A Curse of Shadows

The path we’ve been following opens to a wider road that curves left toward our destination. There aren’t any other homes in this part of the town. The bigger buildings appear to be shops with interesting names like Bianca’s Bountiful Books, Claren’s Charming Crowns, and Walker’s Wolfish Wears.

Wolfish? Odd descriptor, but it works because if these places were open, that would be the first one I’d check out.

The road begins to incline, and we pass under a stone arch that leads into the lowest level of the castle. Inside the tall, grey brick walls stand two guards wearing the same midnight-colored garb as Cain, but they’re also covered in silver armor. Though they hold no weapons. Weird.

The moment they see us, both men drop to a knee and murmur my name. “Princess Isobella.”

Well, my dream name.

I don’t reply, half because I’m still confused about what’s happening and because another set of wooden doors I couldn’t see before start to open without anyone touching them.

What kind of drugs is my imagination on?

“Where is she?” a man’s deep voice booms, echoing from all directions.

My head turns left, then right, but I don’t see anything or anyone.

Cain bends to his knee and I start to do the same, not wanting to offend anyone, but he whispers, “You should bow when King Asher appears, not kneel, Your Highness.”

This princess thing is sounding a little better.

I attempt to do as Cain suggests, but my posture remains unyieldingly straight and my hands are clasped before me, a show of strength that I’m not certain I possess. Though it’s a position that innately feels appropriate for the situation.

From the lurking shadows, a pair of sapphire eyes start to materialize until a tower of intimidation steps out from the darkness. His shoulders broad and tense, a man I assume to be King Asher appears before us—though, he’s younger than I expected, maybe just a few years older than me—clothed in regal blues accented with silver threads.

The moment our gazes clash, my stomach churns, likely reading more into his stare than I should. One that feels like a storm of emotions directed right at me—disdain and annoyance, briefly replaced by something softer I can’t identify before going blank.

He stops several paces away, his darkening eyes raking over me and confirming my previous thought.

“Isobella.” He says my…name without addressing me as ‘princess,’ but more importantly with a layer of awe. Except the comfort of his tone doesn’t match the unease in his face as he appraises me with a glare, or the fact that his singularly spoken word makes my skin pebble.

Though that doesn’t stop me from giving him the same treatment. I take in his impressive height, the smattering of dark hair covering his cheeks and tight jawline along with the disheveled strands atop his head. I drag my stare over his broad chest, down to his thick thighs that are hidden by loose, black pants before I force my eyes back to his face.

“Asher.” His name falls easily from my lips as I smirk at his glowering presence.

What is wrong with me?

“It is you.” His eyes narrow and he tenses, crossing his arms. “How nice of you to return home after all this time.”

I tell myself to keep quiet, that commenting on his rudeness will get me nowhere. Yet unsurprisingly, my mouth seems to have other plans.

“How nice of you to think you can come charging out here and act as if I’ve done something wrong when I’ve never even met you.” I stand taller, my chin out, and let my arms fall loose at my sides.

My retort seems to shatter some of his hard edges instead of infuriating him, and I breathe a little easier. After being treated like trash and expected to be grateful for whatever scraps I received throughout my childhood, I made a vow the moment I was able to take charge of my own life. One that meant I wouldn’t put up with being spoken to like I’m nothing ever again. Apparently, that’s carrying through even in my dreams.

Cain rises from his bowed position. “King Asher, I didn’t get a chance to tell you before, but it seems Princess Isobella does not recall her time here.”

“Five hundred years is a long time, but that’s impossible,” he says, staying only slightly calmer than before. “Maybe some sleep will fix her…mind. Cain, take her to her room.” He glances at me once more. “I’ll speak with you in the morning.”

As the imposing—not at all sexy—king casually turns around and walks away, my terror returns.

Did he just say ‘five hundred years’ and send me to my room like I’m some sort of child?

What the hell is this guy talking about? Not only does he sound crazy, but his gravelly voice makes me envision a prison cell, not a swath of comfort. My hands start to shake and the tension filling my body makes it hard to do anything other than watch the arrogant king disappear into the shadows, even when Cain lightly touches my shoulder.

“I’ll show you the way, Princess Isobella,” he says as the other two guards go back to their sentries.

I can’t move. I’m frozen in place as my mind races. Where the hell am I and why does everyone think they know me, but not a single face is familiar? Worse, why does all of this feel so damn real?