Beauty's Cursed Prince by Mary E. Twomey

Author:Mary E. Twomey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mary E. Twomey

21

Comfort and Chaos

Rory and Cordray gasped, With Rory taking a telling step back.

When Ella saw Rory’s hand fly over her mouth, she panicked. “But I don’t mean to do it sometimes! When I get overwhelmed, it sort of just happens. I don’t mean to eavesdrop most of the time.” Guilt swept over her, and she hung her head. “But other times I do it on purpose.”

Remus’ shoulders rolled back, breathing easier now that the cards were all out on the table. “That’s far better, isn’t it? Now we all have a reason to keep our little group quiet. We can study with each other, and learn together as we figure out how this has happened twice, and what it means that magic is evolving right before us.”

Rory was still processing while Cordray took a step forward, his expression earnest to both hear Ella’s case, and for his own to be heard. “When did casting first happen for you? Mine was when Malaura was about to kill me. I didn’t know what I was doing. It sort of just blasted out of me. Was it like that for you? How long have you had your abilities?”

Ella glanced toward Remus again, seeking out the silent push she knew he would give her with a simple nod. “My first time was when I was a little girl. My mother was sick.” She choked on the word “mother,” but forced herself to speak her piece. “They wouldn’t tell me what was happening, but there were too many doctors, and she looked frail. My mother was never frail, but that day, she was.” She paused, wishing she didn’t have to tell anyone. “I don’t like this story. Can we be done with this?”

Henry was fighting to focus, his voice vacillating between dreamy and compassionate. “Oh, blue eyes. Come here.” He patted the spot beside him on the couch, a pleasant adoration on his face when he took in her squirming. He sighed as if she’d been the rib missing from his side when she slid in next to him, tucking under his arm and returning to where she belonged.

Ella didn’t care if they saw her snuggling into the comfort Henry offered; she only cared that he was there, and that she didn’t have to get through this terrible story alone.

Henry played with a few curls that had come loose at the base of her neck, relaxing her in an attempt to seal themselves off from the others, so it was only her and only him invited to her childhood traumas. “Tell me, Ella. There’s not a thing about you I don’t want to know.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, her hand finding its way over his heart, so she could rub her favorite spot on his body. “She used to make singing pies. Pies so good, they made my dad sing.”

Henry gave an airy, one-noted laugh through his nose. “That’s cute. Which kind was your favorite?”

“All of them. Well, peach crumble,” she admitted. “But

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