Page 81 of Cursed Evermore
I would’ve tossed the blanket off me if the cold hadn’t seeped into my bones. That’s what I got for sleeping in this dress with my back against the wall and my knees pulled to my chest, as if I could make myself small enough to disappear.
I wished I could.
The air in my prison was thick with contradictions—polished wood and sea salt, sweet perfume and ancient magic. It mirrored the chaos clashing inside me.
I felt the same way yesterday when the Fae males dropped me off. I hadn’t known what to do with myself. I still didn’t. And I didn’t know what to expect from today, either.
A servant—a woodland sprite with blue ethereal skin and matching wings—had come by three times yesterday. Each time I saw him, I tried not to stare too intently and appear rude with my obvious fascination. The muted expression on his angular, pixie-like face gave nothing away. I could only hope he understood that my lingering gaze stemmed from wonder. I'd never encountered a creature like him before.
The first time he came in was to drop off the clothes. The next times were to give me food.
His blue skin had shimmered like moonlight on water. Seeing him before me had been so different from the stories filled with creatures and beings Grandmother had told me about the magical realm.
And it wasn’t just him. Magic was all around me. Even the ship seemed alive with power, a vessel built for crossing between realms, not just seas.
I still hadn’t touched the things the sprite brought me, and I had no intention of changing my mind. I didn’t want to wear anything Wolfe gave me, and I wasn’t hungry. Grandmother had always told me to beware of food or drink people gave you.
Wolfe was my enemy. Sure, I’d assumed he might need to keep me alive for the moment, but he could do other things to me. Like cast some spell on my mind to make me lose control and agree to anything he wanted. Even to my death.
So, no. I wouldn’t be eating his food. Though, I supposed food was the least of my worries when I didn’t know what was going to happen to me.
Wolfe said he’d let me know in due course. What an asshole thing to say.
Then again, for what little I knew of him, it seemed exactly like something he’d say.
This fresh hell threatened to shred what little sanity I had left. The cruelest part was my heart still wanted to deny the accusations against my father. But I knew I couldn’t.Iwas living proof that hemusthave done something wrong.
Every reset, every lost memory, every piece of myself that had slipped away over the last five years was because of what he did. His actions hadn’t just cursed me but our entire family.
I thought of Mother, of Grandmother, of Emabelle, of everything we'd lost, and the army that vanished searching for him. Even my impending marriage to Thayden… all of it traced back to that moment in the forest. To whatever terrible choice Father had made. Now I was cursed and paying the price for his crimes.
Me.The girl who’d spent her life trying to be the perfect daughter, the obedient girl who worked hard, the caring, reliable girl who was there for anyone who needed her.Iwas being punished under the laws of Vaelthorne.
I was powerless to stop this, but I needed to know why Father had brought this madness upon us.
Why had he done it?
Why?
The question devoured me from within, hollowing out my heart until there was nothing left but ash.
Pressing my forehead to my knees, I tried to cage my ragged breathing, but the magical shackles at my wrists sang its cruel melody against my skin, a constant reminder of whose mercy I now lived under.
Twenty-two days until my next memory reset, and I was here.
What would happen when my mind wiped clean again and I found myself around a bunch of Fae?
The weight of inevitability pressed against my chest, leaving me nauseous.
A knock at the door made me flinch. I lifted my head and stared at it.
I expected the sprite to come in, but then I remembered he hadn’t knocked before. The door opened even though I didn’t answer—I didn’t plan to.
Who I saw standing there surprised me.
Arielle.
She glided into the room with the careful grace of someone approaching a wounded animal, balancing a tray laden with morning offerings: porridge steaming with promise, fresh-baked bread, and tea that perfumed the air with jasmine.
