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She stepped through the portal, Elan at her side. The magic swallowed them whole.
Chapter 2 - Castor
"What do you mean the enchantments on the blood roses aren't working?" Castor demanded, his fist slamming into the thorned armrest of his throne. Blood pricked from the point where the thorns had pierced him, but he hardly noticed.
"S-sorry, sir, we have tried everything, but ever since the curse ..." Geordian lowered his antlered head in a demure bow. "Well, not everything is working smoothly around the palace anymore. Magic isn't as reliable as it once was."
Castor leaned back into his throne, giving his rage a moment to dissipate. "I understand, Geordian. What is the problem? Is there anything we can do?"
He knew rationally that none of this was Geordian's fault. His best friend and confidant had been cursed alongside Castor and many of their close allies. Geordian himself bore the worse end of the spectrum in terms of how his appearance had twisted. His face was the shape of a wolf's head, but his eyes were those of a cat, and his mouth wide and almost lipless. A crown of antlers circled his head, their points pressing into his scalp, and his hands, if you could call them that, were encased in fur, with sharp claws protruding from the fingertips.
Meanwhile, Castor had escaped such a cruel fate. His handsome features had been altered but not monstrously. It was his heart and his mind that suffered far more than his physical body.
He felt the curse taking root, the rot spreading and becoming darker with each passing day.
Perhaps he would not entirely look the part of a monster, as Geordian did, but inside, he would be one.
Geordian bowed his head again. "The roses are still bleeding, sire, and we don't know the cause. It's like they are weeping in mourning, or perhaps in anticipation ..."
"Of course, the roses are expectant! My bride will arrive any day now, and everything must be perfect," Castor growled. "You tell them that if they keep bleeding all over the walls and causing trouble, I'll have them snipped at the bud and replaced with more cooperative roses."
Castor knew just how much Ianora adored blood roses, so he ordered the entire castle and grounds covered with them when he received news from Kel Eroch that their agreement had been solidified. They took years to properly groom and cultivate, but with the assistance of magic, they had fully grown and bloomed much faster. Only, with magic being less reliable in the castle since the curse, the roses gaining sentience and causing problems was only one of the many issues that plagued the palace.
Worse still, the curse seemed to have targeted the roses, in particular, covering Castor's beautiful and intimidating palace with deadly, thorned vines inside and out. It had taken the servants days to clear the hallways and convince the roses to stretch their vines out in places that weren't in the way of the occupants of the palace.
"As you say, sire, that should surely get the roses to comply." Geordian bowed, though they both knew it wouldn't work. The roses were enhanced with magic, and none of the witches enslaved in the castle could do anything to manage the out-of-control flowers. Everything was out of hand.
And they had only a week before Ianora would belong to Castor forever.
He'd dreamed of her every night for the last thirty-four years. Her jasmine and rose scent haunted him. Her soft blonde hair and even softer lips ... he had been so close to making her his back then, only for her to break his heart.
It felt as though a lifetime had passed since he last laid eyes on her in person.
She had skillfully eradicated him from her life in a single day. All because he made the mistake of falling in love with her.
What kind of cruel punishment was that?
She toyed with his heart, made her believe she could be his one and only, and then disappeared without a trace. At least, as much as a princess could disappear. Oh, he'd heard plenty of stories about her flirting and courting other men over the years, getting too close to them for comfort. Many he'd either gone so far as to intimidate them into disappearing from her life or eliminating them from the equation if they didn't bow out peacefully.
Because whether Ianora had known it or not back then, or throughout the years, she was his. She always had been his.
Now, when she arrived at his palace, he would make sure she knew that he owned her. Mind, body, and soul—he would make her remember.
He would make her pay.
No matter how painful it was for them both.
It was surreal, now, talking with Geordian about the final details of the wedding when he'd imagined Ianora as his bride for so long. Had she not rejected his proposal and disappeared, she would have been his thirty-four years ago.
There had been many times over the years when he doubted his ability to claim her for himself. Many times, he thought she might have become engaged to another man on the other side of the world, perhaps just to escape him for good.
But never did she follow through with any other match.
And he knew, from being close to Ianora for so long, that without a finalized marriage, she never would have given up her prized virginity to any man. Which meant, in one week, she would be all his. Forever.
He'd lusted after her ever since he first met her all those fateful years ago, long before she'd even given him the light of day. But he'd won her over then, even if she had, in the end, tossed him away like trash. However, despite the bad blood between their families, her father had been far easier to charm.
Soon, he would no longer have those restless dreams where he fantasized about reaching beneath her skirts and claiming the treasures beneath. He would simply be able to take her as much as he wanted. No, as much as he needed.
