His name was Alric.
He was a visiting prince from the southern lands, sent to strengthen alliances. He was kind in ways that mattered—soft-spoken, patient, unafraid of silence. He did not look at me like I was something fragile or holy.
He treated me like a girl.
We spoke in gardens, away from listening ears. We laughed at foolish things. He held my hand once, hesitantly, like he was afraid I might disappear.
I never told him about the curse.
I told myself it was just a witch's bitterness. I told myself love could not be poison.
When he said he loved me, I believed the world was finally being kind.
Three days later, he went hunting.
They said his horse spooked. They said he fell badly. They said his neck broke instantly.
I remember the blood on his collar.
I remember screaming until my throat burned.
And I remember thinking,this is my fault.