Tulia and Minnow, pure-blood princesses in the Myrian Royal Legion, saw me and dismounted from their horses. Their partners, Edric and Roland, followed suit.
“Ivy,” Tulia started, reaching for my arm, but her fingertips only brushed my sleeve as I pushed into the patrol’s scattered, battle-weary ranks. Struggling past the tired horses, road dust caught in my throat and the iron scent of blood stung my nose. My stiff legs screamed at me to slow down. Claws seemed to tear at my muscles, but at this point I wasn’t sure if it was the remains of the locking curse or the cold, painful fear of the horrid truth.
I couldn’t see him.
No, not another one.
Not another prince. Not another partner.
At last I found Kellian’s steed. But his rider was not astride. Instead, the brown stallion pulled a cart carrying a body lying across fresh hay and covered with a dark gray cloak. A legionnaire cloak. Kellian’s cloak.
Suppressing a moan, my weak legs gave out, and just before the cobbled road came up to meet me, Roland’s arms wrapped around my waist and hauled me up.
After my initial shock, a little relief inched into my shoulders. Kellian was alive, at least. Cursed, yes, but alive. Even if it might take him months to recover, I could still save him. I would not move on to my sixth partner in four years.
“If you’re not healed yet,” Roland began, his five-day stubble brushing my ear, “you shouldn’t try the Kiss.”
I understood Roland’s warning but would not heed it. I’d performed dozens of Kisses while drained and exhausted, and not one had been weaker for it. The magic within my Kiss was impossibly strong, despite the traces of some stupid curse.
My hand tightened around his arm. His leather guards were coated in dirt. “I’m healed enough.” I gently pushed his arm away and faced the immobile figure on the cart. With a quick prayer, I pulled the cloak from Kellian’s face. His brown hair was caked with dried blood, but his face had been cleaned—probably by Tulia or Minnow—showcasing his high cheekbones and sun-kissed skin. He was only two years younger than me, but lying there, seemingly asleep, he had the look of a child. At just fifteen, he was the purest prince in Myria, the only one with enough Royal Magic to match my own.
“How did it happen?” I asked, straightening and waving my hand over his face. Cold radiated from his skin. Definitely a curse of extreme magnitude.
“We were ambushed by the horde of goblins. It was just like the scouts from Raed had said—they came at us with magic we’d never seen before.” Minnow’s voice, usually so light, much like her soft, petite appearance, was low and trembling. “We barely had time to administer battle Kisses to any of the princes.”
“Is that why—”
“No,” Minnow said quickly. “I gave one to both Kellian and Roland. Your prince was protected, although…my magic is not as strong as yours.”
Because I knew I’d have to miss patrol thanks to the Kiss’s healing time for the locking curse, I’d asked Minnow to stay by my partner. If I couldn’t be there, a pure-blood princess was the best the Legion could offer. Minnow was strong and capable, but if I’d been there, if Kellian had used my Kiss instead, he’d be exhausted now, but awake. Not only because Kisses by one’s ordained partner were stronger by the Holy Queen’s blessing, but because my Kisses were the best. But due to our dwindling numbers, every able Royal was needed on patrol, regardless of having their partner with them. As King Randalph had reminded me when I’d requested Kellian be removed from patrol while I was out, there were other princesses perfectly able to bestow a Kiss—and any Royal’s Kiss was better than no Kiss.
Not this time, King Randalph.
“So…” I glanced at Minnow and Roland. “It was this new curse? What was it like?”
“I can show you.” Minnow held out two fingers and extended them toward my forehead.
I almost backed away. I didn’t want Minnow’s memories to become my own and join the rest of my nightmares in which my partners fell with lifeless eyes and blood trickling from their lips. But I had to see this mysterious new curse. I had to find out what my Kiss was up against.
I nodded and closed my eyes. Minnow touched her fingers to my forehead and whispered the words of shared memories. “Don’na illye min’na.”
My mind fogged, and a forest shimmered into existence, shapes and blurs all hazy in the edges of Minnow’s memories. But the thing she meant for me to see was mind-numbingly clear: Kellian, his body glowing with the cobalt flames of battle magic, engaged in a fight with a goblin. Kellian swung his sword, slashing the goblin’s face and tearing through its eye, leaving a crude, bloody gash. With a shriek and garbled words, the goblin began to cast a curse. Just as he let the curse fly—vibrant emerald lightning crackling through the goblin’s long spindly fingers—Kellian stabbed the goblin in the chest. The goblin dissolved into smoke, the ground alight with green flames. Its curse clung to Kellian’s sword and crawled over the metal, reaching the hilt. The green lightning danced over his hands and up his arms, then took over his entire body, shaking him like a puppet. The blue battle magic that had encased Kellian flickered and died as he crashed to the ground.
I reeled back from Minnow’s fingertips. Such power…a curse that existed even after a monster’s death? I leaned over my prince, feeling the cold roll off him in waves. Time was running out.
I was his only hope. The blood of the great Queen Myriana was his only hope. Blood that ran through my veins. My only hope. I will not lose another partner to the Forces of Darkness. I cannot endure that shame again. That pain…
I bent closer, my lips hovering over his.
I’ll save you, my friend.
With a quick prayer to my ancestor, the living goddess, the first Queen—O Holy Queen, lend me your strength—I prepared the strongest spell words in my arsenal for this revival Kiss.
Illye donia.
The words reverberated in my mind as I pressed my lips to his. Even in his comatose state, the Royal magic within Kellian surged forward and reacted with my own. Like flint striking steel, the two sparks created a flame that fed into the spell words. Magic drained out of me, into Kellian, and I nearly collapsed. Lightheaded, I held myself up on the cart long enough to watch silver dust wash over Kellian…then disappear like mist after a hard rain.
I stared in disbelief at Kellian’s unmoving body, barely hearing the shocked whispers behind me.
My Kiss had failed.
Chapter
Two
Ignoring the Pain
I crumpled, my back sliding down the wall of the cart and my tunic snagging on splinters. Almost as soon as my legs touched the cobbled stone road, Roland had me back up.
His hands gripped my arms tight enough to pull me from my shock. “I’m fine,” I said quickly, refusing to meet his gaze. “My legs are still a little stiff, that’s all.” I cleared my throat. “I need someone to give me a full report on the patrol and this new curse. And then—”
With callused fingers, Roland tilted my chin upward, forcing me to look into his dark eyes and equally dark face. “Go rest, Ivy. We’ll take care of him.”
Take care of him. As in, bring him to the Curse Ward to sleep away his days until his body aged and turned to dust.
Turning away from Roland, I searched Kellian’s face, neck, and arms for the slightest twitch to show my Kiss was working. Finally, my gaze landed on the back of his hand. The Mark of Myriana—my mark—an ornate crest of holly and ivy curled together in a crown, wrapped around the back of his hand and traveled up his wrist to the base of his palm. The mark appeared burned and smoky—no longer sharp, clear lines as it had once been.
Kellian’s mark resided on the back of my own hand. The crest of the Royal House of Elhein was a mountain lion’s claw with two swords crossed. It now looked faded and worn, too.
I grabbed his hand, covering the mark, and squeezed it. No response. “Please wake up, Kellian,” I murmured.