Chapter 14: Chapter 14

KAMORA

“Do I know you?” she asked the man.

His face paled, and he stared at her as if he’d just seen a ghost.

“You… How did you end up here? When did you get back? What do you mean you don’t know me?”

Kamora blinked.

His words felt like a stone thrown into the still water of her mind, rippling something deep inside.

He spoke as if she’d once lived in this manor—a detail that made her stomach flutter uneasily, especially given her strange reactions to Lord Maroke.

She glanced around.

No one else was in sight.

Leaning in, she whispered, “Do you really know me? Did I ever live here?”

He gaped at her in quiet disbelief.

“You really don’t remember anything.”

“Please,” she said, her voice low and earnest. “Things haven’t made sense since I arrived. Feelings, dreams I can’t explain… Please help me.”

He studied her. Then suddenly his expression closed off like a door slamming shut.

“My apologies,” he said, bowing stiffly. “I must have mistaken you for someone else.”

“Please—” she reached for his hand, stopping him mid-turn.

He glanced at their contact, and she let go quickly, but stepped in front of him.

“You called me by my name. You do know me. Why pretend otherwise?”

Something flashed in his eyes, too quick to catch.

He was human, she noticed, judging by the soft roundness of his ears.

Twice her age, maybe more, but he carried himself with an air of nobility.

The white streaks in his dark hair looked intentional, as if they belonged there, lending him an air of maturity that was oddly captivating.

Little lines of wrinkles wrapped around the corners of his eyes, though not enough to diminish his aged handsomeness.

His nose was long and sharp, his thin lips set into a straight line as he stared at her.

“I must check something first,” he said, his face unreadable. “When I’m sure, I’ll come back.”

He bowed again and strode off, leaving her standing still in the hallway.

She didn’t stop him this time.

Her gaze followed him down the dim corridor leading to Lord Maroke’s study.

Another piece of the puzzle.

Another thread tugged free from the web of her forgotten past.

If she’d hesitated before, there was none of that now.

Standing in the quiet kitchen hallway, she felt it—the manor calling her, pulling her toward the truth.

It was time to remember who she truly was.

***

Lord Maroke was reviewing documents when the door to his study slammed open.

He looked up, startled at the force.

Greyson walked in and closed the door behind him with a sharp click.

His face was pale, his chest heaving like he’d sprinted all the way.

He looked about ready to collapse.

“What’s the matter, Greyson?” Maroke asked, frowning.

Concern itched at the edge of his mind—a sensation he still didn’t fully understand but felt all the same.

Greyson didn’t move.

He hovered near the door, eyes distant.

“I asked you a question.”

“I’ve found your wife,” Greyson blurted.

Maroke slowly set the documents aside and turned to face him fully, his entire focus now on the trembling man before him.

“Do you remember her name?”

That question made Maroke pause.

“You seem to have forgotten something,” he said drily. “I can’t remember anything about her. And as far as I know, you’ve never told me her name before.”

“Kamora,” Greyson said quickly. “Her name is Lady Kamora.”

Suddenly, a sharp pain sliced through his chest and Maroke winced, his hand instinctively covering the ache.

“My lord!” Greyson rushed forward, alarmed. “Are you all right?”

Maroke met his eyes, face scrunched up in pain.

“Are you certain that’s her name?” he asked, ignoring his assistant’s concern.

Greyson faltered.

Then understanding dawned on his face.

“You’ve met her already.”

Everything finally clicked.

The pull he felt around her.

The emotions that broke through his cursed walls whenever she was close.

Even his son’s strange connection to her.

She wasn’t just familiar.

She was ~his~.

His wife.

The mother of his child.

The true lady of the manor.

Another wave of pain surged through him, stronger this time, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

He groaned.

Finally, a chance.

A real chance to end the curse.

“My lord, what’s happening to you?” Greyson asked.

“Why didn’t she say anything?” Maroke muttered.

Greyson’s lips thinned in disapproval, but he answered anyway. “She doesn’t remember. She seemed overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?”

“She has no memory of this place either. She looked lost. Scared.”

“What do you mean?”

“My lord, I implore you to discuss this no further.” Greyson walked toward him and wrapped his arm around Maroke’s shoulders, intending to help him to his feet. “Your complexion is worsening by the moment. Let me summon healer Rin—”

“No,” Maroke interrupted, his frown deepening. “There’s no need to call him. I can manage.”

Greyson seemed uncertain, but he remained silent, slowly easing back away from him.

He remained close to his side though, his body tense with fear and concern.

Maroke’s frown deepened. “That doesn’t make sense. My memory loss, I understand. But hers too? It almost feels…deliberate.”

Greyson stiffened. “You think someone tampered with her mind?”

“I suspect glamour Fae,” Maroke spoke grimly. “Check if I’ve had any dealings with them recently. Do this in secret.” He pushed himself to sit straight, his hand clenching the edge of his desk.

“Yes, my lord,” Greyson replied, giving a short bow.

As he straightened, he hesitated. “And Lady Kamora?”

Maroke recalled healer Rindall’s warning about the curse.

“I’ll think about it.”

He didn’t elaborate.

Greyson would only argue, and right now, he needed time to prepare for his next action.

***

In the kingdom of Amalith, Fae citizens are subtly divided into three groups.

The first group consists of commoner Fae, those whose abilities are rooted in nature: coaxing plants to bloom, summoning rain, shaping the earth, and bending the wind to their will.

Within each ability lies further categories—plant whisperers often converse with animals, rain callers can command rivers and streams, earth movers raise new land from barren ground, and air weavers heal wounds or spread poison with a breath.

The second group comprises elite Fae, those gifted with powers considered unnatural: ~allure~—beauty so potent it entices and ensnares; ~telepathy~—the silent language of thoughts; ~precognition~—visions that peer beyond the veil of time; and ~flight~—wings that defy the laws of the earth.

Then comes the final group, the ones whispered about in dark corners.

Fae whose powers are feared, sometimes hated. ~Witchcraft~—casting spells, binding spirits, cursing generations. ~Shapeshifting~—changing form at will, slipping between human, Fae, or beast.

And ~glamour~—masters of illusion, weaving convincing lies from air and shadow, and wiping memories clean as if they were chalk on stone.

These Fae rarely walk in daylight.

They prefer to work under the cover of night, where fear curls tighter around those who glimpse them.

Lord Maroke’s family history bore scars from such a Fae—a witch whose cruelty left behind more than memory.

And now, he couldn’t shake the suspicion that his wife, Kamora, had been touched by a glamour Fae.

But why?

The answer danced just out of reach, further fueling his resolve to find out more about what had happened in the past.

It was night.

He lingered in the shadows near the hallway to his son’s room, half-hidden by the carved pillar.

Kamora emerged. The soft click of the door closing behind her was barely audible.

She sighed, then turned toward her room.

He watched, unable to stop himself from studying her figure, one he had long denied himself.

Her long chestnut hair spilled down her back in soft waves, with two plaits resting neatly on her shoulder.

Her lips were rosy and plump, and her lashes swept down across her cheekbones.

Her skin glowed with the hue of a setting sun, warm and rich, and her curves moved with effortless grace.

Every step she took stirred something painful in his chest.

He should have looked away—but couldn’t.

She was beautiful, devastatingly so.

And she was ~his wife~.

The only one who had ever made him feel this way.

He moved silently behind her, drawn to the gentle sway of her hips.

“Kamora,” he called softly.

She startled, hand flying to her chest before she turned.

“My lord,” she breathed, bowing her head. “How may I assist you?”

“Look at me,” he said gently.

At first, her habit of bowing had irritated him. Now, knowing the truth of who she was to him, he understood.

She raised her head, eyes meeting his. A faint blush touched her cheeks, and something in his chest tightened again.

“How is my son?” he asked, trying to make conversation, though his voice sounded more strained than intended.

Her brows furrowed. She glanced down the hallway—a subtle shift, but it told him everything. This wasn’t the place for this talk.

Still, he stayed rooted to the spot, silently asking her to answer.

“He’s been doing really well, my lord,” she said after a pause. “He’s developed a fascination with anything related to food.”

“Really?” His interest was genuine. Claudia had always mentioned his son’s poor appetite.

Now that he thought about it, there hadn’t been such complaints since Kamora arrived.

“I suspected as much, after seeing how much you brought back from the commoner’s market yesterday,” he said.

Her grin lit up her whole face, and it caught him off guard. For a second, he forgot how to breathe.

Her joy was infectious, her eyes sparkling with amusement. His fingers twitched, itching to brush against her cheek.

“He wanted to try everything,” she said with a soft laugh. “I practically had to drag him away before he bought out the entire market.”

A strange thought drifted into his mind—~Can I make her smile that way? Just once?~ The question sparked something uncomfortable, tight and unfamiliar. Jealousy?

He cleared his throat, hoping to shake it off. Folding his hands behind his back, he composed himself.

“That’s good to hear. Claudia always complained about his appetite. I’m glad he has you as a…friend,” he said.

A thoughtful look passed over her face. “My lord, may I speak?”

“Go ahead.”

“Are there any activities the young lord can do with other children?” she asked. “I love spending time with him, but…there’s only so much I can offer alone.”

He nodded slowly, a plan already forming in his mind.

“Come with me,” he said. “Let’s go to my study. I may have something.”