A woman dressed in velvet red among the crowd started muttering in an unmistakable Fae dialect that reached my ears but remained undecipherable.
What should I do?
I can’t cast counterspells for this! Heck, I don’t even know what ritual or spell this is. My hands trembled as I embraced myself yet again.
What do I do?
The wild thumping inside my chest continued as panic stormed through my entire body. I knew it was too good to be true. Me being invited to a grand ball without any reason was something that only the Witch of Wishes could grant, and I had not prayed to her in ages. It was not something that just happened on its own, no matter what Ryia said. I shouldn’t have been a fool to believe it even for a second. Oh, bleeding hell! I wasn’t just a useless witch; I was a naïve one too.
My deep breath, meant to steady me and calm my rattled nerves, choked me instead. I could feel the stares increasing as I coughed with my hands over my face in the middle of the room. I hate being the centre of attention in any situation, but this one seems far more intense.
Just when I felt my knees were about to give in, an elegant man dressed in a white suit emerged from the audience. He was the only person who dared to walk inside the red lines, stepping over the Fae symbols. He had slicked back blonde hair and a pair of azure eyes that jumped out at me through his gold and white mask. Something about him made me feel at ease.
I suddenly felt that things probably weren’t about to go to hell. I felt like I had found my saviour… this man dressed in white was here to rescue me.
Perhaps ‘hope’ would be a better expression of what I felt. He gave me hope. With every step he took towards me, I could feel time slowing down.
My eyes moved from his and travelled down to his soft lips below his neatly groomed moustache in an effort to make out his barely audible words.
It wasn’t a language I recognised which is a big deal coming from someone who can recognise every language ever spoken in the history of mouths, whether I could understand them or not.
When he got closer to me, he leaned to my ears and whispered, “Be free.” Something inside me clicked.
Why was I able to understand that?
My eyes grew large as I stared up at him and his lips quirked upwards with a hint that he knew exactly what I was thinking. Taking my right hand into his with my other hand resting on the smooth fabric separating my trembling fingers from the soft skin of his shoulder, he circled his arm around my waist and began to lead the waltz.
I could hear the orchestra playing in the background, but his words replayed in my mind on a continual loop.
Be free?
I stared into the ocean of his eyes as my body seemed to ebb and flow with the motion of his body. He returned my gaze with equal intensity, not looking away from my face for even a fraction of a second. With each lap we did around the circle, the tempo increased, and I effortlessly matched him step for step. He twirled me around and caught me back with the grace of a well-seasoned dancer, embracing me tightly when our bodies reconnected, and for a moment, I broke free of the trance and looked around us to see the crowd twirling along with us, matching us step for step.
* * *
As bodies swayed and glided across the ballroom floor, faint images came flooding my mind. It was like multiple frames were rapidly appearing in unison with a blinding speed that boggled my brain. I tried but failed to process what they were about.
My eyes searched for answers in the pair of stunning azure eyes that never left mine. The answer might lie inside the windows of his soul. But the more I looked, the deeper I found myself entranced and the faster the images flowed.
When the trance broke, and my vision became clear, he was already bowing before me with an air of royalty and refinement swirling around him. The music had stopped, and all the guests seemed to be quite pleased with their partners’ show of talent. The tell-tale smiles and blushes of teenage females as they offered gestures of post-dance pleasantries were matched by stately bows of the males of prestige. It was hard to tell the creatures represented here tonight. Some were obvious, but the others required more focus than my fluctuating trance would allow. My enigmatic partner gave me a broad toothy smile then left before I could even react.
My legs begged me to go after him, but I was seemingly fixed to my spot by some invisible shackle that released me only to dance. As I watched him disappear into the crowd, my first mystery dance partner reappeared with company, and I was suddenly filled with annoyance and mild dread.
I immediately recognised the woman beside him from earlier. She proffered an overly polite curtsy as the still unknown man reached out a hand to me for an overdue handshake. My eyes remained fixed on the stunning redhead beside him. She radiated meekness and a sense of pure energy that jumped even from the fibres of her red mermaid gown. Her feathered black and white mask covered only her eyes, having intricately etched fairy stones that sparkled like diamonds all along the delicate frame. Even with her eyes covered, I could tell she was beautiful.
“Congratulations, Liliwen,” he pulled me back from gawking at his companion with yet another confusing salutation.
For a moment, I was willing to wager that he must be part-Troll. Everything he had said to me up to this point had been more of a riddle than anything else.
Despite his interruption and the gorgeous Fae beside him, my mind still wandered back to the white-suited enigma I had just danced alongside. I almost forgot that I was being tricked into something that would probably end with me meeting the lord of darkness much sooner than I cared to.
“The performance was simply spectacular,” he interrupted my thoughts yet again, and I glanced down to see his hand still hanging in the air, waiting for me to accept it.
“Excuse me?” I couldn’t keep the confusion out of my voice. His cryptic conversations were starting to wear on me. Would he ever just say things in a manner I could understand? Perhaps he was the one responsible for crafting the letter that I received. It would certainly make sense.
Still, that wasn’t a performance as he put it. That was a ritual… I was sure of it.
“What happened back there? What was the ritual for?” I demanded with my arms folded across my chest. His perfectly plucked brow arches above his mask, “ritual? What ritual?”
I’m not that dense, and it was starting to get on my nerves that he really seemed to think I was. “The ritual!”I threw my hands in the air in frustration.
“The red-glowing circle, the Fae symbols, the Fae incantations, me being embarrassed in the centre on a cosmic level, what the heck was that about?” my voice squeaked on that last word, and I could feel my face getting red.
“Oh, that,” he said with a suspicious degree of casualness, withdrawing his unaccepted hand to his pockets.
“I believe you have it all wrong, Liliwen. That was not a ritual.”
The white of my eyes disappeared behind my mask as I tried to stop myself from punching him in his annoyingly perfect face. I may not have the capability to perform a ritual, but I can tell what a ritual is just by the looks of it when I’m not being distracted, of course.
“I’d like you to meet, Adara,” he finally introduced the lady he brought along with him, “She’ll be able to explain what happened if you refuse to believe me.”
Adara’s smile seemed more dazzling the moment her eyes were exposed. She took off her mask, unveiling a pale-skinned face with eyes that looked like they stole their colour from the sun. Seeing her up-close, her semi-pointed ears became apparent; confirming my Fae assumption.
“It is an honour to meet you, Lady Alwyn finally.” Her voice was much softer and somehow even more gentle than my sister’s. It’s true when they say that the Faes sound like they’re singing lullabies when they speak. Save for the fact that I know it is impolite to stare; I could gaze upon her face for the entire night. There is something about her that makes me want to ignore the burning question in the back of my mind.
Why does everyone here seem to know my name? Who takes the time to learn the name of the black sheep in the Alwyn family… of any family?
“The ceremony held earlier was to crown the Lady of the Night. Fate has smiled upon you, Lady Alywn. You’ve been chosen to bear the title of tonight’s ball,” she held out both of her hands to me and there, green vines from her hands tangled with each other in an intricate design, forming a crown on her hand with small white lilies blooming along with the vines and fairy stones gracing the fancy headdress with their brilliance.
I have never seen the magic of the faes up-close until now. Colour me speechless.
My eyes were still glued to the crown that materialised from Adara’s hands when the still nameless riddle-speaking man took it and carefully rested it on my head.
“A dazzling jewel to complement a dazzling beauty such as you,” I allowed myself to bask in the moment. I shouldn’t have. I know that now, but this kind of reverential attention does not happen to me often… it never happens to me at all. So I let them put me up on an imaginary pedestal as they both gave me genuine congratulatory smiles.
“Well, thank you,” I blush, fixing the crown sitting pretty upon my head. The way my hair had been coiffed created the perfect nesting place for a crown. I would be sure to thank Ryia when I got home. The first-time glory I was swimming in almost made me forget about how close I had come to having a break down just moments ago. The fear had dissipated and given way to something less maddening sure, but the so-called “ceremony” still left a bitter taste in my mouth. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was on the verge of being sacrificed to a demon lord.
Was that the real reason they invited me here?
It would certainly make more sense than being a candidate for the coronation of some kind of title. Black Sheep don’t get titles. Powerless witches don’t get titles. Do they?
Ryia had probably mentioned this bizarre coronation somewhere in her “Attending the Ball” crash course. If this was not the usual hoopla that they carried on with at all these events, then I would undoubtedly enjoy retelling this bizarre tale to my overly worried sister.
All things considered, I didn’t quite make a fool of myself. Sure, there was a point in the night where I was utterly convinced that I would be sacrificed, but as the hours ticked by and the dancing continued, I found myself becoming more at ease.
I had danced with devils and angels and faes. I had been twirled around by creatures I had never met until tonight, and I was still in one whole breathing piece. That sounds like a win.
As the night grew old, I had tried to find the man dressed in white from my spot in the circle, but he had seemingly disappeared. The disappointment I felt was inexplicable. He had approached me with an air of mystery and filled my mind with vague visions only to vanish without a trace.
The pitter-patter of my heart in my chest told a different story, and I found myself rethinking the whole retelling plan. Ryia would accuse me of being enraptured by strangers, and she wouldn't be wrong.
There was something about each of them that drew me in. I almost felt… connected somehow. But the man in white held my interest.
Who was he?
Would I be told how naïve I am if I were to say I was enchanted by him?
Oh, dear.
I could already see the scowl of disappointment on Ryia’s face as I smiled politely at the man before me, asking for a dance.
Chapter 3
Happy Retrograde Birthday
“Vanilla or Pumpkin Spice?” Ryia was flipping through the pages of a baking book propped up on the kitchen counter. I ignored her as I continued my search for a towel to dry my hair.
I had crawled into the bathroom when I got home and filled the tub with warm water for a good soak to wash away the exhaustion from the grand ball. As the tub slowly filled, I could feel the tension in my shoulders like knots in a rope slowly dragging across my back.
“Liliwen! Vanilla or Pumpkin Spice?” she called out again growing slightly impatient.
“Uhm, is that for dinner?” I mumbled, too exhausted to shout.
The ball had drained me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. I didn’t want to seem like a weakling in front of Ryia, not that she needed any help thinking less of me. She attended these things all the time and appeared to be perfectly intact after each event. I could see her staring at me through my opened Oakwood door, her eyes sailing daggers of impatient frustration. I returned a nervous smile, but she was having none of it. Her usually soft green eyes blazed as she waited on my response, and I found myself hoping that her patients never have to endure this withering stare.
The town hospital where she worked had sung praises about how she could calm even the wildest typhoon with her gentle eyes and soft-spoken voice. The eyes staring at me through the crack in my door were anything but kind.
She went back to scanning pages as she lifted her cup to take a sip of Jasmine tea.
“I was talking about your cake, silly. Last time, it was chocolate. We should have a different one this time.”
Chocolate? Wasn’t it carrots? I distinctly remembered being pleasantly surprised that carrots could turn out so well.
Though in all fairness, my head had become a clouded mess ever since I got back from the ball.
Aside from the fact that it was still a mystery to me how I was chosen to be the guest of the night, it always bugged me how everything went on as if the red glowing circle and the creepy chanting had not occurred. It had been an enjoyable enough experience, but there’s no denying that the entire evening had started off and possibly ended on a strange note; and for the life of me, I can’t seem to remember it all.
Bran, my first dance partner, prided himself on being the assistant to the master of the Penrhyn Mansion. Although he had been courteous to me, I still couldn’t bring myself to trust him. He had failed to offer any clear explanation about the order of the supposed coronation ceremony and why it mirrored a sacrificial rite.
Was it possible that it was all just an elaborate prank?
Why would anyone go to such lengths just to humiliate me?
“So?” Ryia closed the book with a thud, yanking me back into the kitchen, “what’s it going to be? Vanilla or Pumpkin Spice?”
I took the seat across her and felt the soft cushion of the wine-coloured sofa bounce under my weight, “Vanilla,” I smiled up at her, grateful to be back home, away from strange men and long dances. She may be a bit short-tempered with me, but I could always rely on Ryia, and that means more to me than being invited to some stupid ball. I’d be okay if I never got another invitation.
“Hmm. Okay,” she immediately set aside the book onto the old bookshelf beside her.
“I can’t believe you’re going to be a year older tomorrow.”
Oh drat! I can’t believe I forgot my own birthday.
“That’s only in a few hours, isn’t it?” I chuckled glancing at the hundred-year-old grandfather clock ticking loudly in the living room just across from where I sat. It’s a well-kept clock. It hardly shows any sign of ageing. It’s almost as if being the messenger of time had somehow preserved its youth throughout the decades.
Wait. A hundred years old? That’s not possible… I remember the day that clock was built. It had been an elaborate gift from one of her suitors or something of the sort, and that had to be just a few years ago at least.
Weird. I frowned at the odd thought.
Yeah, definitely no more ballroom excursions for me.
Ryia popped the tray into the oven and sat down across from me. In a rare moment of sisterly bonding, I told her what I could remember about the ball and the mystery man dressed in white. She had rolled her eyes at my naivety, but she hadn’t argued with me about it. Perhaps she felt particularly loving on the eve of my birthday.
I spent the last few minutes of being twenty-five looking forward to what this new year would bring me. Wanting desperately to discover my true purpose and enjoy the dignity I had never expe
rienced. I’d make my sister proud and find true happiness.
My heavy eyelids fluttered to a close as exhaustion swept over me. I clung desperately to the hope and dreams of the new year to come, silently praying for a breakthrough.
* * *
The chilly air was almost suffocating. Thick fog blanketed the forest of the night with the glimmering moonlight serving as the only illumination in the dark.
I could feel the weight of the cloak on my shoulder. There was a sense of familiarity in the way the black silky fabric embraced my slender figure. The marshy soil welcomed my bare feet like it was all I’ve ever walked on my entire life. Dried leaves crunched under the lightweight of my steps, and the snapping of twigs added more vibrancy to the otherwise quiet night.
My feet found their way along the path with ease, and though the place seems unfamiliar, I know I’ve been here before. The shadow of the trees did not bother me. In fact, their silhouettes comforted me, a feeling no ordinary person would have in the eeriness of this tranquil, dark, cold place. Their sparse leaves barely rustled in the nights as I passed, touching the ones nearby.
Ahead of me, I saw the path open up into a lake and felt butterflies as my eyes watched the gleaming of its rays to the point where the light touched the water.
As I reached the end of the path, light danced on my skin, and as I giggled at the playfulness of nature, I found myself hurtled to another place. A scene like the shifting of slides for a film. I found myself peering over a small window from a room with no light.
A pair of arms found its way around my waist from behind me startling me at first, but when a light kiss is planted on my raven hair, I turned to face the silhouette of a man that stilled my soul and brought me peace. I couldn’t make out his features or even his clothes, but the memory of his soft, plump lips hovering over mine as his arms tightened around me, pulling my body closer to his, melting our bodies into one, had my heart fluttering madly inside my chest.
He gently touched my chin, tilting my head to gain free access to my lips, and I felt the air leave my lips in gentle pants of increasing anticipation. When the space between our lips was almost gone…
Witch's Cursed Circle Complete Collection Page 2