by A. K. Koonce
The Cursed Fae King
A.K. Koonce
Rebecca Grey
Contents
1. Tooting Horns and Finding Flowers
2. A Price to Pay
3. Dark Silence
4. Back From the Dead
5. Love and Other Tales
6. Jealousy in Bloom
7. Actions Without Words
8. Woo
9. A Calming Storm
10. New Priorities
11. Drop Dead
12. The Good Stuff
13. Card of Death
14. They All Fall Down
15. The Fish-brain Cursebreaker
16. Kind Company
17. A Surprise
18. The Curse of a Curse
19. Yellow Flowers
20. Love and Danger
21. Never Never
Also by A.K. Koonce
Also By Rebecca Grey
About A.K. Koonce
About Rebecca Grey
One
Tooting Horns and Finding Flowers
Syren
Dead bodies that drip in expensive oils smell a lot better than the dead bodies burnt in the bonfire in the courtyard. No matter how they smell though, they are still dead. They’re dull spiritless shells of creatures who had mothers, fathers, children, and lives in the city of Nalerpera.
Every lifeless body I’ve encountered thus far has been brittle charcoal or decaying from a distance. These corpses, though, have skin so sheer it almost appears translucent, making their now-black veins look like webbing across their bodies. Yet every dead body leaves me feeling the same way: sick with sorrow and anger.
According to the masses, death tarnishes this kingdom because of one vile curse. The solution to their problem? Me.
While the idea strokes my ego just slightly, the title Cursebreaker doesn’t thrill me like it does the citizens of Nalerpera. I have many great qualities, so fucking many. Some of which can also be considered my worst. For example, I am full of determination, and once I set my mind on something, there is little that can be done to change it. I’ll fight tooth and nail to see what needs to be done. Some would say that makes me stubborn. However, I say that makes me queen material.
Not that my father agrees.
Fae like my father, charming but power-hungry, hate people like me. They see power in manipulating royalty. I see power in the people. Without the residents of this continent willingly bowing to their king, he would have nothing. My father’s crown still rests on his head because he is good at sweet-talking and because he had me.
Some could say King Iri still holds his ashen crown because of me as well. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but toot fucking toot, Bear.
When the people see me, they see hope. I am not their hope. I’m their last damn fighting chance, and I’ll see their plague end. So maybe I am their “Cursebreaker.” But it isn’t because some random witch somewhere said a stick-up-his-ass fire fae (King Iri) has to marry a beyond-lovely, charismatic water fae (yours truly). It’s because I’m determined to see the pain end.
Now, I’ve come to realize answers can come in one of three ways: One, you have to ask the right questions at the right time. Two, they can be offered up to you willingly by someone. Or three, you have to put in some work and seek them out.
Today, I’m putting in the work. Or trying to, at least. If I can make it past the stunning visual slamming through my mind right now.
I blink at the rows of dead bodies lying out in the large room.
I can’t get over how dark their once-silver blood looks beneath their features. It reminds me of the lacework of coral that grows over the castle walls in the Southern Kingdom. My stomach twists, and shiny droplets of sweat bead against my forehead. Curling my fingers into my shaking palms, my nails dig into my skin.
Every trace of their death is wiped clean from their ghostly faces. Though if you lift their lids, you can still see the blood staining the whites of their eyes.
It’s a sad horror that I find as the coroner shines a small orb of sparkling magic over a thin, fragile-looking woman. Not one of the people who has died during this so-called curse has had an easy death. Gruesome, horrific, and alarming are the exact words that come to mind.
“Princess, I wish you wouldn’t watch me so closely when I’m trying to work. It unsettles me,” says the coroner, a long, lanky woman whose fire magic burns so hot, she huffs out a cloud of smoke with each breath. Her long arms stretch over the body before her and make quick work of snatching up the cream-colored sheet and placing it over the woman.
White linen drapes over the fae, highlighting every peak and valley of her body. Not even a four-foot radius from the door and the dead separates me from them. One sheet-covered leg kicks up and bounces back down against the table. I inhale quickly and take a large step back. The coroner, unworried, only continues on to the next body.
“Are you sure they are dead?” I ask it even though there is no rise and fall of their chests underneath the thin cloth.
“Bodies can move up to six hours after death. I need to move quickly before she stiffens.”
I resist the urge to gag at the way she says the last word. It rolls off her tongue like it’s her favorite word to say. Her thin pink lips curve up into a pleasant, almost elated, smile. Does she play with the dead like a child plays with dolls? The thought barrels through my mind faster than the thrumming of my racing pulse.
Her yellow eyes do not give me the same flavorful reaction as her lips. They remain cold, tired, and flat.
It's the same look she's given me every time I’ve come. Only this time I intend to get answers. I won't let the suffocating scent or sorrowful expressions of the dead deter me. On my bad days, fear beats me. Today I come to conquer it.
The first body I ever saw on one of the many tall metal tables was Donovan’s. Blood hadn’t been wiped off of him yet. His severed head lay just above his bloody neck. Silver streaked his cheeks in frozen tears. His lips were still tinged in the pearly gray. It settled in every crease, making it look like old worn lipstick. It brought memories of my engagement party back like a nightmare that wasn’t finished with me yet.
Death would never be pretty. But this is far worse than I could have ever imagined.
Sometimes the shrieking of the frantic crowd as they tried their hardest to escape the ballroom of the castle still rings in my ears. Fear has settled in the capitol. Fear has come to seek, kill, and destroy every living patron. And I won't let it. But before I can save anyone else, I have to save myself. Terror grips people just as violently as death.
I toe along closely behind her. It’s the closest I’ve managed to come. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her as she stills and turns on me with a click of her tongue.
Warm gray smoke clouds across my face with her large exhale. “I can’t work like this.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a bother,” I say with little remorse. A shiver runs over my skin, traveling down my spine in a trail of goosebumps as I back away, only to near another dead corpse behind me.
She has rows of them. Usually anywhere from six to ten bodies lie out on long metal tables that run parallel to each other in the spotless white room. Empty, lifeless eyes stare back at me from the man behind me. He has no sheet. Vulnerable, with every inch of his paper-thin skin lying out for the coroner and me to see. His expression is sad, regretful.
“What do you want? Why have you come here every day for the past week
?” Neatly, she folds her gloved hands in front of her. Her restraint is clear, as is her annoyance, as she refuses to say anymore, and her mouth slams into a firm straight line.
“I want—I need to know what could have caused the weapon’s master Donovan’s death to be so bloody.” It’s not a question but a demand. The thought of every barking request I’ve ever received from my father or Bear crosses my mind. Most days it pays to be kind, so I add a small forced smile in hopes to make up for it.
The coroner sighs, turning to work again, bored with me. “The curse, clearly, Princess.”
She’s a woman of medical science speaking of curses. It’s the strangest thing to see how far this ridiculous omen has spread throughout this kingdom.
But I know better. Someone did this. Someone is doing this to us.
And I’m going to find out who.
“Well, specifically, what could cause it to happen if mixed with this kind of flower?” Careful not to break it, I pull the flower that’s shriveled over time from my pocket. The dry petals slide easily over the smooth metal of the table. My fingers inches away from the arm of an unmoving deceased.
I’m not sure it's easier to see so many people dead just because I don’t know them. My heart still aches for them, for their families. It’s a relief when I don’t recognize the face, even if it still leaves a nasty taste in my mouth.
With one large step, the coroner puts distance between her and the fragile, dying bloom. I’m amused that she has no problem touching all these dead fae, but one tiny flower makes her uneasy like I’ve just threatened her life.
“Put that away.” Any trace of her voice seems to be gone as she mimes the words.
“Humor me,” I say with the taste of triumph on my tongue.
I’m getting somewhere. I can tell. I just don’t know where . . .
“That flower you’ve shown me is known as the death bringer. It’s poisonous—deadly if you mix it with other herbs.” She leans closer to examine it, her face paling.
“If you think it’s going to jump off the table and get you, it won’t. I’ve had this flower for a while now, and it hasn’t bitten me yet.” I snatch it back off the smooth surface, returning it to its home in my skirts. After patting my pocket for good measure, I cross my arms over my chest, watching the coroner sigh with clear relief.
“Why do you have it?” The coroner finally looks mildly interested. Even if it’s only because she has some form of self-preservation.
“This flower is causing King Iri’s curse. Not a goddess, not the ghost of his father, this fucking flower.”
She raises her thin auburn eyebrows skeptically when I pause. I continue, nonetheless.
“Donovan was poisoned.” It is supposed to be the punchline to the statement. The big reveal and the huge to-do that makes everything click into place, and the coroner raise her hands and agree.
Instead she chuckles. No cheering, no agreement, and no revelations.
“Perhaps he was, but that doesn’t explain how the rest of the kingdom has also been poisoned for the last several years since King Iri’s father's rule and even more so during the last few months. Tell me, Princess, how do you poison an entire continent?”
“But you’re not saying I’m wrong?”
“I’m saying how can you possibly be right?” She levels me with a low unfaltering stare.
“Look, I know,” I say, giving her my best sincere smile, “I know that my ideas can be a bit far-fetched at times. This, perhaps, being one of them.” The coroner nods her head slowly in agreement as I speak. “But seeing as I’m your princess and soon-to-be queen, could you indulge me with more information? I have to keep myself busy somehow.” I make a show of picking at my nails like every little thing I do is merely a piddly task to entertain my small feeble female mind.
People never want to hear it when I’m thirsting for knowledge. I’m a princess—why would I bother to care or be well-informed on any given topic? I have advisors for that. Appealing to their sense that I’m just idly filling my time, I have found, gets me much farther. So convincing I will be.
She side-eyes me as she turns back to a dead body with more intent than she ever had with our quickly dying conversation.
“What else could you possibly need to know? Marry the king, and all will be as it should be. It’s all we need.” Reaching for a small notebook, she jots something unseen down.
If only it was that easy. I have to go with my gut on this one. There is more than these people see. More than King Iri, Miranda, and his advisors see. Call it a sixth sense, call it intuition, call me crazy. I will do what needs to be done.
“Do you know where I could find this particular flower?”
“No.” Short and to the point. Dark billowing clouds of smoke blow out of her nostrils and rise in the air, making the room hotter and the words even more final. Mixing emotions of anger, frustration, and the unnerving sense that I’m running out of time scorches my cheeks with a crimson blush. “Now, Princess Syren, I’m leaving to get some work done in my office, so unless you wish to spend your night locked down here with our fallen, I suggest you seek your answers elsewhere.”
“Do you happen to know where else that might be?” I venture with a tentative smile.
“No.”
Another hard no. The story of my fucking life.
Two
A Price to Pay
Syren
The hallways move faster as my skirt and my cloak billow behind me in a waving fan of emotion and adrenaline-driven speed. I see the shifting brick walls in blurring dark colors, but I never stumble as they change again and again and again.
I’m know I’m right. I know this isn’t some nonsense curse placed over innocent people by a cruel witch who hardly anybody has even seen. She could be anyone! And I’m just supposed to take old gossip as facts now?
Something isn’t right. It’s not adding up for me like it adds up for everyone else.
Maybe I am crazy. Or maybe I’m brilliant. Of course, I’ll always believe the latter.
Without remorse, I thrust open the door to my blush-and-plush bedroom. Silk drapes shine with the light coming from the large, glowing crystal chandelier. Pendants hang off of the fixture, sending diamond-shaped shards of light in sparkling teardrops over my furniture. It’s as if the room wants to weep for me and my lack of findings.
I feel the same way, shards. I feel the same way.
A whole week of wasted attempts to overcome the unnerving feeling of the dead. I’ve wasted not only my own time but this kingdom’s time. Thrusting out a hand, I knock off the few books I’ve been reading to refresh myself on dark magic. All of them useless. Together, they thunder against the floor, some opening to worthless pages, others remaining closed.
They’ll tell you of the fragrance, or the shape, or the best way to nurture the little poisonous flower as it grows. They’ll tell you all the different uses for the flower, most of which do not end well, while one option offers the chance to give you premonitions of the future. However, nowhere does it tell you where this flower, known as Bloodroot, grows. It’s like this one specific seedling of information was erased from history. Though I suppose it’s to protect people from seeking it out like me.
But I don’t plan on using the flower to kill anyone or turn their flesh into blisters. I’m trying to save the people. Find the flower to find who is utilizing it. Simple. Easy. And completely unattainable, apparently.
If research won’t tell me, and these stupid books can’t show me, I’ll find it myself.
Swiftly, I open my door again. Hemphway’s Adam's apple bobs a hello as he sees the storm written all over my face. “Call back my carriage.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He leaves me in the care of another guard who purses his lips and averts his eyes. I wonder if he thinks I’ll turn him to stone if he looks too hard. I don't have the talent to do that, even if I’ve heard of water fae having the ability. It’s like dehydrating a piece of fruit. It
shrivels and becomes stiffer. A better-practiced woman would be able to do it. Though I don't have the need or want to.
Hemphway’s thundering steps disappear down the hall, only to hurriedly resound as he waves me to him. “They haven’t left yet. Lucky for you, the driver got chatty with a maid.”
“Oh, thank the Goddess for pretty maids and distracted men.” I grasp Hemphway’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze as his grin grows.
The halls are still around us. With my emotions steadier this time, they remain as they are found. Travelling through this castle is hardly getting easier. If anything, my intent on where I’m going is growing stronger.
The evening sun is traveling faster than I imagined it would moments ago. Glowing behind hazy smoke and tiny pearl clouds, the sun inches closer to the horizon. Closer to my only obligation of the day.
Prayer. Prayer to the Goddess Celeste. The only real reason I would want to convert is because her prayer time is so much easier than Goddess Nature’s. One day a week, we gather to hear the chaplain’s droning monotone voice instead of every odd hour of kneeling prayer in the Southern Kingdom. If I’m fast, I can explore and still make it back in time for my obligated kneeling.
I walked through part of the kingdom on my way here, only seeing glimpses from under the hood of a cloak that I wasn’t allowed to remove. Bear showed me the city’s glorified spring fountain that feeds into the rest of his land amongst the polished buildings of justice and church. Donovan showed me a good time at a small pub.
Every little memory is like a piece of a puzzle to this kingdom I may never be able to find my way around on my own. Each place exists in my mind, even if I don’t know how they connect. This place could swallow me up and devour me whole if I’m not careful. The thought should worry me.