Chapter 3 She Cursed Him - Poppy's POV
Poppy
He stood in the doorway, one hand still wrapped around the door handle. His round face scrunched in confusion as he stared at me. Or more specifically, stared at the fox in my arms.
Sweat beaded along my hairline as I thought of all the ways this could go wrong.
“Yes,” I murmured. “I have a fox now.”
The answer came out far too quickly, and even I didn’t buy my words.
He stared at me for another moment, his brows furrowing. “Why would you have a fox in your bakery?”
I tightened my grip around him, suddenly very aware of the warmth of his body against mine. His claws pressed lightly into my apron, and his ears twitched as he watched the man in the doorway.
“I—”
My mind went completely blank. There were probably hundreds of reasonable explanations for having a fox in a bakery.
Unfortunately, none of them came to mind. “He wandered in,” I finally said. “And was very cold.”
The fox turned his head slowly toward me, but I ignored him.
The cheese shop owner frowned. “A wild fox wandered in because he was cold?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Into your bakery?”
“Yes.”
He glanced around the room as if expecting to find some obvious explanation hidden among the shelves.
The bakery smelled of cinnamon, warm bread, and honey, but underneath those familiar scents lingered the sharp, magical scent left behind by my spell. Gold dust still floated through the air in tiny sparkling particles, catching the early morning light coming through the windows.
The fox shifted in my arms. The movement caught the cheese shop owner's attention.
His eyes dropped to the fox's face. He went completely still. The color drained from his face.
I felt the fox stiffen against me.
The man's gaze locked onto those bright amber eyes. “No.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
He took one step backward. “What have you done?”
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. Did he know? “What is it?”
The man stared at the fox as though he'd suddenly seen a ghost. “That isn't a fox.”
I tightened my arms around him. The fox's ears lowered.
The cheese shop owner looked from him to me and back again. “That is him.”
“Who?”
His face turned pale. “The Lord. He came this way, and I heard him mention something about old debts your grandmother owed. You…you turned him into a fox.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding. “I didn't.”
The words came out barely above a whisper.
The cheese shop owner didn't seem to hear me. He was already backing toward the door, his face filled with horror. “You cursed the Lord of the Autumn Court.”
“No.” I shook my head quickly. “I didn't curse anyone.”
The fox in my arms gave a low growl.
“See?” the man said, pointing at him. “He's angry.”
“He's angry because you're accusing me of cursing him.”
The fox looked up at me.
“That,” he muttered, “is the first sensible thing you've said all morning.”
I almost laughed from sheer panic, but the cheese shop owner was staring at me as though I'd lost my mind.
“What did you say?”
“He agreed with me. The Lord of the Autumn Court is my fated mate.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. The fox never said anything. You cursed him, and I will make this right.” He turned and looked down the street. “Guards! I found the Lord of the Autumn Court.”
“Wait, no,” I said, but it was too late. He had gone to lead them back.
“You might want to run, little foxie pie.”
“Run?” I asked, ignoring the nickname.
“Yes,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “Now.”
I glanced at the street. The first of the Autumn Court guards were already appearing at the far end of the road, their dark green cloaks moving through the crowd.
My heart dropped. “They're here.”
“Yes, Poppy. That is generally what I meant.”
“I can't just run.”
“You can, and you should,” he stated plainly.
“But my bakery—”
“Your bakery is the least of our problems. That man has already gone to meet them and will lead them here.”
I looked around at the little shop I'd spent years running and building from what my grandmother left me. The warm walls, the shelves filled with jars, the trays of pastries I'd prepared for the festival.
Then I heard someone shout from outside. “They're looking for her!”
That settled it. I grabbed my cloak from the hook and pulled it around myself, carefully tucking the fox against my chest.
“Where are you taking me?” He asked.
“Home.”
“Your home?” He asked, his voice sharp.
“Yes. My grandmother kept all her original journals there,” I said, already making my way behind the counter to head out the back.
“Then we need to hurry.”
“I know.” I glanced over my shoulder toward the front of the bakery. The voices outside had grown louder, and I could hear the heavy footsteps of the guards approaching.
I hurried into the kitchen, the fox still tucked securely against my chest.
“Do you think they'll follow us?” I whispered.
“They will.”
“That wasn't very reassuring,” I added.
“I wasn't trying to reassure you.”
I slowly threw the sides of the cloak around my front, shrouding him from view.
His nose poked out. “Am I supposed to be hiding?”
“Yes,” I groaned.
“But I’m the Lord of—”
I shoved the cloak back over his face. “And right now they think I cursed you.”
There was a brief silence, then his muffled voice came from beneath the fabric. “I don't appreciate being smothered.”
“You'll appreciate it less if the guards find us.”
“Technically, they might be able to undo this, but they would imprison you for doing this to me,” he admitted.
I peeked beneath the cloak to make sure he could breathe before moving toward the back door. The kitchen suddenly seemed much smaller than it had a few minutes ago. Every familiar sound made me jump. The kettle gave a tiny rattle, and I nearly screamed before realizing it was only the kettle.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
The kettle rattled again.
“I said I'm sorry.”
The fox poked his head out. “Are you apologizing to the kettle?”
“Not now. I’m trying to get out of here before the guards find us.”
My hand was on the handle, twisting it open, when I heard them come through the front door.
“She must be headed out the back! Get her now!”
