The Royal's Mate: Fated to the Cursed One

The Touch

At the Crowned Heir's command, Father let go, and I hit the ground hard, like a sack of stones. I was finally free, but my hands were still at my neck, feeling Father's grip choking the life out of me.

I raised my head, and there was no remorse in his eyes. Instead, he glared down at me as I struggled to breathe, his blood-red eyes bulging, his shoulders still rising and falling with untamable rage. It was clear—he only stopped before my last breath because of the Crowned Heir.

But not even the Crowned Heir will save me from—

“Crowned One,” Stepmother’s voice cut through the tense silence—speaking of the devil. “Forgive us for this...” She raised both her hands, thinking about the right word, "embarrassment. And on behalf of the House of Greyson, I can assure you, she will be—”

The Crowned Heir raised his hands, and Stepmother's words died in her throat before she could finish speaking. He stood up, and the room fell into such silence that nobody could move a muscle. My heart leaped into my chest as I watched him turn toward me.

And slowly he did. But when I saw his eyes, I saw it in his eyes.

He had felt it too—the surge of power, the way time had stilled, and the strange calm that had washed over me. It was all there, reflected in his gaze. I could swear to the gods that he felt it too. I don't know how, but I was sure of it.

Father cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Crowned One," he said. "I can assure you she’ll be dealt with. She is a clumsy—"

"—Cursed!" Emma corrected her father. "She’s cursed!"

“Treason! You went and let a cursed wretch serve the Crowned Heir of Lunaria? Maybe the whole House of Greyson ought to be punished for this!” someone from the House of Howell said.

“And she shall be punished as befits her transgressions,” Stepmother responded quickly. Even then, all she cared about was protecting the name of the family. “She is not one of us! And I shall personally see to her punishment.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I heard her speak about me like that—like I wasn't even there.

“Punished? Lady Anita, you think punishing her will do? She ought to be killed for this!” declared the head of House Howell. “If she’s defiled the Royal Bloodline, then she’s gone and defiled all of Lunaria!”

"I said, Enough!" The Crowned Heir's voice thundered through the room with his hand raised for effect. The room fell into a suffocating silence, so thick it felt like you could cut it with a knife. Every breath was held as the weight of his words settled over them.

With his eyes fixed on me, he began to walk toward me. I started to take steps back, my heart pounding with fear at the thought of what he might do when he reached me. I kept moving back until my back hit the wall—until there was nowhere else to go.

Standing barely a foot away, he stopped and leaned in close. My breath felt like it had stopped, my lips quivered, and tears rolled down my chin. I braced myself. Any moment now, he would rip out my heart and end my miserable existence.

I closed my eyes and knew that was it. The end of me.

But suddenly, "Who are you?" His voice cut through the silence.

His question wrinkled my forehead as I sluggishly opened my eyes—all my fears replaced by confusion.

"Speak!" The Royal Guard behind him shouted, snapping me back into fear.

I jolted, bowed my head immediately, and tried to answer, but my voice seized as my mind waged war with itself. Who could I say I was? A Greyson?

"Are you deaf?" The Crowned Heir asked, his tone oddly calm, as if he were genuinely curious.

I shook my head, unable to meet his gaze.

"Then answer me. Who are you?" He asked again, his voice firmer.

I nodded, cleared my throat, and whispered, “A... a slave.”

"A slave?" He repeated, his brow furrowing. He glanced at the others, but before Stepmother could speak, he cut her off. "You are no slave," he said, his tone shifting. "Who are you?"

I flinched at his roar. “I am a slave,” I choked out, my voice cracking with tears.

His gaze was steady, as if he were studying me for any sign that I was lying. He didn’t believe me, and I couldn’t comprehend why. Never before had I needed to prove I wasn’t a slave to anyone. Yet here I stood, dressed like one, and he still held all the doubt in the world.

“Crowned One,” Stepmother said, and for the first time, I was relieved to hear her voice as it drew his attention away from me. “She is a slave of the House of Greyson.”

“And what is her name?” the Crowned Heir asked.

“Jessica Gre...” Her voice faltered, but after clearing her throat, she continued. “Jessica, Crowned Heir.”

“Jessica?” The Crowned Heir echoed, turning his gaze back to me. He looked me up and down before asking, “And where is she from?”

Stepmother cleared her throat again, her voice wavering. “Um, from here, Crowned One.”

The Crowned Heir frowned. “Every slave here was bought for a price from a conquered kingdom.” He glanced back at Stepmother, his tone sharpening. “Which of those kingdoms is she from?”

Why does he want to know that? I wondered, but I wasn’t alone in my confusion. It was clear on Stepmother’s face—I’d never seen her so bewildered before.

“I…”

“She was found as a baby in the forest by Father,” Emma interrupted, cutting off her mother.