My eyes are shining, and I can’t keep the smile off my face. We haven’t said much to each other, but I feel like we understand each other on a deep, unspoken level.
I sit down at my chair and nibble on some wedding cake. Elle sits down beside me, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. “So, you and Damon, huh?”
I shake my head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Is this why you’ve been so quiet the past few months? How long has this been going on?”
“Nothing is going on, Elle.” I steal a glance toward Damon, who’s talking to another guest.
“Uh huh,” Elle says. I glance over to see her rolling her eyes. “Now I understand how frustrating it must have been to see me with Charlie a few months ago,” she laughs. “You just won’t admit to yourself that you like Prince Damon.”
“He’s okay,” I grin.
“Have you…”
“Have I what?”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “You know.”
“God, no! Elle!” My face turns bright read and I bury my face in my wine.
Elle laughs, leaning back in her chair and sweeping her hands over her pregnant stomach. She shakes her head. “You’re a terrible liar, Dahlia. Plus, the first two years we lived together, you broke three bed frames. I haven’t been woken up by squeaking bed springs in months!”
“I’m exploring celibacy.”
Elle’s eyes flash. “You like him, don’t you?”
“Of course not.”
“You like him a lot.”
“Why are we talking about this?” I laugh, shaking my head. “Nothing is going on! We should be talking about you and Charlie. We should be celebrating your wedding and your new baby.”
“I like to celebrate love in all its forms, Dahlia, including young love and new, budding relationships.”
“Shut up,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s nothing. Prince Damon is cute, that’s all.”
Elle purses her lips and shakes her head. “Well, well, well, the tables have turned. Now, I’m not the one blushing anymore.”
I laugh, putting my hands to my cheeks to hide the redness. My thoughts flick back to the study, and then to the throne, and to the thousands of dirty thoughts I’ve had in between.
“You’re screwed,” Elle says with a laugh. “You like him. You’re in so much trouble.”
I glance at her and take a deep breath. I let it out without answering, but I know she’s right. I like him a lot, which means I’m completely, royally screwed.
22
Damon
This time, I’m not going to let Dahlia get away from me. The Raventhals are officially welcome in Farcliff now, which means she has no excuse. She can’t run away from me again.
The day after the wedding, I show up on her front doorstep. No more waiting and hoping for her to call. No more putting the ball in her court.
I want her, and I will have her.
Dahlia opens the door and her eyes widen. “Your Highness! What are you doing here?”
“Call me Damon, Dahlia. I would hope we’re past formalities by now.”
“Fine. Damon, what are you doing here?” She grins, opening the door wider. I step inside. She motions toward the kitchen and I follow her. She’s wearing that sparkly purple robe again, and I remember the very first time I saw her, and how much I wanted to tear that robe off her body.
Maybe today will be the day.
“Coffee?” She motions to the machine.
“Please.”
I watch her put the coffee on, and then she leans against the kitchen counter and stares at me. “What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping you’d stay at the castle last night. You disappeared before I could talk to you again. I asked you not to leave without saying goodbye.”
“That was by design,” she laughs. “You’re too persuasive for your own good.”
I take a deep breath. I’ve been rehearsing a speech in my head all morning, and now it’s time to deliver it. The thought of letting Dahlia slip through my fingers again is unbearable, and I can’t let it happen.
“Dahlia, look. I know you have reservations about going to the Farcliff Castle, and I understand that. I know you don’t trust me or my family, and I’m not trying to pressure you into anything. I was hoping—”
“What are the bruises on your body from?”
I pause. Neither of us say anything. The coffee machine gurgles.
“Nothing.” My back stiffens and I force myself to hold her gaze.
“So, you’re telling me that I should trust you, but you won’t tell me why every time I see your bare chest, it looks like you’ve been beaten to a pulp the week before?”
My ears burn. I try to swallow past a lump in my throat as my mind races. This wasn’t part of the script I’d planned out in my head. This wasn’t part of the plan.
Dahlia arches an eyebrow.
In that moment, I know I have two choices. I can lie and protect myself—and potentially lose any chance I have with Dahlia…
…or I can tell the truth.
“I pay a man in Grimdale to beat me.”
My voice is flat and emotionless. I hold Dahlia’s gaze without wavering as the weight of my words settles between us.
I’ve never told anyone that before. I’ve never even considered telling someone. It’s my biggest secret, my biggest shame.
Yet, telling Dahlia was easy.
Her brows draw together and a couple of lines appear in her forehead. The coffee is ready, but both of us ignore it. Dahlia grips her bathrobe tighter around her chest and stares at me.
“What do you mean?” She asks softly.
“I mean that whenever things get too much, when I find myself in a deep, dark hole, I go to a warehouse in Grimdale and I pay someone to beat the shit out of me. He doesn’t touch my face. No one knows.”
I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. I sit a little taller, watching her. Dahlia pads lightly toward me and puts her hands on either side of my face. She tilts her head up toward me, staring deep into my eyes.
“Why in the world would you do that?” Her voice is husky, barely above a whisper.
My heart thumps. I shrug. “It’s the only way to think clearly when it all gets too much. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Oh, Damon,” she says softly. Sadness fills her eyes and I shake my head.
“That’s not why I told you. I didn’t tell you so that you’d feel sorry for me. I’ve never told anyone this, Dahlia, but I told you because I want you to trust me. When you walked away from me before…” I suck a breath in through my teeth. “…it nearly killed me. I can’t explain it. I know I’m coming on too strong. I don’t want to freak you out. I just…”
As I search for the right words, Dahlia presses her lips to mine. She sits down across my lap and pulls me closer, sighing against me.
All the confusion, the doubts, the fear—they all evaporate.
My heart soars.
I wrap her in my arms, holding her close to me as I claim her lips. She feels tiny in my lap—and so fucking perfect it shouldn’t even be possible.
I’ve never told anyone about my beatings before, and I’d never intended to. I thought when I stopped needing them, I’d stop going to see Nigel, and that would be the end of it. I thought I’d never be comfortable enough with a woman to tell her. I thought I’d live with my broken, dark heart forever.
Telling Dahlia the truth stitched a part of my heart back together.
She pulls away from me, her hands still resting on my face. Dahlia gazes deep into my eyes.
“I want you to stop doing that to yourself.”
“Okay.”
“I mean, it, Damon. This thing between us…” She takes a deep breath. “It shouldn’t feel so right, but it does. I want to keep seeing you, but I want you to stop hurting yourself.”
In this moment, I’d promise her anything. I’d say anything to taste her lips again—but the way she’s looking a
t me makes me pause.
For the first time in many, many years, I consider what she’s saying. What would happen if I were to stop? What would happen if I never went to Nigel again? What would happen if I had to deal with the Darkness on my own?
“Whatever it is inside you that makes you do that, I’ll help you with it,” Dahlia says softly, answering my unsaid questions. It’s like she can feel the buzzing in my head, and she knows exactly what to say to make it quiet down.
I gulp, and finally nod my head. “Okay.”
“You’ll stop?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Dahlia rests her head on my shoulder and takes a deep breath. She melts into my arms, and we sit there for a few moments without saying anything.
It feels so good to have her here like this. This is where she’s supposed to be—where I’m supposed to be. I close my eyes and squeeze my arms around her, trying to understand these feelings inside me.
Whatever this is between us—this chemistry, this spark—it’s real. We can both feel it, and we both want to pursue it. Even after months apart, it feels like no time has passed at all.
That has to mean something, right? That has to be worth fighting for? Worth being honest for? Worth changing for?
I tilt her chin up toward me and I kiss her gently, feeling her body quiver against mine. As I kiss her there in the kitchen where I first met her, I know that there’s no turning back. Even if I wanted to leave, something has changed between us.
There’s no more running, no more secrets, no more tangled family pasts to keep us apart. For the first time, Dahlia and I can be open with each other. We can face our deepest fears—together. Me with my own demons, and Dahlia with her family’s past.
Everything clicks into place, and it’s not about crazy sex and burning passion—it’s about us, together. Nothing more, and nothing less.
23
Dahlia
Aunt Theresa is right. I can’t live my life in fear of some stupid, non-existent curse, or keep worrying about what my family thinks. I need to make decisions for myself—and not just my hair color. I need to decide how I want to live my life, and who I want to live it with.
Not to mention Prince Damon is very convincing. His kiss is, at least—and his touch. I rest my head against his shoulder and let out a sigh.
“So, we’re doing this?” I ask in a small voice.
“We’re doing this.”
“You’re not worried about dating a Raventhal?”
“Not in the slightest.” Damon chuckles, smoothing his hand over my hair. He kisses my forehead and I sigh into his chest. It feels good to be in his arms. It’s warm, safe, and comforting. It’s home.
I take a deep breath. I feel like I need to say it out loud to prove to myself that I can.
“What if I told you I’m cursed? That everything in my life ends up going wrong, and that it’s always been this way?”
“Maybe we’re both cursed, and our curses will cancel each other out,” Damon says. I can hear the grin in his voice. He kisses my forehead again and I lean back to stare into his eyes.
“This curse is no joke.” I say, keeping my face serious. “You could be getting yourself in a whole heap of trouble.”
“Maybe I like trouble.” The Prince’s eyes flash. He pauses, tilting his head. “Wait, are you being serious right now?”
I bite my lip, blushing. “I know it sounds crazy.”
“Is this why you didn’t want to see me before? Do you really think you’re cursed?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what I think anymore. My mother used to say it to me when I was younger. It just stayed with me, I guess.”
“That’s a bit…” He frowns.
“A bit what?”
“Well, manipulative.”
I frown, considering his words. “I don’t know if I’d go so far as to call it manipulative.”
“Telling a small child that she’s cursed, to the point where she carries that shit into adulthood? That’s kind of fucked up, don’t you think? I don’t know. I’m no expert in healthy parent-child relationships, but that seems weird to me.”
I chew my lip, nodding. “Yeah.”
My instinct is to defend my mother—it’s what I always do. But when I stop and think about Damon’s words, it makes me realize that he might have a point. This curse has always hung over my head—just like my fear of Farcliff.
Damon chuckles and kisses the tip of my nose. “I’ll risk a curse if it means I get to be with you.” I yelp as he scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder. He carries me to my bedroom and kicks the door closed behind us.
Laughing, I wriggle in his arms until he drops me on the bed. His eyes are heady and his lips are too tempting to resist. I wrap my arms around him and melt into his embrace.
This time, we use protection, and I vow to go and pick up a new birth control prescription as soon as possible. Having unprotected sex in his study was irresponsible. I know it was, but I just can’t bring myself to regret it.
The Prince surprises me when he agrees to sleep over at my dumpy Grimdale house. I’m lying on his chest, drawing circles with my fingertips over his skin.
“Are you sure this is luxurious enough for you?” I ask, grinning.
“Being with you is luxurious, Dahlia. I don’t need a feather bed.”
I smile, inhaling the scent of his skin. “You could be the Prince and the Pea for all I know. Maybe you won’t be able to sleep a wink in this shack of mine. You’ll feel every spring in my old mattress.”
“I don’t intend on sleeping, but it won’t be because the mattress isn’t soft enough,” the Prince growls, flipping me onto my back.
I squeal and giggle, wrapping my arms around him. He props himself up on his elbows and strokes my hair, sighing.
“I’m happy when I’m with you, Dahlia.”
I stroke the side of his face. “‘One should never direct people towards happiness, because happiness too is an idol of the marketplace. One should direct them towards mutual affection.” I stretch my head up to kiss his neck. “A beast gnawing at its prey can be happy too, but only human beings can feel affection for each other, and this is the highest achievement they can aspire to.’”
Damon struggles to fight the smile off his face. “And which Russian novelist said that?”
“Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn.”
“Well,” Damon says, sliding off to my side and lifting me up to straddle him. “Then, I feel affection for you, Dahlia, and I hope that the feeling is mutual. Does Alexander Whatshisname approve of that?”
“He’s dead, so I can’t ask him,” I grin, “but I’m sure he would.”
“How do you remember these quotes off the top of your head? Maybe you should be studying literature.”
I shrug. “Our brains just remember things we’re interested in.”
The Prince’s eyes soften, and his fingers sink into my thighs. My heart thumps.
Turns out, the Prince is right. Neither of us sleep a wink that night.
I should know that something bad will happen. I should be prepared for it.
I’ve said it before—I’m cursed, even if I don’t quite believe it anymore.
But do I think of the curse when Damon sweeps me off my feet and makes me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world?
No, of course not.
I should know that anytime something good happens, something bad is sure to follow.
And things with Damon are very, very good. I can’t keep the smile off my face. I rush home after class and find him in my house, and then we fall into bed together. I wake up tangled in his arms, and my heart soars.
I forget about my past, about my family name, about the curse. I forget about my mother, and about the Queen.
I forget about everything except the Prince—the way he looks, the way he moves, the way he makes me feel.
It’s euphoric. It’s magic. He knows all my buttons, and pushes them gladly, as if we’ve lived a
thousand lifetimes together.
In reality, it’s only been a couple of weeks. But Damon starts sleeping over at my place, and we fall into an easy routine. I’ve never had anything happen so easily. Once I let go of my fears, it just feels right.
My studies are going well, and my internship at the university lab is fascinating. I haven’t dropped anything, or slipped on any banana peels, or had any bad luck in weeks.
Even with precise lab work, I can pipette and decant and do everything with a steady hand. My first week at the lab, I smashed four glass beakers. Since I’ve been with Damon, I haven’t broken a single one.
He’s equally as busy with his residency, and I admire him for it. I know it’s not easy for him to give up his royal life in order to serve as a doctor—and he gets a lot of pushback for it both inside and outside the castle walls. To his credit, he keeps going.
Usually, Damon sleeps over at my place. He bought me some better pillows and fixed the leaky faucet in the bathroom.
It’s… nice. It’s natural. It’s easy. My heart beats for him, and I live two weeks in complete bliss.
But all good things must come to an end. In my case, it’s not so much an end as a snap back to my eternally cursed reality.
Two weeks after Prince Damon moves in with me, I finally make it to the doctor to refill my birth control prescription.
Doctor Nokes leads me into her examination room and motions to a chair. She has bright blue-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose, and she always wears a kind smile. She’s never judged me or made me feel uncomfortable, which is why I’ve kept coming back to her. Today, though, my heart is beating a little faster than usual and I’m not sure why.
The doctor taps on her computer to pull up my file. “Okay, Dahlia, looks like it’s time for a pelvic exam. I’ll have to do one before I can give you a new prescription. We can do it right now, if you like.”
I smile. “Sure.”
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