Chapter 34 A WALK IN THE PAST (III)
Haven listened in disbelief. Athalia knew the man was cheating on her and still went ahead to marry him! How dumb was she?
Eurolys’s eyes darkened. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not jealous,” she said, though the quiver in her voice betrayed her. “I just wish… you’d told me the truth. That you never loved me.”
He released her sharply, stepping back. “You wanted to save me, remember? The dying soldier, the cursed lover. How could I deny a princess her fairytale?”
Athalia turned away, her golden hair hiding her face. “I thought I could change you.”
“You thought wrong.”
The words hung in the air like poison.
Haven’s chest ached as she watched Athalia’s shoulders tremble. For all her grace and power, the fae princess looked so heartbreakingly human in that moment — fragile, desperate, and still somehow filled with love for the man who was tearing her apart.
She turned to him again, eyes glassy but burning. “Even if your heart belongs to another, I will still stand by you,” she said. “Because that is what I swore before the Seer and before the gods. I’ll bear your cruelty if it means keeping you alive.”
Eurolys’s expression flickered — not with guilt, but with something darker. He reached for her arm and pulled her close, his grip firm enough to make her flinch.
“Then remember your place,” he hissed. “You are mine. As long as you wear my mark, your heart, and your magic, belong to me.”
He pressed his palm against her chest, and a faint red light pulsed beneath her skin, a binding spell, ancient and cruel. Athalia gasped, her knees buckling.
Haven’s hands trembled as the same red light burned faintly across the walls. The air crackled, humming with the residue of the curse that would one day destroy this kingdom.
Athalia fell to the floor, breath ragged. “I love you,” she whispered weakly.
Eurolys only smirked, straightening his collar. “And that, my sweet princess, is why you’ll never see me coming.”
He turned and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him.
Athalia stayed there for a long moment, trembling. Her hands curled over her chest where the mark glowed faintly beneath her gown.
Then, through tears, she whispered something so soft Haven barely caught it:
“I don’t care what it costs. I’ll find a way to save you.”
Haven stood there unable to believe her eyes. Her mother –– if that was who she was –– was a dumber version of her. She couldn't imagine herself falling for someone who treated her like trash, made it open that she didn't matter and still expected her to burn the world for him.
Athalia stood up and changed out of her wedding dress into a more simple gown . She stepped out of the room and Haven followed her.
Athalia moved through the corridors like a ghost draped in silk, the hem of her simple gown whispering against the marble floors. Gone was the radiant bride who had smiled before the entire court, what remained was a hollow shell, a woman bound by her own heart.
Haven followed silently, her steps careful, her pulse hammering in disbelief.
How could she love him?
How could she know what he was and still… stay?
She wanted to scream at her — to shake her — but she couldn’t. The vision held her in place, like an invisible thread tethering her to this memory. She could only watch.
Athalia’s steps led them into the west wing of the fae palace — a part of the castle that seemed older than time itself. The torches here flickered blue instead of gold, and the air was thick with dust and silence.
When she reached a certain wall lined with ivy and carvings of celestial runes, Athalia paused. Her fingers brushed the cool stone, tracing an ancient sigil near the corner — a crescent moon pierced by a dagger.
A low hum filled the air.
The wall shimmered briefly, revealing faint outlines of an arched door hidden within.
Haven’s breath caught.
Athalia whispered something under her breath — words that tasted of sorrow and forbidden magic.
“Even in death, the lost may remember.”
The runes pulsed once, faintly glowing beneath her touch, and for a second Haven thought she saw the shadow of shelves — thousands of them — stretching into eternity. The whisper of pages, the faint murmur of voices long dead.
Then the glow dimmed, and the illusion faded.
Athalia pressed her hand to her heart, over the mark Eurolys had branded her with. “I don’t know how long I can bear this,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “But if the curse later consumes us, my people will have a place to go. Those not strong enough, will have somewhere to seek refuge.”
Athalia turned slightly, her eyes distant and haunted. “The Library will know,” she whispered to no one. “It remembers everything, even what the gods tried to erase. And in it, my people will dwell away from prying eyes that seek to harm them.”
She knelt before the wall, closing her eyes. “If someone… if anyone ever finds this, tell them not to seek it unless they’re ready to pay the price.”
Then, as if the weight of the world pressed down on her, she leaned her forehead against the wall. “Please,” she whispered, “let him find peace, even if I never do.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek and hit the stone. The moment it touched, the sigil flared again — a soft silver light — and Haven felt something stir deep in her chest. A warmth. A pull. As though the wall itself had marked her too.
The light died away, and Athalia rose, smoothing her gown. She turned and walked back down the corridor, her shoulders trembling, her steps slow and heavy.
Haven stood there, staring at the now-ordinary wall. Her heart was racing.
She reached out and laid her hand where Athalia’s had been. The stone was cold — but something pulsed beneath the surface. A heartbeat, a memory, a secret waiting to be unearthed.
Haven felt her wrist burn and when she stared at it she saw what looked like a map imprinted into her skin. It glowed faintly until it disappeared completely.
The vision started to fade until the darkness started pulling Haven in.