Page 2 of Love's a Witch
“This is it,” Vaila hissed at her ear.
“Why did he stop the dance before we were finished?” She glared, annoyed. This was a time-honored tradition.
“Because he was so taken with my beauty that he’s going to choose me as his maiden for dinner tonight—maybe even hiswife.” Vaila’s nails dug into Bonelle’s arm, and she winced and forced herself to paste a polite smile on her face.
“My lovely gentlewomen…” The prince swooped his hands out in front of him, a smile on his lips. “I must apologize for interrupting your beautiful dance, but I was so overcome with admiration for one of you fair ladies that I quite simply had to claim her as my companion for the evening.”
Bonelle’s shoulders tightened at his words. Her magick rippled, the high levels of emotion threading the air bringing it to the surface.
The prince strode forward until he stood in front of them, and Vaila gasped, tossing her head back, chin held high.
“My enchanting mistress, will you join me this evening?” The prince’s hand reached forward.
“Why, of course—”
Vaila’s words dropped away as the prince’s hand stopped just below Bonelle’s breastbone, waiting for her to take it. Bonelle stared down at the hand, where a thick gold ring with an intricate insignia was nestled at the base of his index finger. She struggled for a breath as Vaila gasped beside her.
“No.” It was soft, a simple word ripped away on the wind, but she caught it, her heart twisting at Vaila’s distress. Once more, hermagick heated beneath her skin, as though imploring to be released, yet it was bound by the rules. Unlike Vaila, who’d stepped into her magick a year prior, Bonelle was forbidden to free her magick until the age of five and twenty.
Time slowed.
Lifting her head, Bonelle ignored royal protocol and turned toward her best friend. Already, the words were at Vaila’s lips, her face twisted in rage, dark magick seeping from her skin.
“By thorn and thistle, by curse and bane,
Your magick’s strength shall wax and wane,
Misfortune shall haunt each town you claim,
Bringing ruin, grief, and endless blame.”
The curse fell upon Bonelle, as though she’d walked into a sticky cobweb, and she floundered backward, her hands raised as though she could stop the blood magick that poured from Vaila’s broken heart.
Shadows fell, the murky clouds having turned murderous, and a shriek split the sky.
Bonelle’s blood ran cold.
Her foot caught on a root as she turned to run. She stumbled, but an arm looped through hers and dragged her into the shadow of the trees, where she was unceremoniously dumped on the ground. She went to her knees, her fingers clutching the damp moss that coated the forest floor. Tears welled, and she blinked them back, her thoughts whirling as she gasped for air.
“The emberwolves approach. You must go.”
At that, Bonelle sprang to her feet, fear rippling through her.
“She called an emberwolf?” Bonelle gasped. Her heart skipped a beat when her eyes finally landed on the man who’d dragged her to the forest. Not just a guard,oh no, but the traveler himself.
“Her curse did. Harm will befall any town in which you stay.”
Bonelle gaped up at him before turning to look out at the festival grounds, where the people had scattered, fallen leaves strewn across the grass in their wake. The shadow of an emberwolf drifted across the field, and her stomach twisted.
“Who are you?” It was an inane question at an impossible time, but still Bonelle had to know the name of the man who was banning her to exile.
“Eoin Douglas. First Knight of the Iron Thistle Order, protector of Briarhaven.”
“Protectme. Please,” Bonelle begged.
He stilled, his eyes darting between Bonelle and the field, but when another shriek rattled the branches canopying above them, he decided.
Bonelle knew before he spoke.
