Chapter 3 – The Prince’s Curse
The palace was a labyrinth.
Elara followed Kael through gleaming corridors lined with crimson carpets and gilded sconces, her heart pounding at every turn. Servants bowed as they passed, whispering behind their hands, their eyes darting curiously toward her. She could feel their judgment—the plain, cloaked healer trailing behind the Crown Prince like some stray dog he’d dragged in from the woods.
Kael didn’t slow his pace, his storm-grey gaze fixed ahead, his expression unreadable.
They finally arrived at a set of towering doors guarded by two soldiers in black and silver armor. Without a word, the guards swung them open, revealing Kael’s chambers.
Elara had never seen such a room. It was larger than her entire cottage, with high vaulted ceilings and heavy drapes of deep blue silk. A marble fireplace flickered warmly, casting dancing shadows across the polished floor. Yet despite the grandeur, the space felt… cold.
Kael dismissed the guards with a flick of his hand. Once the doors shut behind them, he sank onto a velvet armchair, exhaling slowly. The confident prince who had commanded soldiers only moments ago now looked weary, the faintest tremor in his hand as he rubbed his temples.
“You should rest,” Elara said softly, instinctively stepping toward him.
He gave her a faint smirk. “You’re very bold for someone standing in the lion’s den.”
“I just saved your life,” she shot back before she could stop herself.
His smirk deepened. “That you did.”
Elara flushed and looked away. She wasn’t used to speaking to nobles, let alone the heir to the throne. Still, there was something about Kael that unsettled her—a sharpness beneath his calm exterior, like a blade hidden in silk.
She unpacked her satchel, setting out jars of salve and bandages. As she knelt to examine his wound, Kael unbuckled his armor piece by piece, revealing the long gash across his ribs. The magic had sealed the flesh, but the skin around it was darkened, faint veins of black branching outward.
Elara frowned. “That’s not normal…”
Kael’s eyes flicked to hers. “It’s not from the blade. The curse spreads faster when I’m injured.”
She froze. “Curse?”
He leaned back, watching her reaction. “Ah. So you didn’t know who you were saving.”
She swallowed hard. “I… knew you were the prince. I didn’t know about a curse.”
Kael chuckled softly, though there was no humor in his eyes. “Most don’t. My father keeps it quiet. He doesn’t want the kingdom knowing their future king might not live to see his coronation.”
Elara’s breath caught. “Not live…?”
He tugged his shirt aside, revealing a strange sigil burned into his chest, glowing faintly beneath his skin. It was the same serpent-and-crown symbol she’d seen on his armor, but this one pulsed like it was alive, its edges darkened and raw.
“This,” he said, tracing it with his fingers, “is a death mark. A sorcerer placed it on me when I was sixteen. No healer has been able to remove it. Every wound, every illness, every drop of magic near me it feeds on it. Slowly, it kills me.”
Elara felt a chill creep down her spine. She reached out instinctively, her fingers hovering over the mark. The magic in her veins stirred, whispering warnings she couldn’t understand.
“Don’t touch it,” Kael murmured, his voice low but sharp.
She jerked her hand back. “Sorry.”
He studied her, his gaze heavy. “You’re different,” he said finally. “Your magic… it didn’t make the mark worse.”
Elara frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Every healer who’s tried to help me has only strengthened the curse. But you… you didn’t.”
She blinked, unsure what to say. She wasn’t trained in advanced magic only the simple healing spells her mother had passed down before she died. Yet something about his words sent a thrill of fear and curiosity through her.
Kael leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers. “Who taught you your magic?”
“My mother,” Elara whispered. “She… she was a healer too.”
“Is she alive?”
Elara’s throat tightened. “No.”
For a moment, Kael’s expression softened. Then, as quickly as it came, the softness vanished.
“Stay close to me, Elara,” he said, his tone suddenly sharp. “Don’t speak of your magic to anyone. Not even the servants. If my father suspects you’re more than just a healer…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.
That night, Elara sat by the fire in Kael’s chamber, watching him sleep. The mark on his chest glowed faintly, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. She had seen curses before—small ones, cast by bitter villagers—but never something like this. This magic felt ancient, dangerous, alive.
Her fingers tingled with energy, her instincts whispering that there was a way to break it. But even if she could, doing so would expose her magic… and magic was a death sentence in this kingdom.
A knock at the door startled her.
“Your Highness,” a guard’s voice came through the wood. “The King requests your presence in the council chamber.”
Kael stirred, sitting up with a grimace. “Tell him I’ll be there shortly,” he said, his voice rough.
The guard’s footsteps retreated. Kael turned to Elara, his stormy gaze sharp.
“Stay here,” he ordered. “And lock the door behind me. Don’t open it for anyone but me. Understood?”
Elara nodded nervously.
As Kael left, the chamber felt colder, emptier. She tried to busy herself by cleaning her tools, but unease coiled in her stomach. Something about this palace didn’t feel safe not for Kael, and certainly not for her.
Then, a sound broke the silence.
A faint scraping noise, like metal on stone.
Elara froze, her eyes darting to the balcony. The curtains shifted slightly, though there was no breeze.
Her heart pounded as she grabbed a candle and moved closer.
The balcony doors creaked open.
A figure in black slipped inside, a dagger glinting in the candlelight.
Elara’s breath hitched.
Another assassin.
And this time, Kael wasn’t here to protect her.