Chapter 15: Chapter 15

KAMORA

Kamora followed Lord Maroke into his study. Her heart pounded when he closed the door behind them—an uncommon act for a nobleman, especially with a maid.

Something about his behavior tonight didn’t sit right.

She stood still as he settled into his chair and shuffled through a pile of documents. He plucked an envelope from the mess and waved her over.

“Come here,” he said.

She obeyed, stepping closer.

He opened the envelope and began reading its contents aloud.

“The princess wants to host a party?” she asked.

“That’s what it says,” Lord Maroke replied, his tone unreadable.

“What do you think about Jarosh attending?”

“That’s a great idea!” Kamora said brightly.

“My only concern is—will he agree to it?”

Lord Maroke stared at her, curious.

“Why? Don’t children enjoy spending time with their peers?”

Kamora smiled uneasily. He really didn’t know his son.

“My lord,” she began carefully, “Young Lord Jarosh… He’s not fond of other children. He says they’re immature and not worth his time.”

Lord Maroke frowned.

“But he’s a child.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” she blurted, then quickly caught herself. She cleared her throat. Her eyes darted across the room before settling back on him.

“While I think it’s a great idea, we can’t force him if he’s not interested.”

“Why not?”

“It defeats the purpose. If he goes out of obligation, he won’t make any genuine friends.”

“That makes sense. I’ll give you time to persuade him, then,” Lord Maroke said, folding the letter and putting it aside. “The party is still a few weeks away.”

Kamora nodded. Then he said something that made her pause.

“However, I believe we should engage in other activities before then.”

Her brows knit in confusion.

“What kind of activities?”

He leaned back in his chair, and his usual sternness gave way to something else—something unfamiliar and oddly vulnerable.

“I fear I don’t know my son very well,” he admitted.

Kamora blinked. That wasn’t something she ever expected to hear from him.

“Ever since his mother…left, I haven’t been myself,” he continued, voice low. “I kept my distance—for reasons I can’t even explain. But seeing how happy he’s been these past few days made me realize I’ll gain nothing by staying distant.”

“He’s the heir to everything I own. The least I can do is raise him properly. Don’t you think?”

She tilted her head.

“Do you want to spend time with him for his sake, or to prepare him for his role?”

“Both. Why? Is something wrong with that?”

She hesitated, then forced a smile.

“My lord, please permit me to be honest with you.”

He gave a small nod. “Go on.”

“Jarosh… He’s had to grow up much too fast. He’s just eight. Isn’t preparing him for lordship a little early?”

“When do you think would be best?”

“In his teens, perhaps? Maybe when he’s sixteen. By then, he’ll have enjoyed his childhood—and be ready to take on the role he was born for.”

He arched a brow. “Don’t you think you’re spoiling him a bit?”

Kamora’s smile faltered, but she stood her ground.

“My lord, these past few days with him… It’s clear how much pressure he carries. He hides it well, but it’s there.”

“When we went to the commoners’ market—he was like a different boy. So free. So happy.”

She pressed a hand to her chest. The memory was still fresh.

Lord Maroke studied her, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

“You’ve done more than Claudia ever managed with my son,” he said.

Kamora laughed nervously and lowered her gaze.

“I’m just trying my best, my lord.”

“And doing a lot. If someone didn’t know your status, they might mistake you for his mother.”

Her heart jumped into her throat, fear enveloping her features. She straightened abruptly.

“My lord—I didn’t mean—I apologize if—”

He raised a hand, silencing her gently. “There’s no need. I know you have no ulterior motive.”

Then, to her complete surprise—he smiled.

“Thank you for what you’re doing for my son. It means more than you know.”

A blush crept onto Kamora’s cheeks.

“I’m grateful that you think so highly of me,” she said, bowing slightly. “Thank you for placing him under my care. His presence always brightens my day.”

She glanced up—and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw pain etched across Lord Maroke’s face. But the look vanished before she could be sure.

“I have an assignment for you,” he said. “Before the end of the week, I want you and Jarosh to choose an activity we can all do together. Something that’ll help me connect with him.”

“I’d love to, my lord,” Kamora said cautiously. “But…do I have to be there too?” She already felt the awkwardness creeping in at the thought.

“Of course,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the one who’s grown closest to him. I can’t say the same. Having you there will help ease the tension between us.”

Kamora nodded, her expression softening.

“I understand, my lord. I’ll do as you say.”

She gave him a final bow and left the study.

As the door clicked shut behind her, she pressed a hand to her chest and let out a quiet sigh.

So much had happened in just a few days. She needed rest—to breathe, to think, or she’d be a mess by tomorrow.

***

As soon as Kamora shut the door, Lord Maroke pressed a hand to his chest and winced.

The pain flared up again—sharp, vicious, like claws raking through his heart. He collapsed on the desk and gripped its edge, leaning forward as he fought to steady his breath.

Each inhale dragged like gravel through his lungs.

The room smelled faintly of her now. It clung to the air like a stubborn ghost—warm, earthy spices with a hint of something sweet he couldn’t name.

Odd, considering she was a commoner and couldn’t afford perfume. Yet that scent followed her everywhere, something he hadn’t noticed until she left.

He stayed there, hunched over and breathing through the pain, reciting strange, jumbled thoughts to drive her from his mind.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually, the grip on his heart loosened. He sank into his chair, sweat running down his face and neck like he’d run a race.

Now he understood the look in his healer’s eyes—the hesitation, the quiet warnings. No cure came without cost.

And now that he knew who she was to him, the pain was worse.

He reached for the letter he’d shown Kamora earlier, fingers trembling slightly.

The princess had always left him uneasy. Why had he agreed to send his son to her?

The decision seemed foreign now, like someone else had made it. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a tired sigh.

His thoughts were a tangled mess, too heavy to sort through. Still, he’d meant it—what he said to Kamora.

He did want to know his son. And getting closer to Jarosh meant being around Kamora too.

If that happened…maybe—just maybe—he’d find a way to break the curse hanging over their bloodline.

***

Greyson returned to the manor a few days later.

Lord Maroke had been pacing for hours and didn’t waste a second once Greyson entered the study.

“Tell me, what have you found?” he asked, already on edge.

Greyson shook his head, his mouth pulling into a disappointed line. “Nothing, my lord. I retraced every step from the last eight years—before Jarosh was born. There’s no sign you ever crossed paths with a glamour Fae.”

Maroke’s expression darkened. He looked away, deep in thought.

“Then who would do this to my family? I’ve made no enemies…so why me?”

Greyson’s gaze sharpened. “Are you sure it was you they were after, my lord?”

“What do you mean?” Maroke narrowed his eyes at him.

Greyson hesitated, lowering his voice like he wasn’t sure he should speak. “What if the attack wasn’t meant for you at all? What if…it was aimed at your wife?”

Maroke blinked. “Why would they target her?”

“My lord, forgive me, but—think about it. You never did a background check on her. No one knew where she came from or who she was before you brought her here.”

“I didn’t?” Maroke’s voice was barely a whisper.

Greyson nodded slowly. “You just showed up one day and said she was your wife. I remember the confusion. We all were. I was worried—because of your curse.”

Maroke’s brows knit together. “Something happened back then,” he murmured. “Something that caused all this.”

There was a pause.

Then, almost as if he were clinging to hope, Greyson asked, “But there’s still a chance, isn’t there? If she remembers who you are…maybe we can fix this.”

Maroke’s eyes snapped to his, sharp and unreadable. “Why do I have to wait?”

Greyson frowned. “My lord, surely you’re not thinking of making her your wife again while she still has no memory of you?”

“No,” Maroke said, his voice distant. He turned his face away.

“But I have other plans.”

“My lord—”

“Do not worry yourself, Greyson. My mind is already made up.”

He would bear the pain, however unbearable it became. If it meant saving the generations to come, he’d endure it all.

This curse would end with him.

***

Kamora was in the young lord’s room, helping him dress.

She knelt before him, adjusting the layers of his clothing while he toyed with a loose strand of her hair. “There you go,” she said, patting his shirt into place.

The boy looked down at himself and gave a small hum of approval. “You did well,” he said, all seriousness.

She sat back on her heels, simply watching him.

“Is there something you want to say?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My lord,” she began, “suppose there was a chance to go somewhere with your father… Where would you want to go?”

His brow furrowed. He seemed caught off guard.

“I’ve never really thought about that,” he said. “He’s barely around. It never seemed like a possibility.”

“But let’s say it is possible,” she pressed gently. “Where would you go?”

He gave her a side-eye, suspicious. “Why are you asking me this?”

She exhaled and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Your father… He wants to spend time with you,” she admitted. “He told me he’d like to know you more.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than the walls around them. Kamora shifted, suddenly unsure if she’d said too much.

“What are you thinking, my lord?” she asked softly.

“He really said that?”

She nodded. “He met me a few nights ago. Asked how you were. Said he regretted not being more present.”

Her cheeks warmed at the memory. She didn’t know why Lord Maroke affected her so strangely, but he did. The mere thought of him caused butterflies to swarm her belly.

She gave her head a slight shake to dispel the thought—but the motion made her sway a little.

“Are you okay?” Jarosh asked, his brows creasing with worry.

Kamora smiled faintly. “I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t. Sleep had become a stranger.

The nightmares were worse now—so vivid they lingered even after she woke. She dreaded closing her eyes, even for a minute.

“Maybe you should rest,” the young lord said. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine,” she said again, not wanting to explain. “Now, tell me your thoughts, so I can pass them on to your father.”

Jarosh sighed, then gave a small nod. “All right then.”