Page 115 of The Curse of Golden Blood
So she had given him everything. Not just her body, but her very essence. Her sunfire blood, the source of her immortal power, poured into mortal veins in a desperate attempt to anchor him to eternity. To make him her equal in truth rather than pretense.
The magic had worked, after a fashion. His body had achieved a twisted form of immortality, alive but burning from within, veins of golden light searing him like molten metal beneath his skin. He had become something unnatural, caught between mortal and fae, belonging fully to neither realm.
And that union had torn the fabric of everything.
The careful treaties between realms, the delicate balance of power that had maintained peace for centuries, all of it shattered by one queen's selfish desire for true love.
The Curse of the Rot had been born from that transgression. Corruption that bloomed wherever fae and mortal blood mingled in ways nature never intended.
Now here I sat, marked by that same rot, planning a war while the woman who carried Emystra's bloodline was curled in my lap.
Could I love her without dooming the realm to utter destruction?
Was her victory worth the risk to everyone else?
I leaned forward and brushed my lips across her brow, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch.
It didn't matter. Not now, not when I had only weeks or possibly days left. Nothing mattered except her.
History had a way of repeating its most tragic lessons. And as I watched Miralyte rise from my lap with that careful distance in her movements, I wondered if we were already too far down that same cursed path to turn back.
"I should go," she said, stepping away from my chair with movements that were too controlled, too measured. "Let you return to your war planning."
Every instinct screamed at me to stop her, to demand the truth behind whatever lie she was spinning. But I'd learned long ago that forcing answers from someone only drove them deeper into deception.
"Of course," I said instead, keeping my voice neutral. "The library will be quiet this time of night."
She nodded, already moving toward the door. "Don't wait up."
The door closed behind her with a soft click that sounded like finality. I remained at my desk, staring at the war mapsthat had seemed so crucial moments before. The strategic positions and supply lines blurred together as unease crawled up my spine like ice.
Something was wrong.
Not the obvious wrongness of war preparations or political maneuvering. This was different. Personal. The kind of wrongness that spoke of betrayal or desperation or choices that couldn't be undone.
I tried to focus on the eastern campaign plans, but my mind kept circling back to the brittleness in Miralyte's voice. The careful way she'd avoided meeting my eyes. The practiced quality of her words, as if she'd rehearsed them.
Time stretched like a taut wire. An hour passed, then two. The candles burned lower, wax pooling on the metal holders. Outside, the storm clouds gathered with unnatural speed, responding to my growing anxiety.
Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore.
I left the maps scattered across the desk and headed for the library. If she was truly researching her heritage, she wouldn't mind the interruption. If she was lying, then I needed to know why.
The library stood empty.
Candlelight flickered across vacant chairs and untouched books. No sign of golden hair or quiet breathing. No trace of her presence at all.
My heartbeat thundered against my ribs. She'd lied. Whatever she was doing, wherever she'd gone, it had nothing to do with research or understanding her bloodline.
I found Tomos in the guards' quarters, slumped over a table with his head pillowed on his arms. Empty cups and dice scattered around him spoke of an evening spent trying to forget his duties.
I grabbed his shoulder and shook him awake. "Where is she?"
He blinked up at me, confusion clouding his eyes. "My lord? What—"
"Miralyte." My grip tightened on his shoulder. "Where is she?"
"The library." He tried to sit up straighter, years of training warring with whatever he'd been drinking. "She said she was going to the library."
