Page 19 of Cursed Shadows 5

Pandora’s brows shoot up to her hairline.

Father does a double take, then looks at me, his lashes fluttering with almost blinks. “W-what?”

I stare at him, blank. “No.”

His eyes flash. His voice is sheathed in whispered shouts, “This is not the place to act a spoilt child—”

I hold his stare. “Spoilt, stubborn, darling.”

Father’s mouth is slack around unspoken words.

“You made me this,” I say. “By your own admission, you crafted my every trait in your very own hands. The blame is yours to keep.” The warmth inches closer, Eamon drawn in by his instincts to protect me. “What you cannot take credit for, dearest father, is that I proved myself to be one formidablefemale. What you call spoilt, I have shown is nothing less than absolute determination. My home is not with you.”

Pandora is struck silent. Brows arched, she swerves her wide gaze between Father and I.

But we are locked in a stare of our own.

He takes a single, sweeping step closer and towers over me. “Where will you go?” he hisses at me. “With your dark one, to give us your shame to wear?”

“I will live on my own terms. None of you deserve me. Not even that dark one.”

A hand firms on my bicep.

I look down at it, the bronzed hue, the calluses and scars, the blood and dirt. Not Eamon’s.

I trace it upwards, the hand to the face staring down at me. It’s grim. Slanted mouth, sorrow in the eyes.

“Ronan,” Pandora’s voice is hitched, sheathed in a hiss. “What are you doing?”

“Narcissa,” he starts, cheek turned to his wife, his babe that he probably hasn’t met, hasn’t held, and he only looks at me. “You are summoned to the Queen’s Court. I must escort you—”

“Ronan, give her a moment,” Pandora snaps.

He tenses. His shoulders curve inwards, a near bow of submission crawling through him.

But his jaw hardens with the same determination that flashes in his eyes—and, slowly, he lifts his chin. His grip on my arm does not soften.

“Narcissa Elmfield,” he starts, all emotion swept away from his tone, “By royal order of Our High Queen, you are summoned to the—”

A scream splits the air.

High-pitched, it strikes through Kithe’s town centre like a sword through flesh.

I throw my wild glare down the street—and before I can settle my gaze on the source, a sudden shove of folk spins me around. Some move for the scream, others away, but from all angles, fae push into me. They smack their shoulders into mine, others ramming themselves past my back, and my balance is whirled around.

I’m spun away from Ronan, as he is pulled from me.

The welcoming warmth of Eamon’s hand wraps around my wrist.

I throw my gaze to him in the waving sea of folk before he shoves his way through the crowd and drags me with him.

He brings us to a rolled over carriage, pushed onto its side by the force of our invasion into this town.

Eamon grabs me by the waist and—without warning—boosts me up.

I drag myself onto the top of the carriage.

In a heartbeat, he’s climbed up the wheel like a ladder, then landed beside me.

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