Page 145 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
There were flickers of respite, though, where Noble felt like his life was in his hands, on the tip of his tongue, in vivid color—his wants not so forbidden.
His mind went to one of those days, now: Hattie’s postponed birthday picnic. Sneaking off to their secret grove by the river. Spending hours swimming in the gentle current, splashing each other, laughing. He’d tried so hard not to stare at her in her soaked underclothes, but nonetheless, his keen eyes had gravitated to those intimate places he’d wanted to touch so badly—her breasts, her bottom—and eventually he’d had to leave the water to get ahold of himself.
Hattie had called after him, chiding. “Where are you going?”
“I’m tired,” he’d drawled, even though every part of him feltawake.
While Hattie continued to splash around in the shallows, Noble had collapsed onto the mossy ground in the shade. He crossed hisarms behind his head, resting but nowhere near asleep. Dappled light danced across his eyelids, a patchwork of leaf-shaped shadows and the orange-gold quality of summer sun. Droplets of cool river water had warmed and evaporated on his skin. A gentle breeze had caressed his bare chest. And everything,everythingfelt warm and heady.
Adolescence had a way of turning sweet moments into agony.
Yet while he longed to tell Hattie how he felt and ease the tension between them, and it made his chest hurt to deny them both that relief, sixteen-year-old Noble—in the briefest of moments in that grove—had felt content with the life unfolding around him. Because in spite of it being a life that actively kept him from being with Hattie in the fullest expression of his desire, it was a life that had brought him to her doorstep, too.
Somedays he felt cursed by the limitations of his station, but that day, he’d thought to himself thatifhe was cursed, this curse was sweet. Lounging on the riverbank with the girl he loved was about as close to perfection as Noble could imagine. Even when it ached.
Eventually, Hattie had climbed out of the river, cool water sluicing down her body onto the moss beneath her bare feet. She’d padded over to him, purposefully dribbling water onto his face from the wet ends of her hair, filling their secret grove with mellifluous laughter. He’d peered up at her and known he’d never love anyone else.
In the years that followed, that memory had remained imprinted on his heart like a thumbprint pressed into clay. He could almost feel the warmth on his skin, now. Sunlight on a broken body—or maybe that sunlight wasinsidehim?
His veins were alight with it—heated, blazing, burning. The ache of adolescent yearning turned into a searing, full-body torment. Shadow flickered through him like clouds covering the sun, cooling his blood with something sinister andwrong—but then his world was turning, sun swiveling, shade clearing.
Soon, Noble wasn’t in the dark at all.
He felt warmth on his face.
He heard Hattie’s voice, calling his name.
Had he fallen asleep?
Was this him waking up?
When he opened his eyes, would he see the riverbank and the bright green boughs of trees? Would he see the Hattie of his youth, tan and sopping wet, grinning at him with her plump bottom lip pinned by a playful canine?
If he woke from his slumber, could he still hold onto this dream?
He wasn’t sure.
He hoped so.
But just in case, Noble decided to bask on the riverbank a little while longer.
52
New
Hattie
As dawn broke and a new day unfurled over the valley, I sat on a cot inside a freshly erected pavilion, numb with shock and exhaustion. Noble’s unconscious body rested beside me. During the healer’s assessment, Noble’s skin had been washed, his clothing changed. Miraculously, his wounds had disappeared—all except the scars on his hands, a remnant of the arcane magic that’d first altered his being, perhaps too potent to be healed like a regular injury. His face was rosy with color, no black veins in sight.
He washuman.
He wasalive.
But he had yet to stir.
In the hours following the arrival of Kalden Asheren’s regiment, order had been gradually restored. Flaming tents were put out. The bodies of the dead were loaded into wagons, driven a mile downwind, and burned. A series of new pavilions—including this one—had been set up on the edge of the valley, far from the gore of Noble’s destruction. Four guards had been assigned to Mariana, whom General Asheren would question later. And Brendan…he had been carted off to receive medical attention, and maybe I’d enjoyed the thought of the healer’s poor bedside manner as he assessed the captain’s injuries; I’d certainly enjoyed overhearing the irate, scolding words Kalden had given him about his stunt, with the promise of an official punishment to come.
But now…now, I wasn’t sure what would happen. All I’d been able to focus on was Noble; I hadn’t let go of his hand since a pair of royal Mighty Knights had transferred him here hours ago.
