The unicorns. The mother. The child. Who do you think you are in that prophecy?
Then after that…
You are the mother and your child would have been my enemy.
Weaving your fate was the only thing I could do to let you keep your life.
She hadn’t forgotten. No, she’d carried the burden of the curse, hating what he’d done if only because it robbed her of choice. And yet, she had grown complacent, hadn’t she? Upon Morkai’s death, she’d seen proof that his glamours had been severed. She’d assumed every bit of magic he’d cast had died along with him.
But that wasn’t true. She knew that now. The evidence was all around her, mocking her from the shadows of Lurel’s demise. Only the glamours, spells, and enchantments that had relied upon a continuous stream of magic from the Roizan had been broken when the creature died. When Morkai died. But everything else remained. Every curse he’d placed—using just a single instance of dark magic—stayed unbroken.
Which meant her fate was sealed. She’d die childless.
Her stomach plummeted further, taking her heart with it, but not for the reasons she expected. Having children might be a blessing she’d someday desire, but it had never been at the front of her mind. She was nowhere near ready for maternal responsibilities.
But that curse—that fate—was tangled up in something else now. Something far more pressing. Present. Cherished.
More of Morkai’s words rang through her mind.
You could never be Teryn’s queen. Do you know what the prince’s father did tohisqueen? He tried to have her replaced with his mistress. Teryn would only do the same to you.
She wanted to believe Morkai had been wrong. Her heart told her he had been. Teryn wouldn’t cast her aside for being unable to bear him children.
No, he wouldn’t, he’d…never…
He betrayed you before, came her own voice from deep inside her. It was stoic and steady, the part of her that remained within the walls she’d erected around her heart.He said he desired you. He never said love.
And even love could be broken. Even love could twist hearts. She’d seen it happen.
As much as Dimetreus had loved Linette, the queen had been so afraid of disappointing him that she’d lied. Pretended to be with child to keep his attentions from wandering. Back then, Cora had been perplexed over Linette’s motive. Why would anyone—a powerful queen, no less—lie about being pregnant?
Cora understood, now that she was older. She knew full well the expectations placed on royal women, even more so after her recent experiences with Verdian and his brothers. Queens were expected to bear heirs. If they failed…
Teryn would only do the same to you.
She shook her head. Teryn was no longer beholden to the pressures of the crown; he didn’t need an heir. He only needed to marry Cora to fulfill the alliance, and in turn, position Cora as Dimetreus’ heir. Histemporaryheir. Once he remarried…
Cora stepped back from the table, as a complex layer of truth peeled back before her. In what world could she imagine Dimetreus—her hurt, traumatized brother who still agonized over his dead wife—getting remarried? If he didn’t, Cora’s place as heir would be permanent. She’d be expected to ascend to queen one day. A queen forced to carry all the same burdens and pressures Linette had caved under. That Teryn’s mother nearly lost her crown over.
Cora had never wanted to reclaim her role as princess permanently. She’d only wanted to help her brother get his throne back and ensure Khero was taken care of. Agreeing to a loveless marriage alliance had been a necessary evil, and she’d still considered it something she could escape once her duties had been served.
Then came Teryn’s confession. It had opened her heart, made her think that being stuck in her role wouldn’t be so bad. Not with him by her side.
Half her heart told her she was in no danger of losing that now. This was Teryn, after all. He wouldn’t reject her for being unable to bear children, even if he wanted them. But the other half of her heart shrank back, reminding her that all royal men—even those with lesser titles like dukes and lords—were forever fixated on heirs. On sons. On their legacies.
What if she couldn’t provide that?
Regardless, if the worst came to pass and Cora ascended to the throne, the curse had potential to upend her life in the future. Wars sprung easily where bloodlines were broken. Where queens failed to produce sons.
Even if Teryn decided he didn’t care about having children, could she truly subject him to the chaos that might one day ensue in her kingdom?
Mother Goddess, it was too much to think about.
Her lungs tightened. The room felt too small, the walls closing in around her, smothering her. She felt…trapped.
Trapped in a curse.
Trapped as her brother’s heir.
