The Royal Curse

CHAPTER ONE

Lancashire, England, 1612




Watching from her balcony, Emilia’s hands were tightly coiled around the railing. The wind was cold but she was drowning in heat. The screams pierced her ears and Emilia wanted nothing more than for it to stop.

She looked on as if it were a glimpse into her future.

Her stomach twisted as the old woman was forced into her place, helpless as the snake-like noose ensnared her neck.

One of the guards shoved another witch up the steps. This one, a young girl with long, tangled brown hair. She screamed as she struggled against the guard’s hands. Emilia closed her eyes, her breath hitching in her chest as her heartbeat roared in her ears. But she could not look away for long. She had to see.
There was a mad crowd gathering around. Men, women—and children, all pumping their fists in the air while they shouted.

“Hang them already!”
“Devil’s daughters deserve to die!”
“Witches!”

Emilia winced as if each word were a slap against her cheek. Grinding her back teeth together, she thought about setting ablaze the crowd. Letting them all melt away until they were nothing but dust in the air. Let them all die. But Emilia did not know how to do such magic. Nor did she think she actually would.

Suddenly, the crowd fell silent. The executioner, a bull of a man with a hood obscuring his face, grabbed hold of the lever and, with one great heave, pulled the pin and sprung the trap. The older woman died instantly. Her body dropped, her neck cracked, and she was gone. Emilia was relieved it was quick. The younger woman was not so fortunate. She danced on the end of the rope while the crowd whooped, hollered, and still yet urged her on in her final throes. After a few seconds of flailing and struggling, her body dropped limp.

Emilia looked down. She found her fists were clenched into tight balls at her sides, and when she let go of her grip, she could feel the cold wind running past her sweaty palms. A sharp pain ran through her chest. Emilia felt like it was going to rip open and everything would spill out. Her skin was like a blanket, and it held together her fears, her worries, and most of all, her secrets.

Emilia looked down at the crowd with pity. Each man mirrored the one next to him, unable to think for himself. She spotted him then—the man who had ordered the execution. On the edge of the crowd, her soon-to-be husband stood quietly. How would the duke react if he saw his future bride hung before the entire city alongside her own kind.

“Your mother is right, sweet cousin. There is no place for witches in this world.”

Louisa’s voice startled Emilia, who had completely forgotten that she was standing beside her.

“Do you think I will end up like that?” Emilia asked.

“Yes, you will. If you don’t behave,” Louisa smirked dangerously.

Emilia rolled her eyes. “I might as well hand myself over right now. There is some rope in my room. How about you grab it and shackle down these wrists?”

“Do not talk like that,” Louisa frowned. “Just don’t use magic, and no one would accuse you. Pretend to be normal. That’s what we do best.”

“Do not, do not, do not,” Emilia sighed. “Is there anything I can do without being called a witch? I do not want to spend my whole life pretending. What part of that is so hard to understand?”

Louisa ignored her and only stared at Emilia with her bright green eyes. The beautiful, starling pair of pupils that Emilia had always been envious of. In comparison, Emilia’s own dark, murky pupils were rather dull in contrast to her pale skin.

Emilia turned her attention ahead. The crowd sauntered off, women leading their children home, men off to the fields, leaving the bodies to sway and rot in the sun. Yet, on this horrendous morning, there was some beauty left, and Emilia saw it as she looked up at the sky. The color of lavender invaded the sky like spilled paint. A mix of blue and yellow near the east, where the sun was beginning to reveal itself. There was a calmness there and magic, too.

“I know what you are thinking,” Louisa said.

“What?”

“Valenya,” Louisa let the word slowly roll off her tongue, tasting each syllable.

“No, I am not.”

But she was. Not a day went by that Emilia did not think of Valenya—another world meant just for witches. She knew that some spent their entire lives trying to find the passage to the other side, while others believed it was nothing more than a myth. Emilia wanted to believe that it was real.

“You used to be obsessed with Valenya when you were a young girl . . . convinced that you would be swept off your feet and taken there. I am glad you have grown up to be somewhat less naïve,” Louisa said.

Emilia disregarded her cousin’s belittlement. She looked down at the area around the scaffold. A group of high officials still stood, chatting with one another. Beside Sebastian stood Lord John. He was shorter than the rest and rounder, too. Next to him stood a man Emilia did not recognize.

“Who is that man beside Lord John?” Emilia asked.

“That is Aidan Oxen, a childhood friend of Sebastian’s.”

“Is he also on the council?”

“I do not believe so. He was away in Scotland for a while and only recently got back.”

“Scotland? What is in Scotland?”

“No one knows, but people say that he took part in the witch hunt there. They say he knows how to find the real witches. I would stay clear of him if I were you.”

“You don’t say,” Emilia replied, watching the man. He wore all black. His skin and hair were darker than the men. Standing with his hands folded behind his back, he looked on at the bodies hanging above him.
Even from afar, Emilia regarded him as a dangerous man. How many of them am I to watch out for?

“Now, you should get dressed and have breakfast with your dear mother,” Louisa said, turning away.

Emilia followed, tearing her gaze from the man.

“Your parents want good for you, Emilia,” she said.

“Perhaps, but they want nothing but the best for themselves,” Emilia did not hide the bitterness in her tone.



The Turner manor stood for forty years. It was a respectable home. But to Emilia, it was a strange place she hardly visited. Belonging to her grandfather, a man whom she barely knew, she could remember visiting the manor on three occasions: once when her grandfather grew sick, another to attend his funeral, and a third time when her mother came to collect her inheritance. The manor was passed down to her mother, but her family rarely visited it. Her mother did her best to keep away from her old home, and Emilia never knew why.

Emilia entered the dining hall. The stiff and tangy smell of decomposed fruits hit Emilia the second she walked into the room. The drawn back burgundy-colored curtains allowed the sunshine to pour in through the long paneled windows. As she walked, the wooden floorboards creaked under her feet, and her mother, who was eating breakfast at the table, looked up at her. She eyed Emilia over with a blasé expression on her face.

“Why are you wearing that?” she finally asked. Emilia, dressed like a child in giant’s clothes, hated the fit, color and old-fashioned style of her gown- too loose around her chest, and the thick dark green velvet weighed her down.

“You said I should wear this, Mother,” Emilia replied.

“I did not think it would look like that. Straighten your back,” she said, before turning her attention to her food. Emilia could feel the heat rise up her neck.
She took a seat at the end of the table.

Her mother reached for the bowl of fruit at the center of the table. Grabbing an apple, she inspected it carefully. “You know, I was nineteen as well when I got married, and your father was ten years older than me, much like you and Sebastian,” said her mother before she put the apple back in the bowl, and grabbed another. She eyed it over cautiously, as she always did, and once satisfied, which she rarely was, she went in to take the first bite. Emilia looked at the apple she previously put back, nothing looked wrong with it. “I know it is scary my dear, but before you know it, all will be well. You will be the Duchess, and have beautiful sons who will one day become the Duke. Do you understand how many women would die to be in your position?” Emilia looked at her mother. The juice from the apple was trailing down the side of her mouth. Emilia could not count how many times her mother reminded her of the women who would die to be in her position. She found it humorous that her mother seemed to forget that she herself could die in her position.

“Mother, after all this time, you think the issue is about him being ten years older than me? He could be fifty years older than me and I would not mind as long as he did not kill-” Emilia was cut off by her mother.

“Stop it!” she hissed. Silence took over the room.

“How is it that I have raised a daughter this ungrateful,” her mother finally said. She pushed her chair back and raised herself from her seat. A slap to the cheek, a blow to the head, what would it be today? Emilia asked herself. Her mother slowly walked towards her, a hand trailing against the edge of the table. When she reached Emilia, her face had softened, and she looked at Emilia tenderly. She looked unrecognizable.

“Why can you not see how much we are doing for you, my dear child,” she said softly, cupping Emilia’s face in her cold hands. Emilia flinched.

“We are doing everything we can to give you the best life possible,” she said as she pulled Emilia’s face towards herself, resting it under her chest while stroking her hair. Emilia felt awkward at first in her position. The smell of jasmine that came from her mother seemed new to her. But soon, the softness of her mothers touch, as cold as it was, warmed Emilia. She closed her eyes, as if in a trance. This was the mother she needed, she thought as she listened in to the beat of her mother’s heart, proving to herself that she did in fact have one.

“Why have you done your hair differently? I do not like it like that,” her mother said, and with her words the trance was broken. “Proper women have their hair kept up all the time,”

Emilia snickered in disbelief as she pushed herself off of her mother.
“It is never enough for you is it,” Emilia said quietly. “It is never enough,” she repeated more loudly.

Her mother stared down at her, eyes wide in surprise.

“Don’t you see? Nothing will ever be enough for you. I could be the most beautiful woman and still you would find a fault. I could be married to the King and still you would be displeased with me. I could be the cleanest person ever, but you will still make sure you find your dirt.”

“Oh for Christ sake!” her mother said loudly, her hand slamming against the wooden table. “When will you stop feeling so sorry for yourself? You should feel happy. You should feel happy,” she repeated.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I should feel.”

“I am not going to sit here and tell you lies,” Emilia continued, pushing herself up on her feet. If she was going to be hit for what she had to say, Emilia could not care anymore. “I am not going to tell you I am happy with this arrangement because I am not. But I do not suppose that matters much, does it? Will I marry Sebastian? Yes. Will I give you royal grandchildren? Yes. Am I happy? No.” Emilia replied.

Her mother’s nostrils were flared and they trembled as she breathed heavily in and out. “Do you think you are the first bride to not love her husband? Do you think I wanted to marry your father? We do not get to do what we love, Emilia. When will you finally wake up?” her mother spat out only inches away from her face.
Emilia was desperate to snap back at her mother – but she couldn’t stand being stuck in the same room a moment longer, sharing the same foul air.
“Do you intend remaining a silly little woman your entire life?” Her mother's cruel words stung like venom. Her vision blurred and before she realized it, a single tear tracked down her cheek like a lone soldier escaping war. She turned to dab her cheek and heard the door click. She was alone.

Emilia wiped away the tears at once. Her blood was boiling up inside. Emilia left her breakfast untouched. She had a hunger for something else, and she needed the outdoors to fulfill it.


They do not know me, nor do they wish to either. That will be their undoing, not knowing me. With little choice, I will marry Sebastian.
But I will show them all, the webs I can weave.

The leaves were falling and getting caught in her hair. The dead ones crunched under her feet. The birds were singing high up in the naked trees. Their tune annoyed Emilia. The deeper she walked into the forest, the tighter her chest felt. She felt ashamed for how much she let others control her. Emilia needed control. Craved it.

She stopped when she saw what she came for. A web sprung between two trees. A spider lurked at the center of it. She hesitated at first, the fear of making a black curse was vast. But it did not yield at her need for control. She cupped the spider between her hands. It tickled against her skin. Closing her eyes and taking a shaky breath, Emilia was sure Sebastian deserved this. She paused for a moment, and then let the words spill out.

Ekh nar uhn ria. Take the man that I am to marry. Give him a merciless death like the deaths he inflicts on the children of Nara.

Emilia raised her hand to her mouth and parted her trembling lips. Just before she put the spider in her mouth, she heard shouting in the distance. The bumps on her arms rose, and the hairs stood tall. Emilia squinted ahead. In the distance were two men in a scuffle. Their figures moved left and right behind the trees.
Emilia crouched down. Her palms and knees dug into the damp dirt as she crawled to the nearest tree. Peering over the trunk, she watched as the two men fought. They kicked and swung at the leaves below and their faces were hidden behind branches.
She saw one of the men pull out a knife, it glistened in the sun. Her eyes widened as she watched it go in and out, painting the steel in red. The stabbed man stilled. His knees buckled and he dropped halfway to the ground. He clung onto his assailant before he was pushed to the ground.
She could hear his wheezing and she watched his chest rise and fall. His assailant was standing above him, looking down.

“You are a monster,” panted the man on the ground.

“Aren’t we all?” said the assailant.

He climbed on top of him and wrapped his hands around his victim’s throat. The man’s struggle reached Emilia’s ears. He clawed at his assailant’s hands and kicked at the ground. But to no accord. The man went still.

The birds stopped singing. She could hear nothing but the loudness of her own breath. The assailant did not waste any time. Upon getting up, he briefly looked at the body before making his way out of the woods. Emilia saw his black clothes, the stark hair that flowed in waves, the tan on his skin. The realization struck her like a whip. It was Aidan Oxen. Emilia watched him walk with long strides until he was hidden by the trees.

Emilia reached up to graze her neck, her skin was glistened with sweat. Her heart was pounding through her blouse but Emilia could not wait. She stood and rushed towards the body. The soft mud clung to each step she took. Emilia sped up with urgency. She pushed the long branches out of the way, let the twigs scratch her skin.

Emilia stopped in her tracks when she who it was.

Lord John’s lifeless body lay on the ground. His sullen eyes were open and Emilia was startled at how they looked directly at her. The whole front of his gray jacket was drenched in red. Emilia stepped closer. Around his thick neck were the handprints that stole his life. She closed her eyes and let the smell of blood in. It smelt like copper. The strong odor filled her head. Her vision doubled and Emilia grabbed onto a tree to steady herself.

And it was only then she realized it. She no longer had the spider.