A Cursed Kiss (Myths of Airren, #1)

by Jenny Hickman

“Because it is easier to fear the unknown than to try and understand it. And unfortunately, the loudest voices often belong to the most fearful.”

There was something hopeful about the moments before one was fully awake, before reality caught you by the collar and dragged you into its dark abyss. Anything was possible at dawn’s first light. By nightfall, you realized all the day had brought was failure. The small specks of hope that remained were like stars scattered across the vast night sky, reminding you that tomorrow could be different. Tomorrow could be the day you succeeded.

“It’s not about a poem or taxes or even magic.” Tadhg blew out a frustrated breath. “It’s about being born different in a world that sees no value in diversity. It’s about living under a regime that desires ultimate power over its citizens, one that is willing to murder anyone they believe could be a threat.” He turned to me and touched a finger to my tangled hair. In a quiet voice laced with sadness, he said, “It’s about people with fear so ingrained that they won’t even sit in a field at dusk to look up at the stars because they believe the darkness is reserved for monsters.”

“Most of the monsters I’ve met have lived in broad daylight.”

“You promised to be a gentleman.” He shrugged, not bothering to look the least bit repentant. “Turns out seeing another man fondling my wife brings out the monster in me.”

“Tadhg⁠—” “I like the way you say my name.” He booped me on the nose with his finger and giggled. Giggled. This man, a Prince of Tearmann, giggled like a schoolgirl when he was drunk.

“But most of all,” he said, placing a final kiss over my pulse, “I like the way you hate me.”

Forgiveness wasn’t a commodity to be bought and paid for. Forgiveness was a matter of the heart. A matter of choosing love over hate. Forgiveness was a release. Forgiveness was freedom.

“How did you know I needed you?” The corner of his lips crooked into a guilty half-smile. “I may or may not have been sitting in the back garden.”

“I would’ve been making sure a vengeful witch didn’t murder my wife in her sleep.” Always looking out for me. Even when he was angry. Even when I didn’t deserve it. “Careful, now. I may start believing you actually care about me.” “That would be disastrous,” he said with a chuckle, slowly backing toward the window. “Could you imagine the scandal? I have a terrible reputation to uphold.”

“I think we need to discuss your penchant for murder.” I didn’t want my husband going around killing people simply because they made him angry. “What’s there to discuss? Some people deserve to die.”

“I love you, Keelynn.” “Even after all I’ve done, you still love me?” “Desperately.” I swallowed, but the tightness in my throat refused to ease. The mattress dipped when Tadhg sank onto the bed at my side. He reached a tentative hand to brush his thumb across my lips. “I know you don’t love me,” he said, the quiet resignation in his voice breaking my heart, “but I think I love you enough for the both of us.” I know you don’t love me. But . . . what if I did love him?