Chapter 32: Chapter 32

KAMORA

Daylight trickled into the manor, carrying with it a fragile sense of hope and anticipation.

Kamora walked briskly toward the young lord’s room, her heart thudding with a new kind of purpose. She finally knew what she needed to do—and she couldn’t wait to begin.

She knocked once, then opened the door.

Inside, Lord Maroke knelt before Jarosh, adjusting his son’s lapels with care. The sight brought Kamora to an abrupt halt.

Her heart stumbled, thundering in her chest. She quickly curtsied, trying to calm her nerves.

“Good morning, my lord—”

“Please,” Lord Maroke said softly, cutting her off, “don’t greet me so coldly. You wound me when you do.”

Kamora kept her head bowed, every part of her taut with uncertainty. Ever since their kiss, she’d done everything to avoid him.

He believed she was his wife—and perhaps, in some twisted way, she wanted to believe it too. The dreams, vivid and tender, felt less like fantasies and more like memories.

But how could she be sure? The whole thing felt like a manipulation—but by whom, she didn’t know.

She heard the soft scuffle of his feet as he rose. Her heart beat faster with each step he took toward her.

When he finally stood in front of her, she forgot how to breathe. A single cold finger touched her chin, and heat sparked through her body.

Slowly, she allowed him to lift her face. When her eyes met his, she was caught off guard by the raw emotion reflected there.

For a man she had always thought distant, it was disarming—devastating even—to see such vulnerability in his gaze.

“My lord—” she began, her voice trembling.

“You should call me ‘my love,’” he said gently. “Like you used to.”

Kamora quickly turned her face away, slipping from his hold. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t…I can’t remember anything.”

“You will,” Lord Maroke said quickly, his voice thick with desperate hope. “I’ll find a way. But I can’t bear to see you working as a maid. You’re my wife. Jarosh’s mother. It reflects poorly on me—and I hate hearing you speak to me with such formality.”

Kamora hesitated, then looked up slowly. “What would you have me do, then?”

At that, a slow smile spread across his face, transforming him completely. She noticed how his hair had grown, how radiant he looked even in the soft morning light.

Ethereal, really. The kind of beauty that made women unsure whether to envy him or want him.

She wasn’t sure where she stood.

Lord Maroke lifted his hand again, hesitating in the air between them. But Kamora instinctively stepped back.

Disappointment flashed across his face, but he masked it with a small, forced smile and lowered his hand. “I’m already looking into it,” he said. “I’ve set plans in motion to help you regain your memories. To find out what happened to cause the loss in the first place.”

He turned back to Jarosh, who had been silently watching them, his expression unreadable.

“All I ask,” he said, standing tall beside his son, “is that you stop playing the role of a maid. Even if you can’t accept me as your husband…can you be a mother to Jarosh?”

Kamora’s eyes shifted to the boy. He was staring at her—but not with the warmth she hoped for.

His gaze was distant, unreadable. This was what she feared.

What if Lord Maroke was wrong? What if she only resembled his wife, and grief had blinded him to the truth?

What if she accepted Jarosh as her son, only to later discover that none of it was real? What if one day, a woman who looked just like her appeared—and she was the true mother?

The thought wasn’t far-fetched. Amalith was a vast kingdom.

Doppelgangers weren’t unheard of, especially with glamour Fae known for their mischief. What if she was the glamour Fae in this story?

The thought hit her like a wave, and her head throbbed. She shook it gently, trying to clear the mounting fog.

“Father,” Jarosh said suddenly, and she looked at him. He still avoided her gaze.

“Can we go?”

“Jarosh—” she tried, but he brushed past her, walking out without another word.

She had hurt him. Her silence had spoken louder than any rejection.

He probably thought she wanted nothing to do with him—and nothing could be further from the truth. How could she explain that all of this was simply too much?

When she looked up again, Lord Maroke was still standing in place, watching her. His gaze, heavy with emotion, didn’t waver.

“You may resent me for pressing too hard,” he said, taking a step forward. “You may think me overwhelming. But this is who I’ve always been, Kamora. And once you remember…you’ll see that I’ve never known how to hold back when it comes to you.”

Another step. She didn’t move.

“You were the first to make my blood burn,” he said. “It terrified me, and yet…I craved it. I welcomed the pain because it came from you. I endured it. I became addicted to it.”

He closed the distance between them, until they were just a breath apart. “The joy and agony your smile brings me. The rush I feel when you touch me…” His voice dropped, almost reverent.

He leaned in, breath warm against her cheek, sending shivers down her spine. “I would be a fool,” he whispered, “to ever let you out of my sight again.”

He pulled back slightly, eyes locking onto hers. “You are mine, Kamora…just as I am yours. And soon, I’ll make you remember that. I swear it.”

***

After Lord Maroke left, Kamora remained alone in Jarosh’s room. Guilt and worry clawed at her chest until she collapsed to the floor, clutching her blouse in a tight fist.

Her thoughts were a whirlwind—confusion, fear, guilt, and something dangerously close to longing. She didn’t know whether to cry over the hurt in Jarosh’s eyes or tremble from the way Lord Maroke’s words had stirred something inside her.

A sharp knock at the door pulled her back to the present. She scrambled to her feet, brushing herself off quickly before opening the door.

Claudia stood there, wearing her usual unimpressed expression. Her eyes darted around the room, her frown deepening.

“Where is the young lord?” she asked.

“Oh, um…” Kamora resisted the urge to scratch the back of her head. It would only give away her nerves.

“He went out with his father,” she finally said.

Claudia blinked, then looked at her, clearly confused. “Lord Maroke took the young lord out?”

Kamora frowned slightly at her tone. Hadn’t Claudia noticed that the lord had changed?

“Yes,” she said simply.

Claudia gave a slow nod, then straightened.

“Well then, since you’re free, I have a few errands for you to run.”

***

Half an hour later, Kamora walked through the bustling market streets with an empty basket in one hand and a short list in the other. She was supposed to buy ingredients for the kitchen—nothing out of the ordinary, except the maid who usually ran these errands had suddenly fallen sick.

~Convenient~, she thought dryly. Just when she’d been searching for a reason to leave the manor.

Instead of heading straight to the stalls, she detoured toward the Goddess’s Grove, hoping to find Gwen. She hadn’t even realized until now how easily she had accepted Gwen as her sister—far more easily than she had accepted Lord Maroke as her husband.

Why was that? Maybe it was because Gwen had mentioned scars only Kamora knew about.

Scars she hadn’t shown anyone. Or maybe it was the way Gwen had described her personality with unsettling accuracy.

But anyone close to her—friend, maid, or lover—could have known those things. Still, Gwen didn’t carry the heavy, almost divine presence that Lord Maroke did.

That alone made her easier to trust. She reached the Grove and went straight to the small hidden clearing where they had first met.

It was empty except for the tall weeds curling along the stone path. The place was shielded from the world yet gave a perfect view of people walking by.

The longer she stood there, the more uneasy she felt.

“Gwen?” she called softly. “Gwen!”

There was a pause. Then the ground beneath her feet shifted slightly.

She froze. Had the weeds just moved?

It felt like they had wrapped around her ankles—but the sensation vanished before she could confirm it. She turned at the sound of soft footsteps and found Gwen approaching.

“Where did you come from?” Kamora asked, looking behind her as though expecting a hidden door to reveal itself.

Gwen smiled mysteriously.

“Magic. I placed a barrier around this place. Only two kinds of people can enter: those I allow, and those far stronger than me.”

Kamora blinked.

“But you’re a halfling, right?”

“I am,” Gwen said with a shrug. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have powers. Mine are just…diluted compared to a full-blooded Fae.”

She tilted her head slightly. “I assume you came because you want to look for those men?”

Kamora nodded.

“Don’t worry,” Gwen said. “When your memories return, everything will make sense.”

Kamora gave a small smile. “I know we were supposed to meet next week, but…I had the chance to slip away today and I couldn’t wait.”

She hesitated, wringing her hands together. “If you’re too busy though, I understand. I’ll—”

“I’m not,” Gwen said quickly. “I was about to head out to find some herbs for a new recipe anyway. I’ll go with you.”

Kamora let out a deep breath of relief. “Thank you. Truly.”

Gwen returned the smile, though her eyes darkened with concern. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? The memories might not return all at once, but when they do…it won’t be easy. You need to prepare yourself for whatever truths you might uncover.”

Kamora hesitated.

A warning echoed in her mind, like a distant bell screaming danger. But then she thought of Jarosh—how hurt he had looked—and of Lord Maroke’s desperation.

If she waited too long, she feared she’d lose herself completely…or worse, lose them.

“I’m sure,” she said firmly. “I’ll face my past, no matter what it holds.”