The Cursed Kingdom

THIRTY FIVE

This song is so perfect for this story I-

~ UNTIL SUNRISE ~

The smell of cinnamon and maca surrounded me like a thick cocoon, the sickly sweet mix of spices causing my eyes to water from the burn it left in my nostrils. No matter where my head turned, the scent followed and I internally cursed the pungent oil that covered my entire body, my hair that I'd woven into a simple side braid being the only part of me that I hadn't dared put it on.

"Cinnamon represents passion and love," she'd told me as she handed me the bottle that morning after she gave a rather loud rap of knocks to my bedroom door. "Maca represents new life. It's a traditional formula that's been around for a millennia and it's important that you put this everywhere for extra luck." So I had.

Although it had dried almost instantly after I'd painted it on with the rough brush, the substance left behind a sticky sheen to my skin that reminded me of dried paste. And the smell—

"Run through streams and with the wind if you can. It'll make it harder for Henrik to scent you," Callie informed me, gliding a few steps ahead of me. "Also, whatever you do, don't try to hide or climb up a tree thinking you're some sneaky shit. You'll just corner yourself."

I hugged my waist and took a large step forward, attempting to keep up with the Lycan female whose ability to manoeuvre herself so effortlessly through the woods left me envious. A curse slid past my lips in the form of a frustrated hiss when I stubbed my bare toes against a rock and I stumbled.

Noticing the growing distance between us, Callie paused and looked back at me, her makeup-free caramel skin looking beautiful in the early morning glow. Callie was dressed in a simple robe that was almost the exact replica of mine: white, mid-thigh, and so thin that it did nothing to hide our nipples that were peaked quite painfully because of the chilly morning wind. Her hair was twisted into a thick bun on the top of her head with a couple of loose, small, and curly strands along her hairline.

While Callie resembled a goddess as always, I looked like I'd just rolled out of bed and grabbed the nearest article of clothing I could find.

My nerves had finally made their appearance the night before while I was reading a book on methods used by different cultures to treat illnesses, a piece Ingrid had suggested. I was sweating and my hands were fumbling to turn the pages by the time I made it to the chapter about pressure points in the body.  Although I knew there was nothing to be truly fearful of, I couldn't help but feel a little anxious about participating in something that pushed against the morals and beliefs I'd been taught my whole life.

Because Henrik had retired to another room for the night because of the tradition that mates shouldn't touch until Heat's sunrise, I was left tossing like a floundering fish for hours. His scent in our bed and his presence in my mind wasn't enough.

I missed his arms around me, the way they'd surround me in warmth and protection. I missed the small pecks he'd leave on my head until I fell asleep while I traced the scars on his arms.

I even missed his snores.

"So how many people will be there?" I questioned, tiptoeing carefully around every twig and small rock that I could detect within the dense, knee-tall grass.

The location where we were celebrating Heat was only three miles away from the palace and completely unreachable by a carriage because it was in the dead center of the woods. During that hour walk, all sorts of things stuck themselves to the bottom of my feet—dirt, leaves, twigs, grass, pebbles—which added onto my already overwhelming sense of regret for not wearing shoes. Not wanting to stand out any more than I already would, I'd decided against them after hearing Callie and the others participating wouldn't be wearing them.