Page 53 of Cursed Dreams
Thalia swallowed, forcing herself to act normal. "It's for a patient," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "A man named Aric. He's been sick for over a year, and none of the healers, fae or human, have been able to diagnose him."
Vaelith raised a brow, finally glancing up at her.
Encouraged that he hadn’t immediately dismissed her, Thalia continued. "He gets these episodes, extreme fatigue, dizziness, loss of strength. His body is failing him, but there’s no sign of infection, no common illness that explains it. And there’s something else, " She hesitated before lowering her voice. "His skin takes on a green glow."
Vaelith stiffened.
She saw it, the brief tensing of his jaw, the way his grip on the book tightened.
"We've tried everything. Master Elric tasked us with looking through older medical records, cross-referencing past cases. I thought maybe there would be something in here. Something that explains, "
But Vaelith wasn’t listening anymore.
His gaze had fallen to the open page she had bookmarked. His entire body went eerily still, the shift so immediate, so unnatural, that the air around them felt wrong.
Too still.
Too quiet.
Thalia’s breath hitched as the flames from the nearby sconces stilled completely, their smoke curling in the air like frozen tendrils.
Then, so low, so deadly soft, a snarl.
A shiver ran down her spine.
The sound wasn’t just anger. It was something deeper, something dangerous.
She barely managed to keep her voice steady. "Vaelith?"
He said nothing.
Her eyes flicked to the book. His fingers had tightened over the illustration, the one of the High Fae royal family. The king and queen stood poised and regal, but it was the prince’s image that held his attention, the pale blue of his inked eyes still too familiar.
Thalia’s stomach dropped.
" Do you—?" She swallowed. "You recognize him, don’t you?"
Vaelith snapped the book shut, handing it back to her.
His silver eyes met hers, but they were different now distant, closed off, carefully blank.
"The answers you're looking for," he said smoothly, "aren’t in this book."
The way he said it, the absolute finality of it, sent a sharp ripple of unease through her.
"How do you know that?"
For a moment, it seemed like he might actually answer her.
Then, with a slow, deliberate step back, he simply said, "Good night, Thalia."
Then he was gone.
She stood frozen, gripping the book so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
Her thoughts swirled.
He had reacted to that image. Snarled at it. Why ?
