and Marand argued over the merits of some magical infusion. Their usual back-and-forth had turned increasingly flirtatious tonight, and she bit back a smirk as Nyla leaned in, whispering, “How long do you think before they just kiss and get it over with?”
Thalia chuckled under her breath, shaking her head as Cellen shot Marand an exaggerated wink. “Honestly? I’m surprised they haven’t already.”
She turned another page absentmindedly, then froze.
Her breath hitched, her pulse thundering as she stared at the passage before her. It was a brief mention, tucked between case studies of fae afflictions:
"In the waning days of the Age of Starlight, there reigned a queen of the High Fae, whose hands mended flesh and spirit alike. Her light magic, unchallenged in its brilliance, markedher bloodline as one of the most potent ever woven into the tapestry of the realms."
Thalia’s stomach twisted as her eyes darted to the accompanying illustration.
The queen stood regal and poised, the king beside her, his presence commanding. But it was the prince that stole her breath.
Tall. Broad. Muscular.
Dark hair framed a face that was strikingly familiar, and his pale blue eyes, those piercing, haunting eyes, stared directly at her from the page.
Those were the same eyes from her dreams.
A cold shiver danced down her spine. Her dreams had grown more frequent these past weeks, filling her nights with the vision of a male standing in the mist, his voice whispering her name on the wind. Now, as she traced the inked lines of his face, realization settled deep in her bones.
This was him. The man from her dreams.
Her stomach churned, questions swirling like a storm. Why was she dreaming of him? She was sure she had never seen his image before, and why did his face call to something deep within her?
She swallowed hard, her mind reeling
Had she seen him before in another text? Some ancient manuscript buried in the archives? Why couldn’t she remember his name? If he was the prince of the High Fae royal family, there should be records, histories, legends. Yet his name evaded her, like a word perched on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach.
Her fingers curled around the page, the parchment crinkling under her grip.
“Thalia?”
She flinched at Nyla’s voice, snapping her head up.
Nyla’s brow was furrowed, concern flickering across her face. “Are you alright? “
Thalia forced her fingers to unclench from the book, swallowing the panic clawing its way up her throat. “Yeah,” she said quickly, trying to compose herself. “Just, just a headache. I think I need to get some air.”
Nyla didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“Probably just been staring at texts too long,” Thalia lied. She needed to get out of here—she needed to be alone with her thoughts. “I’ll be fine.”
Slowly, she reached for her satchel, slipping the book inside as inconspicuously as possible. Her hands were shaking, her heartbeat an unsteady drum against her ribs. She stood, pasting a small smile onto her face as she tightened the strap of her bag.
“I’ll see you guys later,” she murmured, already backing away.
Cellen barely spared her a glance, still deep in his playful argument with Marand. “Try not to pass out somewhere dark and ominous this time, yeah?”
Thalia rolled her eyes but didn’t reply, offering Nyla and Marand a small wave before heading toward the library doors.
The cool night air hit her as soon as she stepped outside, crisp and fresh, but it did nothing to settle the storm in her chest.
