Chapter 11: Chapter 11

KAMORA

Lord Maroke was visited by his healer the next day. He had called for him himself, unwilling to let Greyson do so for fear of the questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

Mr. Rindall was a tall man, a healer Fae with exquisite features. His dark blonde hair was slicked back behind his pointed ears, not a single tendril out of place.

His eyes were a handsome shade of gray, piercing and striking, giving one the illusion of being able to see through anything. He was well known throughout the kingdom, his services reserved for those he deemed worthy of his talents.

A prudish man, he obsessed over every detail with near-maniacal precision. For reasons he never fully explained, he had taken a special interest in Lord Maroke’s case, claiming it was particularly valuable to his studies in healing.

To Lord Maroke, Rindall seemed far too fixated on the intricacies of human medicine—especially for a Fae gifted with natural healing abilities.

“Good day, my lord,” Rindall said with a stiff bow as he entered the study.

Claudia, who had escorted him, turned on her heel—the sharp click of her shoes against the stone floor breaking the stillness—and closed the door behind her.

“Please, have a seat,” Lord Maroke said, motioning to the chair opposite him.

Rindall moved toward it and sat.

“It’s been a while,” Rindall said, getting right to the point. “I had assumed you were finally free from what plagued you.”

Lord Maroke gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable. “There’s been a new development.”

“Oh?” Rindall’s eyes gleamed. “Do tell.”

“I suspect that I might be…feeling things.”

Rindall straightened in his chair, his brow creasing. “That’s impossible. Your family is cursed with indifference.”

“Exactly,” Lord Maroke replied. “But recently I’ve been having what I think are chest pains.” He tapped his chest once, the memory still vivid.

“Yesterday’s episode was worse. The pain was…sharp. It nearly brought me to my knees.”

Without a word, Rindall reached into the small bag on his lap. He produced a worn journal and slipped a pen from between its pages. He flipped to a fresh sheet.

“When did this begin?”

Lord Maroke’s thoughts flickered to Kamora. A dull ache pulsed in his chest.

“It’s been a while,” he said, resisting the urge to touch his chest. “I don’t remember the exact moment.”

Rindall jotted something down. “And what exactly did you feel?”

“I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve never experienced any sort of emotion before.”

“But you ~knew~ it was something,” Rindall pressed. “How?”

Lord Maroke hesitated, searching for the right words. “It was unfamiliar,” he said at last.

“Strange. And I didn’t…approve.”

“It’s not that you didn’t approve,” Rindall corrected, snapping the journal shut. “You don’t approve of emotions. What you felt was discomfort.”

His gaze sharpened at Lord Maroke’s silence. “From your description, it sounds severe. Something triggered it. Can you recall what?”

~Kamora.~ Her name echoed in his mind like a sigh, but instinct told him to keep it to himself.

“I don’t know,” he said evenly.

Rindall studied him for a moment, then sighed. “We’ll need to find the root cause if we’re to fix this.”

“When you say, ‘fix this,’ do you mean the curse or the pain?”

The silence that followed stretched.

Rindall leaned forward slightly. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice low.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want relief from the pain,” he said, watching him closely, “or do you want to break the curse?”

Lord Maroke sat straighter, lacing his fingers together on the desk. He hadn’t allowed himself to hope for a cure in years. Rindall’s tone hinted at possibility.

“Is there a cure?”

“There may be.”

“Why do you say ‘may’?”

“It depends on whether you’re willing to endure a lot of pain,” Rindall’s voice dropped. “Pain that could kill you.”

Lord Maroke held his gaze. His face remained unchanged, so Rindall continued.

“You need to identify what caused the pain—and let it into your life. Let it stay. Let it fall in love with you.”

Lord Maroke tilted his head. “Why assume it’s a person?”

“Based on my research into your family’s curse,” Rindall said, sliding the journal back into his bag, “I believe strong emotional bonds—particularly with living beings—can reverse it. Since it was caused by intense feelings to begin with, it stands to reason they’re the key to undoing it.”

“But if I’m the one who’s cursed with indifference, shouldn’t ~I~ be the one to feel something first?”

“I doubt that’s necessary. The curse suppresses your feelings, not theirs. If someone else were to fall in love with you, their emotions could provoke reactions in you…painful ones. If you can endure until they confess their love, it could break the curse.”

Lord Maroke slowly considered this. Confusion knotted in his chest, bringing that same dull ache.

Kamora hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary the day before—just answered his questions, nothing more.

So why had it hurt so much?

***

Kamora was up and ready, a little excited about going out with the young Fae lord. Despite her earlier reservations, anticipation fluttered in her chest at the thought of exploring the commoners’ market with him—especially seeing how happy he was.

She had picked out a set of commoner’s clothes for him—plain in design but cut from fine fabric, the kind that might fool most but still carried a quality too refined to fully disguise.

His father hadn’t come to see them off, but Kamora hadn’t expected him to. Instead, she’d taken it upon herself to prepare Jarosh for what he might face outside the manor walls.

“Listen,” she said while they waited at the entrance for the carriage, “you have to be by my side at all times. Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know and never let go of my hand.”

“Are you going to hold on to me all the way there?” he asked.

She nodded. A strange look flickered across his face, and he quickly turned away.

Choosing not to press, she went on. “Don’t stare at people too much. There are bad people out there, and they wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of you if they realize you’re a noble.”

“But we have guards escorting us,” Jarosh said with a frown.

“Even the guards will be blending into the crowd. If we draw attention to ourselves, we won’t get the full experience we’re hoping for. And I doubt your father will let us come again.”

Jarosh nodded at that.

The carriage finally rolled into view, stopping just before the manor doors. Just as they were about to board, Claudia’s voice rang out behind them.

“I assume you have everything prepared?”

Kamora turned and gave her a quick bow. “Yes. We have everything we might need.”

Claudia hummed.

Kamora could feel the weight of her gaze sweep over her, a prickle creeping up the back of her neck.

“May we go now?” Jarosh whined, breaking the rising tension.

“My lord,” Claudia said, turning her gaze to him, “are you really sure you want to do this?”

Jarosh huffed. “Even if I didn’t want to, it’s too late to change my mind.”

Claudia opened her mouth, about to speak. He cut her off before she could go on.

“We’re just wasting time here. If we leave early, we’ll get back on time.”

It was in moments like this that Kamora had to remind herself that Lord Jarosh was only eight years old. His words and tone often mimicked those of a grown man—a thing that saddened her more than she cared to admit.

He shouldn’t have had to grow up so fast.

“Let’s go,” he said, and marched toward the carriage.

Kamora bowed once more to Claudia, then followed after him.

Inside the carriage, the ride began.

Jarosh sat by the window, his head nearly hanging out, a wide smile stretching across his face.

“My lord, have you ever left the manor before?” Kamora asked.

He nodded, still looking out. “Whenever Father went to visit other nobles, he took me with him—so he could use me as an excuse to leave early.”

Kamora frowned, her voice softening. “Do you have any friends?”

He shook his head. “Couldn’t be bothered. All the noble kids I’ve met act like children.”

Her heart ached. ~You are a child~, she wanted to say. But she held her tongue.

The rest of the journey passed in silence until they arrived at the market.

Even from the carriage’s spot at the entrance, the sounds of shouting vendors, laughing children, and clanging goods filled the air like music.

Kamora stepped down first, then held out her hand to help Jarosh. Once he was beside her, she approached the driver and gently asked him to park where he wouldn’t be too noticeable.

With a nod from him, she took Jarosh’s hand again and led him into the marketplace.

The noise swelled around them as they entered.

Kamora instinctively squeezed Jarosh’s hand, steadying both herself and him.

His wide eyes darted everywhere, lighting up with each new sight.

People swarmed past them, brushing shoulders and calling out prices.

Kamora pulled him closer so he wouldn’t get knocked aside.

She felt a tug and glanced down. Jarosh was pointing, eyes fixed on a stall with golden-brown fried chicken glistening in the sun.

She followed his gaze and smiled.

“Come on.” She pulled him over to the stall.

“Good day,” the vendor greeted cheerfully.

Jarosh didn’t respond—his attention firmly glued to the food.

Kamora smiled, amused. “How much for this one?” she asked, pointing at a crispy wing.

“We don’t sell it alone,” the man said, beaming. “This is a new recipe. I’ve found it pairs perfectly with this.” He pulled out a small, covered plate and opened it with flair.

Inside was green-colored rice, speckled with peppers, carrots, and a mix of herbs she didn’t recognize.

“What is this?” Kamora asked.

“I call it curry rice,” he said proudly. “It goes perfectly with fried chicken.”

She looked down. Jarosh was nodding so hard she thought his neck might snap.

With a chuckle, she turned back to the man. “Two portions, please.”

His eyes lit up. “Of course! Coming right up!”

When the food was packed, Kamora paid. Then she led Jarosh through the crowd, juggling their bag of food in one hand while keeping a firm grip on him with the other.

They stopped at almost every stall. Jarosh wanted to taste everything, and she hadn’t the heart to say no.

She kept telling herself it might be the only time he ever got to do something like this.

Several hours passed.

The sun blazed hot, burning in the cloudless sky.

“My lord,” Kamora said gently after she bought another bag of baked cookies—one Jarosh had already started eating from. “We need to start heading back.”

She raised her hand, fingers slightly numb from carrying too much. “We’ve purchased quite a lot.”

Surprisingly, Jarosh didn’t protest. “Okay then. Let’s go!” He grinned, excitement dancing in his eyes. “I can’t wait to try them all out.”

“My lord, you bought only food,” she pointed out. “Why didn’t you get anything else?”

“Nothing else interests me,” he said, biting into another cookie. “I came here for the food only.”

“You won’t be able to finish it all in one day.”

“That’s why I have you with me.”

Kamora chuckled. Her heart turned to mush.

They began walking back toward the carriage. A voice rang out behind them.

“Kamora?”