Page 40 of Cursed Evermore
“Can you blame me for being shaken up?” I gave him an incredulous stare.
“In time, you’ll come to see that you belong with me. Whether you remember or not.”
I was going to throw up. This was a disaster. Everything. Every single part.
“Why don’t we go out to the celebration?” He rose with fluid grace and held out his hand for me to take, his lips curving into a smooth smile. As if he hadn’t just dropped a fucking bomb on me. “Everyone is waiting for us.”
I didn’t answer. I just stood and took his hand, my heart reluctant, my soul desperate to flee.
Shaking legs carried me into the hallway and by the time we reached the grand hall, where all the guests awaited, I wanted nothing but to run far, far, far away.
Everyone cheered at our entrance and Thayden smiled, oozing that odious charm that twisted my guts.
Blessed Mother, this was all too much. And there were so many people here. It seemed like everyone in the village had come out to celebrate with us. Including Chancellor Blackthorne and Friar Jameson.
A cold ripple spread beneath my skin, sharp and severe, like a nest of snakes had come loose in my veins.
Chancellor Blackthorne and Friar Jameson stood off to the side by the hearth, unmoving and watchful. Unlike everyone else who wore cheerful colors, they were cloaked in funeral black.
I looked away from them and found my family standing at the head of the hall. My gaze fixated on Emabelle, my soul crying out to her to save me.
I knew she couldn’t do anything, but I still hoped all the same.
Thayden and I stopped in the center of the room. There, he summoned everyone’s undivided attention. That’s when my mind shut down, and I moved through the next motions like a hollowed-out shell.
I spoke when I was asked a question, said what I thought people wanted to hear, ate when I was supposed to eat, smiled when I was supposed to smile.
Two hours passed like that.
I didn’t breathe again until Thayden got the men talking about hunting and Mother and Grandmother slipped off to the garden with Thayden’s parents. Finally free to escape, Emabelle and I made our way to the drinks table.
The moment of reprieve and the tangy wine she handed me took the edge off the torment that roiled inside me.
“How are you holding up?” Emabelle asked, leaning in close, brows knit with worry.
“I’m not.”
“Just breathe and focus, okay? Breathe and focus.” She inhaled and exhaled deeply, guiding me on how to breathe.
I barely took a sip of air before my lungs burned, so I set my goblet down and picked up a linen cloth to dab the sweat from my cheeks.
But then I froze as words suddenly appeared in the center of the fabric:
Breathing and focusing won’t work for you, Ziyka.
My stomach dropped. A tremor slid through my spine, and I stared at the words, unable to look away, as if the cloth had whispered the words directly into my bones.
What in the hells was this?
And what, or who, was Ziyka?
For a moment, I wondered if I was seeing things again, but as I took in the words written in swirly black letters, I knew they weren’t just inside my head. And that they hadmagicallyappeared.
“Hey, you’ve gone pale. Are you okay?” Emabelle touched my arm gently.
My breath hitched, sharp and shallow in my chest as I struggled to answer her. “Can you… can you see this?”
I showed her the cloth, and she looked from it to me with narrowed eyes.
