The Deadly Curse

17 | Miserable Magic

The King stepped back and threw his arms out again. "I declare a celebration to mark this occasion. One to celebrate the Earth maiden's bravery and compassion. Shall we give a few corollas to decorate and plan? Where is Mevalin? Mevalin!" Consumed with thoughts of the party—or perhaps picking up on my need to be alone with Prince Rune—King Hadeth flitted away.

Before the Prince could perform his vanishing act, I rounded on him and stepped closer. For good measure, I gripped his wrist, too. My gaze pierced into his. I asked, "Is everything okay?"

For a moment, the flames calmed ever so slightly. He struggled to cast me a gentle smile. "I'm . . . adjusting."

As he stood before me, scared and uncertain and the fire in his eyes lashing wildly, my heart cracked with a realization. He'd gone years without his magic. By now, he'd gotten used to living without it. It might've even felt wrong to have it back. Just as he had to get used to the absence of his magic, now, he had to get used to its presence.

My expression softened. My hand ghosted over the trail of jewels along his cheek. "They're gray now. Are they linked to your magic?"

He shook his head, leaning back to gain distance between us. "I believe so."

"What is your magic anyway?" I asked, lifting onto my toes in excitement.

Prince Rune caught my hands in his. His eyes misted over in flame. "Maiden, I'm not sure what the extent of my magic is. How it will manifest. I ask you to . . . please, be careful."

My eyebrows furrowed. Could his magic be dangerous?

He slid back, bowed, and pivoted. I watched until he turned a corner and disappeared from view.

I chewed the inside of my cheek.

Was he afraid of his magic? Had it been so long since it flowed through his veins that it felt foreign now? Could his magic actually be dangerous? Or perhaps this was a case of control. Since it'd been so long, maybe he'd forgotten how to control his magic and worried it would misfire.

Something stirred in my gut. Prince Rune seemed genuinely afraid. Was the return of his magic not the good thing I'd thought it to be? All those years ago, had he been relieved to lose his magic? But . . . why? And what had I done?

The castle flew into a flurry of activity. At the King's behest, one of the main floor ballrooms had been swept and prepped for the upcoming party. Before, the ballroom had acted as a sort of extravagant storage room: chairs, tables, crumpled banners, rolled up rugs, random mirrors, decaying plants. But now it'd been emptied, dusted, and decorated.

Yllumin coated the pillars from floor to ceiling. New banners in shades of gold spanned the vaulted ceiling. Vines and flowers curled along the outside edge of the ballroom. They'd installed a wooden stage, and strange instruments rested upon it. One looked like an elongated, twisted stick with holes at both ends. A mess of spindly flowers with long stems and longer petals hung from a rod. What appeared to be a gnarled horn of some kind of nightmarish beast had been hallowed out, with vines stringed across it—it reminded me of a guitar.