by A. K. Koonce
Bear pulls himself away from the largest crowd of gawking pigeons. His always-distant gaze settles heavily on me. He blinks slowly before coming toward me.
A tailored suit of black covers his chest and gives him a dangerous appearance. Gold buttons line the jacket in rows of two. His family sword no longer rests at his hip and his boots have been exchanged for shining black ones that look as though they have never been worn before.
The red-tinted stubble on his chin is the only thing making him look slightly unpolished. His long hair is carefully tucked behind pointed ears.
He offers his arm. “Interesting choice of a gown.”
“You don’t like it?” I glance up from beneath my lashes at his smoldering gaze.
“You look like a brown turd.” All amusement has left his face. Only boredom and arrogance seems to remain.
My eyes narrow.
“Brown is not your favorite color?” I search the crowd for one person in particular.
He whispers quietly, “My favorite color is blue.” His dark gaze darts to my blue braided hair before falling back on the deep cream dress with disapproval.
Sitting close to the head of the table is Aisha. Next to her is one of the few familiar faces in the room. Bartley talks with exaggerated gestures. The resemblance is uncanny.
Her pink lips lift into a small smile when we make eye contact. Her whole demeanor innocent and sweet.
I scowl at her.
That little wind wench lied to me.
Stupid me for believing it, though.
Bear clears his throat. “Please, everyone. Take a seat. I’m glad you could join us to welcome back Princess Syren. May Goddess Celeste bless her.”
“May Goddess Celeste bless her,” everyone repeats in unison.
My jaw clenches at the sound of their well wishes.
Bear looks my way as I stand stiffly before them.
“Take my arm,” he growls down at me.
“Or you’ll burn me again?”
Bear lowers his gaze. “Just do it. And for the sake of my kingdom, pretend you don’t absolutely hate me,” he whispers demandingly against my ear.
“Wow, now you’re asking a lot.”
He glares. I glare right back. Straightening my shoulders, I loop my arm through his. Goosebumps form along my skin as he leads me. I don’t acknowledge my body’s response to his nearness.
My mind reels back to the cold night on the boat. The lies that he told. Nausea rolls inside me. My appetite leaves me, just like the emotions he once made me feel.
Two servants pull out the high back chairs for us to sit. Others are already sitting or hurrying to join us. The long, extravagant table is nearly full, with only a few empty seats.
“Syren, I would like to introduce you to my court and the other members that serve our kingdom.” Bear waves a hand at the group.
“This is my advisor, Marken Zobringer.”
Marken gives me a small nod. His graying hair and beard make him seem friendly, though his dark green eyes give me the impression that he is not.
Next to him, a couple fidgets, trying to suppress their uncontrollable smiles. The woman flips long, curly strands of mahogany hair over her shoulder, clasping her husband's hand as if she needs a tether to keep her in her seat. She appears much younger than her husband, whose face is marked by weathered lines of years that have passed. Numerous small braids of almost blonde hair fall over his gray robes.
“This is Count Jesting Krow and his wife, Countess Everly Krow. The couple are an asset in our foreign affairs council. They know all there is to know about the four kingdoms.” Bear’s tone is disinterested, verging on tired.
“Oh, Princess, we are so excited to meet you!” the Countess fusses. “The curse on this land has plagued us for far too long, and I, for one, truly believe you are the answer.”
I smile, but I don’t feel like I can really be friends with any of these people. It’s a risk. And I’m done taking risks. I was done the first time I came to this kingdom.
The sweet pet wolf Bear told me about on the ship is the only one I might trust and no one has even mentioned the damn thing. Where is Jubilee? When might I be meeting her? Can we pause this stuffy dinner to take a walk to find the little pet?
“For Goddess Celeste’s sake, she’s just another fae like the rest of us. I don’t think she’s the answer to any of our problems.” A man with a low ponytail and the slightest hint of a black beard crosses his arms over his chest.
The man just reminds me how different we all are. Goddess Celeste isn’t someone acknowledged in the south at all. But here, she’s clearly the true deity in their eyes.
“Well, she’s not just like us. My advisors are all fire fae like yourself.” The King arches a brow at the man before turning toward me. “Syren, that’s Earl Donovan Gregor, the crown’s weapon’s advisor.” He gestures to the glaring man.
Donovan doesn’t so much as blink in response. Though his accusatory words leave the religious man next to him in quite the uproar.
“It is legend far beyond our years, Donovan. It has been written in texts carved into the stone temples of Nalerpera. Goddess Celeste sends wrath on our people in a curse for their wicked ways. It’s to end this hatred between us and the water fae. This marriage will bring peace to our land.” The white gown with snaking red cords tying his waist and the small red cap upon his head are enough to tell me this is the castle’s chaplain.
This is clearly a topic he takes very seriously. Perhaps all fire fae are secretly hot-headed men.
“Or maybe your king is just an asshole who brought this sort of karma on himself,” I say under my breath with a smile at Bear.
His golden eyes shine, but his lips stay firmly in that thin line.
Silence drops.
“Maybe I do like her,” Donovan says, without so much as cracking a smile.
“No, no, no. This was all in the works before Iri took the crown. When our dear departed King Doverrett was alive,” The Chaplain says, folding his hands and bringing them up to his lips.
“Then why isn’t the Southern Kingdom also cursed? Why is it just us?” Donovan slaps his hand on the table, the large ring on his finger clacking loudly.
“Goddess Celeste brought discord to our kingdom because it’s the only way for us to have peace among the fire fae and the water fae. She wants peace. She is above all kind, which is more than can be said of Goddess Nature.” The Chaplain’s tone is cutting in a way that it wasn’t before. Donovan listens intently, his eyes shining with respect for the smaller man.
My spine stiffens at his words. I may not be the most devout follower, but the legend they tell here sounds as if it differs far too much from the legend of Goddess Nature told in my kingdom.
“No matter what, we know that you two,” he gestures at me and Bear, “are fated mates.”
How does he know that? What makes me special compared to the others?
The only thing it feels like we are fated to do is hate each other.
We’re doing great on that aspect.
“Okay, that’s enough. I’m starving, so I’ll just get this over with.” Bear sighs, leaning forward. “These two ladies are Marigold and Jenevieve. They are your ladies-in-waiting, along with Aisha, whom you’ve already met.” The two girls wave, and they’re both young-looking with freckles and large innocent eyes. They appear sweet.
Still don’t trust them.
Aisha grins. Her smile is so luminous that it lights up her entire face, making her shining diamond jewelry appear dull in comparison.
“You’ve met Earl Bartley Joveth as well, and you are certainly familiar with the lad next to you.”
Miranda gently nudges me with his sharp elbow. He no longer looks like the fun, playful man that traveled with us to this begotten city. He traded the over-the-top outfits for a suit similar to Bear’s, though his is navy with white buttons and a small crystal bundle of baby’s tears flowers pinned to the lapel. It’s a very rare flower that his g
ardeners must be proud of.
He clearly is.
“The food.” Bear waves his hand at the servants. They stand at the side of the room with silver dishes covered with opaque glass dome lids.
I notice then that the servants are not fae. They don’t have the same lithe body and delicate movements. They’re trolls. The skin along their hands and faces is slightly leathery-looking. Their eyes as black as night. They’re not ugly . . . just not perfect, either.
They lift the lid and leave the food sitting before me. Fish with rice, fresh greens, and a small, shallow bowl of fruit. Heavy in my lap, my hands stay folded, even after the Chaplain says his prayer over the meal. I can’t help but notice the higher fae like myself are served the sweet applewater while my ladies in waiting are given plain water. It’s a meaningless thing but I’m picking apart every detail of this kingdom. I want to know how they treat the common people as well as their closest advisors.
And with time, I will meet the people of this kingdom. If I’m destined to be miserable here, I don’t want them to suffer along with me.
“Friends, please notice I’ve asked our staff to leave for the evening. I would like this dinner to be . . . intimate. There is a table to your left with additional servings of tonight’s meal, should you desire, and dessert. Surely you’ll be able to serve yourselves for one evening.” One lazy finger points to the arrangement of applewater, wine, and sweet desserts.
“You must be so tired from your long journey, princess.” One of the ladies-in-waiting leans forward. Marigold, if I remember correctly. Her soft brown curls almost fall into her dish of rice as she leans forward in interest.
“Yes. How was the journey? Do tell.” Jenevieve’s voice is soft and airy. Her large doe eyes have a similar appeal, and her plump doll lips give her the appearance of a continuous pout.
“If you think being man-handled and almost freezing to death is a good time, then my trip was utterly fantastic.” I keep my eyes focused on Bear’s also unwavering gaze. The edge of his lips twitches slightly before falling into his flat grimace.
“Oh.” Countess Everly plops a sugar berry into her mouth between her cherry-red lips. Her eyes wide.
It’s doubtful the countess has been around many people who speak openly against the king. For most, it would be a death sentence; for me, it would be a light scolding. Death would be a gift, and he knows it.
“She’s kidding.” Bear glances at me sideways, a bizarre, playful smile making his caramel eyes glow.
The Countess laughs. The noise high, shrill, and completely ear-splitting. I force myself to keep my face blank.
Like a show, Bear stretches his long arm across the space between us, placing his hand over mine. His warm fingers lazily stroke long lines over my thumb.
I know it’s all for his court. The little touches, the strange smile he’s wearing. None of it is for me. Not really. But for a moment, his actions don’t feel as if he thought them through. They feel as though his body naturally needs to be touching mine.
I can feel his lingering attention. Darting gazes from my indigo hair to my peachy pink lips. Then his gaze drifts to my untouched plate.
With two fingers, he motions for a servant who all too quickly jumps to his side. He whispers into the troll’s leathery ear.
“Will you be transitioning to our evening prayers for Goddess Celeste? It must be strange coming to our kingdom and finding out everything you've ever believed about Goddess Nature to be wrong.” The Chaplain dabs his white napkin at his lips after curtly speaking.
“I wouldn’t be a very good believer if I assumed every new thing I’m told is the truth, now, would I?”
Bear’s hand stops moving against my skin, his grip tightening, telling me that was exactly the wrong thing to say.
“Yes, she will be converting,” Bear interjects stiffly.
Cutlery chimes against porcelain plates. The sloshing of red wines in tall goblets and the slow chewing of savory meats sounds a little too loud—or perhaps the lack of talking makes the room a little too quiet.
The same troll who Bear spoke to moments ago waddles to me, stopping to scoot a small tray of various cheeses in front of me. My eyes widen at the arrangement. The food is cut into tiny hearts and flowers.
Oh, come the fuck on. Cheese hearts? He’s a shitty apologizer.
Bear hardly looks in my direction as he waves his hand over the tray, offering it to me. Yes, I’m annoyed, but water builds in my mouth as I glare down at the delicious—smelling food. I ignore my annoyance long enough to snatch a little heart and plop it on my tongue.
Oh, my goddess! They’re so good.
Fucking cheese hearts.
Donovan clears his throat, holding up his own napkin as he gestures across the room. Two more overly-round trolls with dark sprouts of hair atop their heads teeter toward me with a towering tray of sweets.
“Now, Princess, you just have to try this. It’s called a seer sweet. It’s a special baked good that foretells your future. Humor us, please. It’s a Northern Kingdom tradition for friends who are to be welcomed as family.”
Leaning forward and resting my chin on my hand, I watch him. A soft tilt of his lips suggests he means well, but the dark gleam in his eyes tells me to run.
“And how is a dessert going to tell my future?” I purr.
Bear stiffens at my tone.
“Whatever is at the center of your cake: cream, strawberries, chocolate, nuts, or toffee—suggests what is to come. Happiness, fertility, long loving life, or other not-as-great options such as mistrust, loneliness, and illness.”
Death. He didn’t say death, but he meant death.
With a raise of my eyebrow, I hum in response. I stare at the pieces of cake, as does Bear. He selects his quickly, choosing a pink cake with dark chocolate icing and a small edible rose sitting atop.
My fingers drum against the table top. Pieces of vanilla with orange frosting and an orange slice look quite nice. Or the chocolate cake with chocolate syrup dripping down the side with shiny blue flowers neatly arranged.
“There isn’t much point in taking your time.” Chaplain urges. “It’s said that the cake you choose is already written into your destiny by Goddess Celeste.”
Destiny cake. Wow. Sounds amazing. Goddess Celeste has a big fan in this guy if he’s rambling about cake in her honor. Goddess Nature is much more laid back in comparison.
I don’t allow his words to rush my choosing. Not when it suddenly feels like sharp snapping metal teeth clamping down upon prey. It feels like a trap.
Uneasily, I pick an obnoxiously bright yellow sponge cake with yellow frosting and a small lemon slice sticking up from the dessert.
Bear nods, then bites into his piece, turning the cake to his court to show them his future. Nuts. His future is nuts. Sounds about right.
The court claps excitedly. Nuts are good, it seems.
“Fertility. Oh, King Iri, you’ll have many, many children.” Count Jesting claps some more from just down the table.
His wife, wide-eyed and giddy, points to me. “I knew those were child-bearing hips!”
My hand, the one not gently holding my fortune-telling dessert, falls to my hip. Child-bearing hips does not sound delicate and beautiful . . .
Aisha openly grimaces. Her frown eases my displeasure, but only slightly.
“Your turn, Princess.” Donovan leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his broad, black-clad chest. He’s a watchful man, that’s for sure.
I picked yellow. Sunshining, could-only-bring-happiness yellow. I almost picked the chocolate piece with green frosting that reminds me of the island.
Cake, sugary and somehow still warm, fills my mouth. Undeniably sweet, clearly baked by the king’s finest chef.
The court gasps. Suddenly, I’m wishing I had chosen the other piece. Delicious black pudding drips from the cake onto the table. I catch a bit with my finger and lick it off.
“What? What does it mean?”
; Donovan rolls his eyes. “It means illness.”
“Don’t think too hard on it though, dear. I’ve seen one too many friends lose a few—” The Countess’s words hush into nothingness.
Silverware clatters loudly, bouncing from the table to the floor. Between my fingers, the cake is nearly crushed as I turn toward the noise. Jenevieve and Marigold stare at me with blood-filled eyes.
Red, bright, and dangerous blood falls from their pretty faces like frightened tears.
Eleven
Blessedly Cursed
Syren
Chairs rake across the floor, some toppling over in the rush to move away. In my awe, fear, and shock, I remain sitting. Staring.
“No. No, it couldn’t be.” Everly shakes, clinging to her husband.
“The illness has breached the castle,” The earl says, ushering Everly behind him.
Bear’s careful hands find mine, pulling the cake from my fingers. Firmly, he holds my hands between his, standing me up.
Marigold and Jenevieve slouch lifeless in their seats with blank, empty red eyes, blood dripping from their mouths and from under their fingernails. Their skin, once shining with the promise of youth, is blue and purple, similar to a spreading, consuming bruise.
My feet move absently as Bear guides me away from the table. His fingers dig into my chin as he turns my face to him. “Don’t look at it.”
“Guards, show our guests to the bath house. Have them washed of disease and checked by our physician. Then personally escort them to their living quarters.”
Nervous feet trip over themselves as the small group stumbles from the room. Aisha lingers behind them.
Miranda takes my hand as Bear passes me off to him. “Take her to be cleaned.”
“What about you?” Miranda asks, his eyes large with concern for his friend.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll worry about me. You worry about your queen. I’ll be there soon.”
Miranda blinks slowly, but guides me from the room. My body shakes as if it’s the first I’ve seen of death. But it was so near to me. Only feet away from me.
And only moments after eating the dessert that foretells death in my future. Was this actually Goddess-appointed?