Page 51 of The Dark Prince
In a flash, it came to me: I knew what she was doing. I recognized it from Roselle. She would do something similar to the other unmarried girls when we hosted balls, lording herself over them as she took them on tours and showed off her gowns and jewels.
The witch was flexing her power over me and offering a subtle warning: I’m in charge, foolish girl, and don’t you forget it.
I cleared my throat. “But you can help me, can’t you? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have let me through.” I peeked out at her from underneath my lashes, knowing from my time with Roselle that a little flattery would go a long way. “With your great power, I am honored to meet you.” I even gave a little curtsy and looked at her with what I hoped was awe and a little admiration.
The witch preened and a wave of her wrist had a teacup flying into her hand, steam still rising from the liquid inside. I didn’t comment on how she didn’t offer me one.
“The woods sensed a great purpose, so I feel generous today. What is your wish?” She acted like a benevolent queen, granting gold and favors down upon her poor subjects.
I sat down on the chair across from her, not waiting for an invitation. Her eyes flicked to me in annoyance, but I kept my face wide and innocent. “I wish to know the truth about the curse Tyr and his people are under. No one will tell me. Everyone acts frightened. I want to help.”
The witch leaned back in her chair. Her face was oddly smooth of any wrinkles or lines of age, but I instinctively sensed she was much, much older than me.
“They should cower with fear. Death and ruin are on their doorstep, and their lord refuses to do anything about it.” She took a sip of tea, eyes narrowing at me. “Or at least, he had in the past. Did you say you were his wife?” Her eyes sparked with interest.
I tried to keep my face blank, but fear had wedged its way into my heart. Yes was all I said. The witch flung her tea into the air, and I winced, expecting to watch it fall. It vanished into smoke inches from my face. The witch got right in front of my nose and ran one long, clawed nail down my cheeks. She tutted at the nicks and cuts that marred my skin.
“Such suffering for your poor husband. Does he feel the same about you?”
I winced. “It doesn’t matter. He saved me from a much worse fate. I’m grateful to him.”
The witch laughed in my face. Her breath reeked of rotting onions and garlic. “Oh, did he now?”
She stood and paced, circling around me like a vulture spotting a dying deer. “But you made it this far, so I will indulge you with some answers, but only if you’re clever enough to understand.”
My palms were sweating, but I nodded.
The witch put a finger to her chin in mock thought. “Now, for what reason would the king’s assassin disobey him directly by marrying you instead of his daughter? Why would the king offer his only child?”
Because they secretly love each other,whispered my traitorous brain.
“Because … he’s the king’s son?” I said instead.
The witch cackled. “Reason enough to wed a half-brother and half-sister together? Are you daft, girl?”
I ignored her and thought, letting my racing mind spin hundreds of possibilities and quickly discarding some while gathering others close to my chest.
“The people would riot for an incestuous union,” I started slowly. “That means the king doesn’t care because the consequences are so dire or that the kingdom would understand it for the same reasons.”
The witch sat back down, raising a brow in interest. She summoned her tea back, sipping deeply. “Go on.”
I went out on a limb. “There is a curse, and being married is part of it. Does it have something to do with the succession? If Tyr is the king’s bastard, then he could be heir to the throne over his daughter.”
The witch hummed noncommittally. “One can’t inherit a kingdom while cursed, can they?”
“Has Tyr had it since birth?” I asked, hoping she’d be more willing to give away small tidbits that would lead me to the overall conclusion.
The witch smirked. “No.”
“Does it have something to do with his scars?” I asked.
Her eyes narrowed, as if she were growing tired of my questions. “Yes. And no.”
I sighed. “And … having a bride is a way to break it?” I offered pitifully, unsure where all of this was going. I shook my head, then waved the question away.
“No, don’t answer. Why did he choose me?”
The witch shifted in her chair and drained the tea cup, tossing it over her shoulder like garbage. I wondered how much of the hovel had been the realcottage, and how much of the homey abode in front of me was the illusion.
