Page 120 of Of Curses and Courtship

It feels like mine.

My heart clenches.

Look to the sun, for he is the one.

Emyr. It could speak of any Sun Fae, but I know it is supposed to be him. He’s the embodiment of the sun.

Tricky fae with their pointy teeth and tight jawsthink they are high enoughto tiptoe around mortal laws.

A fae clearly didn’t write this prophecy. This part reads exactly like the mortals I know, who muttered stories. It was always the fae who were blamed. We didn’t know of the curse—only that the land would fall, and fae were to blame.

This is why it misled us and made us overlook the truth. We thought the fae were killing our people, but we were wrong.

How much more could we be wrong about?

I peer over the tales of the sorceress, who appears to be the hero in the story. I stop, and my heart does along with me.

A halfling, taken by lustful greed.If she intervenes, both sides will fall.

This can’t be me. How could I bring about the end? I’m trying to break the curse. I’ve been helping Emyr for weeks.

This is all so different from what I believed growing up.It’s as if mortals twisted these words, and… why does this prophecy not speak of the curse at all—at least, not in so many words? Perhaps the two are not connected.

But it feels unlikely.

I’m left with more questions, but should I bother Emyr with them? We are to be wed; that will surely end the curse, and all of this along with it.

“Ophelia?”

Gods. I slam the book shut. A bit of dust puffs into my face, and I sneeze, giving myself away.

“Over here!” I call, shoving the book under the others. “Just doing a bit of research.”

Emyr stands tall, leaning against a stone wall. “You’re still researching curses, hm?” His smile is all sunshine, and I swear the dark room brightens. “Come on. We’ll break the curse in a few weeks. There’s nothing more to learn.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” I stand and brush off my emerald gown—a new one gifted by Emyr. “I shall put these away.”

“Do that.” He nods. “And meet me downstairs soon. I have a private dinner planned.”

“But of course.”

He leaves. I’m alone.

Even with the book closed, I let my mind wander over the final words of the dreaded prophetic curse.

This is not sinister. It is not revenge. It is simply the tale of what we shall know as…

The end

Don’t tellhim about the prophecy.

Please, don’t ruin this lovely dinner by discussing that dreaded curse. It’s all we have spoken of for months. We can focus on love now. We are to be wed; the large ring on myfinger is proof of that. As soon as the moon is full, we’ll break the curse.

While the ring still elicits bliss, the simple sight filling me with glee, it’s not enough to eclipse the terror that followed me to dinner.

We have the dining room to ourselves, just two people squeezed into the corner of the large table. A white cloth is spread over the wooden surface, and half of the table is filled with golden dishes of delectable food.

Tea, pastries, soup, roasted vegetables, and roast beef so savory a single bite would make my toes curl. In another life, I would reach right for the main courses, but I’m to be a princess—and someday, a queen. I must have more decorum than that.