Chapter Four — Used for the Curse
1036 Words
Aria was awakened by the low murmur of curtains and a light breeze blowing on her body. During one moment, she was not even sure where she was. The ceiling was new--high, and the lines were silver-lined patterns, which she did not know. The bed linen under her was soft and warm, and not the coarse cotton that she had been accustomed to in her old pack.
Then it hit her.
Last night.
The Lycan King. His hands on her hips. His mouth on her neck. His teeth were again into her skin, and this time deeper, and the mark was sealed in a manner that tingled.
Her heart sank, and she sat up with a start, and knew that she was in her own room, not his.
Why had she woken alone?
Why had he brought her here, and handled her like that, and made a mark on her twice... only to send her back here like nothing had happened?
She had not time to collect herself when the door opened. One of the maids came in, bowing his head.
“Good morning, my lady. The throne room calls you to the throne.
Aria stiffened. “Right now?”
“Yes, my lady. The king ordered it.”
Her stomach tightened. There was something in the voice of the maid... fearful, almost too fearful... that made dread within her.
Still, Aria rose. She hurriedly got on, the maid assisting her in tying back her hair and smoothing out the plain dress which she had received. As she went out into the hallway, she was surrounded by guards silent, stoic, and tense.
The stroll to the throne room seemed like a long time more than it ought to have been. Each movement resounded in her heart. Her wolf would have been whispering, poking, responding... but there was nothing. Only a throbbing void where her wolf ought to be.
The guards opened the large wooden doors, and Aria went in--and stood still.
Rowan, the Lycan King, was seated on his throne.
And next him, within touching distance, was hers.
It was the same lovely lady who kissed him the day before yesterday when he had come back to the kingdom.
The one he hadn’t pushed away.
Rowan did not even feign to dissociate himself. The woman, with her dark hair and her keen eyes and the swollen lips that Aria had seen, was leaning a hand lightly on the side of his throne as though it were part of her.
Aria halted some feet back, heart racing. “Your Majesty… you summoned me.”
Hard. Controlled. Rowan looked at her. Nothing like that man who had touched her last night. Not like the mate who took her in his arms and left his mark on her skin.
“Aria,” he said, voice cool. You are going to have to understand something.
The lady next him smiled slightly. Not cruel, just… confident. As though she was aware how this would turn out.
Aria’s throat tightened. “Who… who is she?”
Rowan didn’t hesitate. “Lady Seraphine,” he said. “My lover.”
Aria was struck down by the words as by a blow.
“…your lover?” she whispered.
Seraphine raised her chin, and her eyes were cold, and challenging--almost daring Aria to respond.
Rowan continued, unbothered. She has been my companion many years. Before I ever heard of a mate existing.
Aria’s mouth went dry. “But… you marked me. Twice. You—”
I did what I had to do, Rowan broke in. “Nothing more.”
Her chest felt tight. “What does that mean?”
Rowan sat back, his face indistinguishable. There is a curse to my blood, he said. A curse which tells me that I cannot be with the one I love until I have marked my fate mate.
Aria stared, unable to blink. Unable to breathe.
“You… used me?” she whispered.
Rowan clenched his jaw a little. I fulfilled destiny, he corrected. I painted my destined mate to be cursed. That is all.”
Aria stepped back.
Her knees felt weak.
She could not speak without cracking her voice. So last night... it was nothing? The mate bond is a nothing to you?
Rowan looked in her eyes--and did not take her eyes off.
Nothing to me, he said, without any trace of gentleness. “Seraphine is the one I love.”
The words were like a knife into her flesh, bone, all the weak places left within her.
Seraphine moved nearer to him--not touching, but near enough so that the meaning was unmistakable: He belongs to me.
Aria took a swallow, and knew her palms were shaking.
You have made a mark on me, she said, nearly choking. “Why do that if—”
Rowan said simply that it was necessary to the curse. “A claim and a seal. Now the curse is broken. Now, Seraphine and I do not have to be punished because we are together.
Aria’s breath hitched.
Consequences.
He had taken her body. Her neck. Her freedom. Her fate.
Everything to become a man to love.
Her voice shook. And never intended to remain with you? Never meant to be your queen?”
No, Rowan replied without a second question.
Seraphine stood and stared with frozen triumph.
“I’m your mate,” Aria said softly. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”
Rowan didn’t blink. “It means you carry my mark. Nothing more. Your life played the role of fate that I required. The remainder is that of Seraphine.
The throat of Aria burnt, and she did not change her voice. “And what happens to me now?”
Rowan gazed at her like a king at a subject--not a lover.
You shall be attended to, he said. This kingdom glorifies doomed relationships. Romantically I will not be bound to you. Seraphine will still remain with me.
“I see,” she whispered.
Rowan did not even indicate remorse.
“Good,” he said. “I expected you to understand.”
Understand.
What was she to make of being a curse breaker? Taken, marked and thrown away like rubbish?
- Writer
