Chapter 63: Chapter 63

KAMORA

Lord Maroke lay with his wife curled against him, her breathing soft and even in sleep.

He held her close, savoring the warmth of her body, the quiet comfort of her presence. But sleep eluded him.

What he wouldn’t give to touch her freely—without the shadow of the curse looming over him like a noose. He could feel it creeping in—the familiar relapse that struck him each month.

It was coming again.

He had poured out too much of himself in too short a time: the surge of hope when he found Kamora again, the agony of discovering their poisoned son, the violent rage that led him to attack the princess.

And then—Kamora’s memories returning, the revelation that she, too, was a witch. Each emotion hit like a brick to his chest, one stacked on top of another, forming a wall.

Now, its shaky foundation was giving way. It wouldn’t hold much longer.

It had reached its limit.

Placing a kiss on Kamora’s head, he smiled lightly. If he were asked to do it all again, he would do so without hesitation.

***

Kamora woke up with the nagging feeling that something was wrong. Utterly, utterly wrong.

She sat up straight and peered at her husband who lay in bed. He was still. Too still.

“My love?” she gently tapped his shoulder.

She could see the rise and fall of his chest, which gave her some kind of relief. But when she called out for him again, louder this time, and he made no reaction, she began to panic.

“My love! Lord Maroke, wake up!” she shook him harshly, but he remained in the same position, his face peaceful, free from all forms of emotion, indifference included.

She hurried up from the bed and shouted for Greyson, then began to place healing spells on her husband. “Greyson!” she shouted again, standing next to Lord Maroke with fear etched on her face.

The assistant rushed in about a minute later, his face full of worry. “My lady, are you okay? A maid said you’ve been shouting—” He paused, finally noticing Lord Maroke’s unnatural stillness and the stricken face of his wife.

“My lord,” he said, walking toward the bed.

“He is still breathing,” Kamora said, willing herself to be calm.

“He has relapsed,” Greyson spoke calmly. “He’ll be fine.”

“Is this how he looks normally? When this happens? I am of the idea that he spends the whole day in pain. It will be excruciating, but at least he will be awake.”

“Well yes, but—”

“My husband is on the verge of death, Greyson,” Kamora said, close to being hysterical, her eyes wide with anger. “I’d rather the Goddess strike me down than allow death to even hold him.”

Wiping away the stray tear that fell from her face, she continued, “Tell Petal to go look after Jarosh. Make sure he is okay. I don’t want him to worry about his father. You will follow me to look for the cure for this curse. He mentioned that he might have found something.”

“Yes, my lady. Apparently, the past Lord had a journal of his cursed ancestor. It was dumped among a pile of old books. Perhaps he never bothered about finding the cure.”

“Please get me the journal. I’ll stay here with my husband.”

“Should I call for the doctor while I’m at it, my lady?”

The face of the doctor who had told her she was pregnant flashed through her mind, and every alarm in her blared against him. “No,” she said. “I don’t want news of this to spread. Just get me the journal.”

She continued placing healing spells on her husband, praying to the Goddess that he’d wake up. Lord Maroke’s pallor had turned paler, and his breathing had slowed.

“Dear Goddess,” she whispered, her fear spiking. She couldn’t lose her husband.

She finally had the chance to be with him after eight long years. She’d fight to the death to prevent him from dying if she had to.

“My lady,” Greyson said, bursting into the room, “I have found it.”

He walked over and handed her a bound journal with a leather cover. It looked like an antique object, its back worn and old from age and dust.

She opened the first page, which was aged brown and had strange spots scattered all over it, and scanned through its contents, her frown growing deeper and deeper as she only came upon personal content she had no wish of seeing.

“Where is the mention of the curse?” she shouted, jerking her head to face Greyson while fighting the inward temptation to fling the book at his head.

“The third to the last entry, my lady,” Greyson said, his voice firm.

If he noted Kamora’s annoyance, he made no sign of it.

She quickly opened the page and found the curse, her heart beating fast as she read it.

~For love you scorned, my heart betrayed,~

~Now cursed you’ll walk, alone dismayed.~

~No warmth to feel, no love to gain~

~In hollow heart, you’ll bear the pain.~

~As ice to flame and dust to sea,~

~No love shall dwell or set you free.~

~But if one dares to love your scars~

~And comes from lands beyond your stars,~

~The curse may lift, yet fate will fight.~

~For they must be the one you’d never invite.~

Kamora scrunched her eyes, deep in thought. “Land beyond your stars? One you’d never invite? What did she mean? That he’d only be saved by his enemy? Perhaps one from another kingdom?” She stared at the book.

“Did his ancestor have an enemy in another land perhaps?”

“He never made mention of that in his journal. And Lord Maroke has barely left this kingdom to make an enemy in another.”

Kamora walked over to her husband, gently dragging her hands through his hair. “I will save you,” she whispered. “I promise.”

***

Petal knew something was wrong. She felt it the moment she woke—a chill pooling deep in her stomach, heavy and unshakable.

As she went about her chores, the unease only deepened. It grew worse whenever she looked at Claudia.

Something wasn’t right. Claudia moved strangely at times, as if her limbs didn’t quite belong to her.

There were brief, flickering moments when she seemed…absent—like someone else had slipped into her skin. But then it would vanish, so quickly that Petal began to wonder if she’d imagined it.

She wanted to tell Kamora, but Lord Maroke had fallen ill, and from the frantic way Greyson rushed about the manor, it was clear the situation was dire. So Petal said nothing.

She simply prayed—for strength, for her friend, and for the courage to face whatever this was. She didn’t know what storm was coming…only that she would face it, no matter what.

Petal moved through the entrance hall, finally finished with the day’s work. The manor was quiet—everyone else had completed their chores and retired.

Outside, the sky was already dark, though it was only evening. She had just returned from the kitchen and was heading off to find Claudia so she could retire when a sudden knock echoed from the guest door.

She froze. Her brow furrowed.

“Who would come to a lord’s manor at this hour—uninvited and unannounced?” she whispered.

Cautiously, she approached the door. Her hand hovered over the handle as she hesitated.

Then, slowly, she opened it.

And there he was. The one her senses had been warning her about since the moment she woke.