Chapter 28: Chapter 28

KAMORA

The ride back filled Kamora with dread. Jarosh had been strangely overprotective, holding her hand throughout the journey.

“I am okay,” Kamora repeated for the third time that day.

“Hmph,” Jarosh exclaimed, not saying anything else.

He didn’t let go of her hand and remained tightly by her side. She could only imagine what Claudia would think when they arrived that early.

Claudia would definitely blame her; that’s for sure.

“Once we step down, we are going straight to see Father,” he said finally.

Kamora gulped. Between Claudia and Lord Maroke, she didn’t know who she was more afraid to see.

Her stomach was filled with dread, and she found it hard to stay calm. But she had to agree with Jarosh this time.

So many things hadn’t been normal since her arrival at the Maroke manor, and now, after her meeting with the princess, she could confirm that perhaps her relationship with Lord Maroke had been a serious one.

She could still remember the feeling of distaste and anger that surrounded the princess as she looked at her. Just what was she in the past to warrant that type of hate from the princess?

Was the princess the cause of her memory loss? The carriage stopped, bringing her out of her musings.

She looked out and saw that they had arrived at the manor, and the confusion she felt was replaced by her earlier dread.

“Let’s go,” Jarosh said.

Kamora took in a deep breath and came down from the carriage. She then helped Jarosh alight.

Every step she took toward the entrance seemed like loud claps of doom, and she tightly held onto her gown in a poor effort to calm her heart.

Kamora knocked at the entrance, and the door was opened by two servants. Upon entering, she was greeted by a frowning Claudia who must have been waiting by the door.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice firm.

Kamora swallowed, dreadful.

Just as she was about to answer, Jarosh cut in.

“We have no time for this,” he said, taking hold of her hand. “We have to go see Father right now. Something important came up.”

“Your father asks that he not be disturbed—”

“This concerns our family honor!” Jarosh exclaimed.

Kamora wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn Jarosh’s voice was filled with slight excitement, almost like he was hoping for something. “I need to talk with my father, and now.”

Without waiting for Claudia to say anything, Jarosh pulled Kamora toward the direction of his father’s study.

This boy was barely up to a decade old, yet he somehow became her pillar in that moment. An overwhelming sense of gratitude welled up in her chest, and she suddenly had the urge to stop and hug him tight, just for the comfort he brought to her.

They arrived at the study, and Jarosh barged inside without knocking.

“What’s going on?” Greyson asked, his brows furrowed with confusion as he stared at them.

He was seated behind Lord Maroke’s desk, papers strewn across the desk before him. He must have been busy with work before their abrupt arrival disrupted him.

“Where is Father?” Jarosh demanded.

Greyson sighed. “Your father needs rest. Please do not disturb him.”

“I thought you said he is swamped with work,” Jarosh said.

“He is—was. Please,” Greyson sighed, bringing his fingers to his forehead. “Just listen to me and do not disturb him. He really needs his rest.”

Something about Greyson’s explanation felt off to Kamora, and from the way Jarosh squeezed her hand, she surmised that he suspected the same as well.

Immediately, Jarosh dragged her out of the office, passing Claudia who had remained in the hallway.

“My lord!” Greyson exclaimed from behind, the harsh graze of the chair on the tiled floor signaling that he had stood up. “My lord, please, calm down. Do not do that which you think of doing.”

Kamora was sure now. Something was definitely wrong.

Was it Lord Maroke? She wondered. What happened to him?

At some point, Jarosh had let go of her hand and was now running toward the stairs, his little steps filled with determination.

“Kamora!” Claudia boomed, sending a shiver down Kamora’s bones.

It was very scary; she had never seen Claudia react that way.

“What are you doing? Stop him!” Claudia demanded.

Kamora gave a quick nod and hurried after Jarosh, though curiosity gnawed at her.

Why were they so determined to keep him from his father? What had really happened?

She followed him up the shadowed staircase and down the hall—past his room, farther than she’d ever gone.

The corridor stretched ahead, swallowed by darkness so thick she slowed her steps, fingertips brushing the wall to keep from stumbling.

Ahead, Jarosh shoved open a door, the force of the action sending it banging harshly against the wall.

Kamora hesitated—then gasped as Greyson suddenly appeared behind her, his footsteps unnervingly silent until he shouldered past. He rushed into the room before she could react.

“My lord! Your—forgive me. I tried to stop him, but he was adamant…”

Kamora reached the doorway just in time to hear Lord Maroke murmur, “It is okay.”

Her eyes darted first to Jarosh—standing rigid beside his father, face tight with worry—then to Lord Maroke himself.

The moment their gazes met, he surged to his feet—only to stagger, his knees buckling.

“My lord!” The chorus of voices rang out as Greyson lunged forward, catching him by the arm.

“I am fine,” Lord Maroke insisted, though his pallor was ghostly.

He wrenched free of Greyson’s grip without breaking eye contact with Kamora. Step by unsteady step, he closed the distance between them, his expression inscrutable.

“My lord, are you—?”

“I am now,” he whispered, the words rough.

Then, without warning, he yanked her against his chest and kissed her—deep, desperate, as if she were air and he’d been drowning.

LORD MAROKE

Lord Maroke broke the kiss but kept Kamora’s face cradled in his hands, his thumbs brushing her cheeks.

She stared up at him—eyes wide with shock, lips slightly parted—but he barely registered her alarm.

His chest burned, not with the usual searing pain her presence evoked, but with something far more dangerous: recognition. He remembered.

After years of emptiness, the love of his life had returned to his arms.

“Father?” Jarosh’s small voice shattered the moment.

Kamora jerked back, her face flaming as she turned away.

Lord Maroke’s gaze shifted to his son, who watched him with wary suspicion.

“Are you okay?” Jarosh asked.

The question lanced through him. ~His son.~ A living blend of himself and Kamora—the only woman he’d ever loved.

And how had he repaid the boy? With indifference. A childhood of neglect.

Guilt twisted like a knife in his ribs.

“I am,” he said softly, smiling when Jarosh’s eyes widened.

The curse’s pain still hummed beneath his skin, but the worst of it had dulled—thanks to Greyson’s diligent dosing of the human-made pain powders. His last attack had nearly killed him, but now…~now~ he had the key to tempering the agony. ~Kamora.~

His eyes found hers again, and his breath caught.

“My lord!” Greyson’s voice trembled. “Have you—? No, you have—”

He gave a single nod.

His assistant clapped a hand over his mouth, stifling a sob.

“Leave us,” Lord Maroke ordered. “I must speak with them alone.”

Greyson quickly left, shutting the door quietly.

Kamora stood frozen, fists clenched in her skirts, gaze locked on the floor.

“Look at me.” The command came out sharper than intended.

When she finally raised her eyes—slow, hesitant—his heart stuttered. Heavens, she was beautiful.

Jarosh stepped between them, arms folded.

~Always protecting her~, Lord Maroke thought with a pang. Even now, when she didn’t remember him.

“Father, what’s happening?” Jarosh’s voice wavered, but something like hope flickered in his stare.

Ignoring Kamora’s faint resistance, Lord Maroke tugged her to the edge of the bed, seating her beside him. He drank in every detail—the curve of her lashes, the way her pulse fluttered at her throat—memorizing her anew.

How could he have ever forgotten the woman who’d once been his anchor against the curse?

Kamora’s cheeks pinked under his scrutiny, but she held his gaze.

Jarosh paced before them, eyes darting between them like a cornered hawk.

“I lost my memories,” Lord Maroke admitted.

“Clearly,” Jarosh snapped. “Given you couldn’t stand to be in the same room with me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. He reached out, ruffling his son’s hair—a gesture so foreign that the boy froze.

“But I remember now. ~Everything.~”

His fingers found Kamora’s chin, tilting her face up.

“Especially you.”

The room went unnaturally still.

“You, my dear,” he whispered, his voice softer than a summer breeze, “are Kamora Maroke.”

His thumb traced her jaw.

“My wife. Jarosh’s mother.”

Kamora paled.

Disbelief, fear, and a dozen emotions warred in her expression.

“I have proof,” he added quickly. “Our marriage contract—hidden where only I would know to look.”

Kamora gasped.

She wrenched free, pressing both hands to her mouth.

“Y-you mean…” Jarosh’s voice cracked. “Kamora is…my mother?”