“I can’t move,” I breathe rapidly. “Because the Lady has willed it so.”

“What has she decreed?” The voices demand.

I try to take a deep breath, but I can’t. I inhale shallow gulps hoping they’ll keep me awake.

“She has forbidden me from saving them. The darkness will spread until all the Kingdoms fall. Her power is growing…She is almost ready.” I don’t even know what I am saying anymore.

“What has the Lady done that prevents you from saving them?”

My head lolls, and from the corner of my eye, I see vines snake down the wall behind me. I wait to be mercilessly entrapped and defeated.

“Tell me!” The voices hiss.

My chin finally drops; I stare at my spinning feet. “I don’t know!”

“You do know!” The voices wail. “You are a Hyland woman! Search within!”

My eyelids flutter, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep them open long enough to witness my undoing.

“Tell us, quickly!”

I feel the insidious strands inch over my shoulders, digging into my skin like nails. I’m going to die. This dark magic will take me.

“She cursed us,” I sigh, accepting the death that will soon capture me. “She has made it so that we may never touch one another. The Lady…she will not let me. I cannot save them. I cannot move.”

I feel like I’m choking on the words that bubble up in my throat. Without further hesitation, I concede. “Because I cannot be with him.” My palms pulse with furious rage, and my eyelids finally close. Sleep and death overtake me.

Chapter Twelve

Idalia

Twelve Years Previous

I can’t decide whether I feel silly or pretty in this dress. Despite the many choices Nurse Lydia had me try, my mother supplied a completely new dress for tonight’s ceremony. It’s not lacey or frilly. It’s sleek and presses against my skin so tightly that I wonder why a corset is necessary. I wish I could dress like Teddy; her skirts billow around her, and gold looks spectacular against her skin. I want flowers in my hair, too. But that would require Verdana being able to grow them. We have snow and mountains, and I don’t think my hair could hold either.

As I pass Lachlan on the dais, his green eyes gleam as he scrapes a barely perceptible bow. My mother seems more than pleased with how I look. Then, there is the Prince. His hair is smoothed to one side, but his curls are as rebellious as he is, and one by one, they’re already breaking loose from the oil that attempts to hold them down. He smooths a cowlick as I approach. I stand beside him, and his ice-blue eyes trace the frame of my face. This is my future home; he’s my future husband. I’ve always dreamed of weddings. The colors, the dresses, the flowers… the husband. He’s exactly what I pictured for the role.