The way he kissed me.
My throat tightens.
I force my gaze forward, focusing on the road instead of him.Onthe slow curve of it as it winds upward toward the castle gates.Onthe steady rhythm of my steps.
Why does he think we can’t be together?
The question rises again, sharp and insistent, butIshove it down.
I’m not asking—not again.Ifhe wanted me to know, he would have told me.
Instead,Ipick up my pace slightly, as thoughIcan outrun the ache in my chest.Ishouldbe hurrying.Ishould be eager to get this over with—to reach theKing’sCourt, to find a quiet corner, to cast the spell and go back to before everything went wrong.
Before him.
But instead of walking faster,Ifind myself slowing.
Each step feels heavier than the last, like my body is resisting even as my mind insists this is whatIneed to do.Thecastle looms larger ahead, its gates open wide, guards standing watch as people stream in and out.
I remind myself againIshould hurry but insteadIslow and look around, looking for a distraction.
On the side of the road, a small crowd of children has gathered in a loose semicircle around a brightly painted puppet stage.Theirlaughter and excited chatter drift toward me, cutting through the tension that’s been coiled tight in my chest sinceIwoke.
I stop without meaning to andTheronhalts beside me, his presence solid and warm at my back, but he doesn’t say anything asIturn toward the little performance.
The puppeteer stands behind a low wooden stage draped in red cloth, his hands hidden as strings rise and fall, bringing the marionettes to life.Asmall drum taps out a rhythm as he begins his tale, his voice rising and falling with practiced ease.
“So it came to pass that theOldKingwished to give up his throne,” he says, and an old man puppet shuffles forward to sit upon a carved wooden seat.“Andso he called his son—the young prince—to kneel before him.”
A handsome young puppet appears, bowing low.
TheOldKinggestures grandly, pointing to the crown atop his head.Thechildren lean forward, eyes wide.
“But theOldKingsaid, ‘Firstyou must marry and have an heir of your own.Onlythen canIgive you my throne and crown.’”
The young prince puppet nods eagerly, and the children giggle.
“And so,” the puppeteer continues, “the young prince fell in love with a beautiful princess, and they were wed.”
A delicate puppet in a bridal gown joins the prince, and the two bow to each other, smiling as the children clap.
“In due time, the royal couple had a child,” the puppeteer says, and a tiny baby puppet is lowered into the princess’s arms.Thechildren cheer, some of them bouncing with delight.
“All seemed well in the kingdom.TheOldKingprepared to pass down his crown, and joy reigned in every corner of the land…”Thepuppeteer’s voice darkens.“Butlittle did they know, theKing’ssorceress had been watching and waiting for her chance.”
A new puppet sweeps onto the stage, cloaked in black and purple.Thechildren boo immediately.
“She desired the prince for herself,” the puppeteer goes on, “for she knew that if she wed him, she would rule the kingdom through him and bend it to her dark will.”
The sorceress puppet reaches for the prince, but he turns away, shaking his head.Thechildren cheer again.
“Spurned and furious, the sorceress swore revenge.Shewaited until the royal family traveled to a distant village…and there she laid a terrible curse.”
The stage seems to darken as the sorceress raises a single finger, pointing it toward the prince, his bride, and their child.
“A killing curse!”the puppeteer cries.
The children gasp.
