A Curse So Dark and Lonely: Chapter 33

I wake up, still swooning. Sunlight beams through my open windows, the warm autumn air carrying the scents of honeysuckle and cut grass. I half expect cartoon butterflies to start flitting around.

I would have kissed him. I wanted to kiss him. I can see why he’s failed at this curse so many times—he keeps so much of himself hidden. Even now, I feel as though I’ve barely scratched the surface. This arrogant front makes me wonder what was expected of him before the curse destroyed his life. People here seem afraid of royalty. They seem afraid of him. Based on my first days here, I understand it. But now I’ve seen the truth. Underneath the arrogant distance, he’s caring. Deeply loyal. Gentle, in fact. So unexpectedly patient. He seems afraid to show that side of himself, as if his people will abandon him if they see it.

But he so genuinely cares about protecting them. That weighs on him more than the curse, I think.

The thought of finding him this morning leaves me a little giddy. Even Freya comments on it when she arrives to plait my hair.

“You had a nice evening with the prince?” she says coyly, then bumps my shoulder with her hip.

I blush so hard my cheek aches.

Freya ties off the braid. “I believe he is in the arena with Commander Grey.” A teasing pause. “If you were curious, my lady.”

I’m curious.

I expect to find more than just Rhen and Grey in the dusty circle, but they’re alone, weapons swinging with near blinding speed. They’re striking fast, each clash of steel making me flinch. Sweat dampens their hair, telling me they’ve been at this for a while.

I slow as I approach. The air feels different. Wrong, somehow. The blush fades from my cheeks as I try to figure it out.

Rhen ducks and rushes Grey, hooking his sword to disarm him. Grey slams into the ground, and Rhen follows him down, sword aimed for the other man’s neck.

Grey snatches a dagger to stop the blade in time—and his other hand braces against Rhen’s forearm, holding him back. Their ragged breathing echoes through the arena.

Something about this feels very personal. Like I’ve walked in on an argument. I want to back away and ease out of the arena.

But then I hear Grey’s voice, low and edged with strain. “Your fight is not with me, my lord.”

Rhen swears and shoves himself back, turning away to sheathe his sword. His expression is tight, his eyes hard and set. When he finds me standing by the railing, he seems startled.

The tension on his face does not ease when he sees me. He’s as cold and distant as he was the day I arrived. The butterflies that had been frolicking in my abdomen seize up and die.

He offers a curt “My lady,” then turns and walks to the side of the arena, where a small table stands with a pitcher of water.

He pours, his movements tight and forced.

Something happened.

“What’s wrong?” I say.

“Nothing at all.” He drains the glass and ducks back under the railing. He still hasn’t looked at me. “There could be another attack like in Silvermoon. We should be prepared.”

I glance at Grey, but he is watching Rhen, too. He’s reclaimed his sword, but he hasn’t sheathed his weapon.

He watches Rhen like he anticipates another attack.

Probably a good thing, because Rhen draws his sword.

I duck under the railing and step in front of him before he swings.

He sets his jaw. “Move.”

“No. Tell me what happened.”

He steps closer to me, each movement full of barely contained rage. Finally his eyes meet mine. “You will move. Or I will—”

“My lord.” Grey’s voice is quiet behind me.

For a moment, I’m not sure Rhen’s going to stop at all—but then he does. He looks away. “Please, my lady. Leave us.”

“If something happened,” I say slowly, “I need to know. If we’re in an alliance, I need—”

“We’re not,” he says.

His voice is so soft that I think I must have misheard him. “What?”

“There is no alliance, Harper. It was foolish to think I had an avenue to success here. My people have been run into the ground. Your army is a charade. If we have to fight for Emberfall, who will stand against Karis Luran’s army? There is no one.”

I’m so confused. None of that is different from where we were two days ago.

The door to the arena slams open. Freya stands in the doorway, a little breathless. “Your Highness. My lady.”

Rhen does not look away from me. “What.”

“Jamison and I took the food to the crossroads as you directed, but the people who arrived were too numerous to feed—”

“As I suspected,” Rhen says. His expression turns weary and he sighs. “Have Jamison tell them we will send more tomorrow.”

“We did. But they followed the wagon back to the castle. We told them we would bring their message back to you, but there were far too many to refuse, and—”

“How many?”

“Hundreds, Your Highness.”

“They followed you here?” Rhen glances at Grey and starts for the door. He flashes me an angry look, which says I told you so better than his voice could.

I wince. He did tell me so.

Rhen strides through the doorway. Each word he says is tight and clipped. “I will speak with them.” He glances at Freya. “Where is Jamison?”

“Standing guard at the castle door.”

“Against hundreds?” says Rhen.

“They could tear him apart.”

He jogs up the steps to the Great Hall, and I do my best to follow. Mournful music plays this morning, low strings plucked on a harp. Hopefully not an omen.

Freya lags behind to walk with me. “Word must have spread quickly,” she says, her voice a quiet rush. “These people are not all from Silvermoon. At least a hundred people were in line when we arrived at the crossroads.

More quickly joined.”

“Are they fighting?” I say as we reach the top of the steps and hurry after Rhen and Grey. A sick feeling churns in my stomach.

Rhen wanted nothing more than to protect his people—and now my idea might be causing more harm than good.

“Fighting?” She’s surprised.

“Yes,” I say. “Isn’t this some kind of protest that we didn’t send enough food?”

Rhen reaches the door and swings it wide. Sunlight pours into the hall. After his worry about hundreds of people tearing Jamison apart, Rhen storms through, Grey right beside him.

A roar goes up from the crowd outside, and I run for the doorway, sure they’re about to swarm him, to attack us all.

People have crowded onto the lawns and the cobblestone walkway. Freya was right—there are hundreds. Mostly men and boys, but many women and girls, too. Some are armed and wearing cruder versions of the armor I’ve seen Rhen and Grey wear. Others are in simple clothes, most too heavy for the temperate weather surrounding the castle.

They’re not yelling.

They’re cheering.

“For the good of Emberfall! Long live the crown prince!” Their voices ring out in the courtyard, echoing against the stones of the castle walls.

Rhen is staring.

Jamison moves forward. “Your Highness, they are here to fight. We could not stop them from following.”

“To fight,” Rhen echoes.

“To fight the soldiers from Syhl Shallow,” Jamison says. “To join the King’s Army.”

I step up to Rhen. His eyes are still locked on the crowd in front of him. His expression is unreadable.

I think of his anger in the arena. At least when Grey is Scary

Grey, I know who his targets are. With Rhen, I have no idea what’s going on inside his head.

“You wonder who’s going to stand against Karis Luran’s army,” I say quietly. “I think you’re getting your answer.”

The crowd is still chanting. “For the good of Emberfall! Long live the crown prince!”

And because he is nothing if not enigmatic and calculating, Rhen seems to swallow his anger, then moves to the edge of the steps and raises a fist. “For the good of Emberfall!” he says. “For the good of all!”