The curse. Always there. Always devouring.
I stepped away, the bed squealing as I sat where my boots waited, not nearly as clean as Callum’s. Scuff marks layered their leather; the laces frayed as I pulled them tight.
But I didn’t mind, not like he would.
Light ricocheted off the table, a glint sharp enough to catch my eye. That’s when I finally noticed it, what lay beside the mug.
My key.
Cold air swept past as I pushed the door open, carrying with it the breath of the village.
Csolenia was no longer known for its beauty.
Whatever splendor it had once claimed was stripped bare, stolen to veil the palace and polish its lies. What remained was grit, survival.
The stubborn way we carried on despite it.
Homes leaned crooked, stacked one atop another as though holding each other up, their chipped stone and rotted wood long past its peak. Narrow paths of cobblestone twisted throughout the village like a maze, confusing even those who’d lived here their whole lives.
Desperation lingered in these streets. But sometimes it was drowned beneath sweeter things. The comfort of bread, the tang of herbs simmering in pots, the acrid bite of steel pulled fresh from the forge.
The further you strayed from the village’s heart, the more it sagged. The slums curled around its edges like decay, homes belonging to mortals, those not born of Fae blood. They were all left to the margins, forgotten.
Guards prowled through the alleys, their armor clattering, their sneers louder. They shoved passersby for sport, knocking baskets from hands, faces into grit.
No reprimand would follow.
This was their authority, their king’s command.
And gods, how Obrann relished it.
Callum was waiting at the end of the path leading to my cottage, arms folded, posture crisp. Together we slipped into the center of town, boots squelching in the muck.
I let my eyes linger on the statue of Aelia, the Goddess of Land and Sun, as we passed. Her smile was crafted soft, her stone hands open, keeping the light loud through the darkest days.
A few years ago, Obrann had raised his own beside her, defiling her protection. The stone he used was bigger and stronger; a challenge chiseled in sculpture. His way of telling the gods they were wrong, that a non-heir could rule their kingdoms.
Aelia still shone, though, even with her statue marred by his murk.
Chill gnawed at my skin, sinking teeth into my bones. I reached for my cloak—oh, right, I hadn’t grabbed it since I had been rushed out like some half-dressed fool. I rubbed my arms, friction sparking little relief.
Winter crept in faster this year. Many wouldn’t have enough to keep from freezing, from starving. And no one met one another’s eyes anymore. Not in frost season.
When it came, family turned to survival.
And survival was rarely about sharing.
I glanced at Callum, noticing the way his shoulders had squared, his jaw tensing more than usual. He didn’t need to speak; the mask was enough. Command suited him and yet carved into him all the same.
His acceptance of the guard’s mantle years ago had rattled me, but it had torn something from him he didn’t let show. Most of the town hadn’t forgiven him. Some sneered as we passed, some spat, slamming their doors. Some hurled curses meant to bruise.
If only they knew who walked beside him.
He ignored it, keeping his hands tucked deep in his pockets, his stride measured, letting every insult slip off him as though he didn’t hear. But I knew he did. Every word cut, each one lingered.
I let new ones pass from my mind to his, words I knew he needed to hear.I’m so proud of you.
He turned, eyes catching mine. “I’m proud of you too, sis.”
