Kiss of the Royal

In one hand she held a damp rag, and in the other she balanced a steaming pot, probably containing a stew full of medicinal herbs. She smiled down at us like we were old friends.

We were silent as she made her way down the stairs. The mage handed her cauldron to the pregnant woman. “Rochet, I’ve given this to all the sick upstairs. It should help ease their pain. Can you give it to the rest so I can inform the prince and princess of the type of sickness?”

Rochet nodded. “Of course, thank yeh, Lady Millennia.” She took the pot then crossed into the east wing, her footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor.

“So your name is Millennia,” I said.

Her smile disappeared, and a scrutinizing look took its place. “I figured you were only a day behind me. Got caught in the storm, did you?”

I almost asked how she’d been able to evade it when she’d been at least two hours behind us after getting rid of the sparrow harpies, but I decided there were more important things to be concerned about.

“Where’s your master?” I asked for the second time.

She ignored the question and continued, “Although I have to admit, I had only half hoped you’d pass by this village.”

“And what do you mean by that?” I asked, my hands on my hips.

“I meant only that you, like all other Royals, would want to cure this village the easy way—with a Kiss.”

I bristled. “Easy way? A counter-curse Kiss is not easy. It takes years of study to master the spells for every sickness, and once administered—” I stopped myself from saying the rest: that it leaves a princess almost incapacitated. I didn’t want Zach to use that as another excuse not to Kiss me later.

Millennia moved close to Zach, narrowing her deep blue eyes. “So the rumors I heard weren’t true. You’re not a Romantica, since you’ve obviously allied yourself with a Royal. It’s disappointing to me that you took a partner.”

“Oh.” Zach blinked. “I pray you’ll forgive me, milady. After all, everything I’ve ever done in my miserable life was so I wouldn’t be a disappointment to you.”

Brom snorted and quickly tried to cover it up with a cough.

“Funny,” Millennia said with a scowl, then her gaze flickered to me. “I’d hoped one of us might be able to infiltrate their twisted army and still uphold our beliefs, but seems I was wrong.”

“Millennia,” I said, surprised. “You’re a Romantica?” I didn’t know Romantica mages even existed.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, princess. What will you do? Tattle on me?”

“Is that why you don’t have a master?” I asked.

“Despite what your arrogant Legion would have you believe, there are Romantica mages, and I do have a master, but no, she’s not here. If you haven’t noticed, I am gifted. I don’t need a tutor every moment of every day.”

Perhaps the Romantica had their mages on a longer leash than Royals. Even so, it was odd. Then I heard coughing from above, and with a pang of guilt I realized now was not the time to interrogate this girl about her eccentricities. “Tell me about the sickness. We want to help.”

Millennia took a step back and shook out her sleeves. She regarded me for a moment and sighed. “Follow me.”

With a glance at one another, we followed Millennia down the east wing. It was a wide hallway that would’ve smelled of cedar but now smelled of decay and death and got worse the farther we walked. Millennia spoke over our footsteps. “According to Rochet, a mysterious traveler came to the village about a week ago, asking for a room. The traveler took the room and disappeared the next morning, leaving traces of ol’yen ash.”

“A witch,” I said. The skin of witches was dry and flaky, which made them shed something that looked and smelled like ash. Then I remembered, when we first met her, Millennia had said she’d been going after a witch. “Is she the one you were searching for?”

Millennia gave a short nod, keeping up her brisk pace. “Had to be. The villagers hoped the witch had only passed through the town, slept in a room, ate a hot meal, took water from the well, and that’s it. They didn’t think they’d done anything to offend the witch, but as it turned out, during one of their days chopping wood they had come across a garden of dark herbs and uprooted it, worried it would attract beasts.”

“The garden was the witch’s,” I groaned.

“So naturally, the old crone took her vengeance. And the next morning after she left, some of the villagers started fainting with a high fever, then large purple blotches starting appearing on their feet, paralyzing them.”

“When the blotches reach their chest, it restricts the lungs and puts them in a deep sleep,” I continued, “but when it reaches their heart…”

“How long does it usually take to reach their heart?” Zach asked.

“Depending on the strength of the person, the curse can last a whole month before reaching the lungs. But once it reaches the lungs, they have only twenty-four hours,” Millennia said as we came to another large set of double doors.

“The Curse of Venera,” I murmured. Although it was a terrible curse, part of me was relieved it was not an airborne sickness. Instead, the Curse of Venera was spread through a poison of some sort. More than likely it was in the villagers’ food supply or the clothes they wore.

“Not a pretty curse. And a very powerful one.” Millennia wrenched open the doors, and we were slammed with a terrible stench. The smell of rotting skin made my eyes water. I wanted to hold my breath, but I knew it wouldn’t help.

Brom staggered back and covered his nose and mouth. Zach grimaced, brought a fist to his mouth, and coughed.

Rochet and a few other villagers went from bed to bed in the giant meeting hall. Based on the number of houses outside, it had to be at least a fifth of the villagers lying in this room, simply hanging on and waiting until they found the sweet release of death.

“These aren’t even the worst-off patients. Those with the curse in their lungs are upstairs,” Millennia said, her voice thick. “I was able to whip up a stew to ease their pain, but my knowledge of medicinal herbs goes only so far.”

Millennia turned and led us out of the meeting-room-turned-infirmary.

“If you knew about this cursed village why didn’t you tell us when we first met?” I asked.

Millennia scowled, folding her arms inside her robes. “I didn’t know, princess. Like I told you, I was following a witch, that’s all. I can burn a witch with my mage fire, but I can’t very well burn an entire village to cure what the witch left behind, can I?”

I pursed my lips, still mystified a mage would be going after a witch by herself, but the stench in the room and the coughing reminded me again—now was not the time.

I scanned the length of the hall. “How many have died so far?”

“Ten. Gone and burned,” Millennia answered.

“Are you sure the worst are upstairs?”

“That we know of. Many may be staying in their homes and trying to take care of themselves, wanting privacy as they rot.”

Her words sounded heartless, but she spoke the truth—they were rotting.

“I’d like to see the worst patient you have up there—to make my own assessment.”

She held up her hands and gave me a look of indifference. “I understand, but I advise you, princess, to be quick in whatever you decide. These people don’t have long.”

My gaze shot to Zach, who was looking at the sea of beds, each holding a victim of the Curse of Venera.

I turned to Brom, who had gone a little green, and instructed him to shadow Rochet, doing whatever she needed him to. Then Millennia told me where to find the worst patient—an eight-year-old girl at the end of the east hall, upstairs, last door on the left. Apparently she had slipped into the deep sleep yesterday. She had less than three hours to live.

Zach followed me up the steps and down the hall. What would he say when he saw the true effects of the curse? Surely there’d be no shred of doubt in his mind that Kissing me was the right thing to do.

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