The Cursed Fae King: A Sexy Fantasy Romance Series (The Cursed Kingdoms Series Book 2)

by A. K. Koonce

  Rigs snorts. Our eyes meet, and his lips flatten into a thin line before he turns to the horses. Miranda’s long slender fingers come up to hold his chin while his pointer finger taps thoughtfully against his cheek.

  “Changing the subject, but . . .” he drawls, “you know your audience. The plan must have been to get me out here alone all along.” Miranda gasps loudly, wrapping his hands around his body. “You won’t take advantage of me, will you? Rigs will fight for my virtue, you know.”

  Rigs cocks an eyebrow that says he most definitely won’t reach for his blade for any long-lost virtue today.

  I chuckle but ultimately roll my eyes. “Spill it.”

  “Well what do you want to know?” Miranda’s shoulders rise and fall in an easy, nonchalant way.

  “Anything to get my mind off this stupid curse.” I toss him a pouty look over my shoulder on my way to lapping waters. Peeling away my shoes and layers of stockings, I let the icy cold water nip at my toes. It sends a thrill through my body, leaving the hairs on my arms standing.

  “Is there a who you want to hear about?”

  “Apart from the obvious? No, not really. What’s, uh, what’s he been up to these days? Any more headless men I should know about?” Even the lake seems to mirthfully tickle my toes, the wave staying at my feet a moment longer than it had before. To others, oceans, lakes, rivers are just bodies of water, but I know that they are so much more than that. The water thinks for itself. It talks with me, and currently it mocks me now that my curiosity is more than piqued.

  “You know, the usual. Meetings with advisors, trying to get the new weapons master situated, and he spends a lot of time alone, too. That’s worrisome. Oh, I did hear Aisha’s been paying him visits now and again.”

  He sounds so aloof about it. Just a king doing typical king-like things with the exception of his ex-fiancé lingering around like a dick-hungry shark about to sink her teeth into the biggest catch of her life. No big deal, right?

  “Why is Aisha visiting?” I don’t want to ask the question, but it comes out of me before I can stop it. I know the answer and playing stupid is my go-to response. I think it makes me a glutton for punishment.

  “Because she’s still in love with the king.”

  There, he said it. He said it out loud, and it isn’t just me who thinks it. Relief, joy, and a little bit of hatred flood my emotions. It’s the truth, and by Goddess, I hate to hear it.

  “Goddess, I fucking know. It’s terrible. I just want to wring that perfect, pretty little neck of hers.” Acting it out, I curl my fingers in front of me, giving the air a good, fake squeeze.

  “Wait.” Miranda freezes. “This isn’t a confession of motive, is it?”

  “No, Miranda,” I deadpan, leaving the water behind. Sand shifts underfoot, creating a constantly fluctuating walkway.

  “Ah, so you’re just jealous, not murderous?” He flashes his white teeth in a knife-sharp grin. Something in his face, the playful look or the spark of genuine curiosity, makes my gut feel tight and twisting.

  “I’m not jealous.”

  A large bird lets out a cry as it flies overhead. As a group, we watch the animal, letting it give us a pause in the conversation. Rigs stares at it closely as if it’s a fae who has shifted, and he needs to keep an extra eye out.

  “But you don’t want her to spend time with the king?” Miranda points out, still wearing his blithe grin.

  “Right.” The ends of my dress are soggy with murky lake water. Material tries to cling to my ankles as I walk past my companions and toward my horse.

  “Do you want to spend time with the king?”

  His question echoes inside my head. Do I? Do I want to spend time with Bear? Yes and no. I want to spend time with Bear who is good-humored and playful. I do not want to spend time with King Iri who is rash, angry, and mean. He is two sides to a very dangerous and alluring coin.

  “I don’t not want to spend time with the king.” I finally amend.

  Miranda jogs after me, not caring that his wide-toed boots send sand scattering over the flowers that grew up through the dusty ground. “Oh, my goddess. You love him.”

  I wish that everything Miranda said didn’t feel so much like an accusation. Like he’s some kind of mind reader or fortune teller come to spin a tale of woe or love or some other story that scares me.

  “I didn’t say that either. Love takes time to grow. It needs nourishment.”

  “Bear needs to nourish you. You’re like a little plant that needs water and sunshine.” He nods in agreement, pausing. “It’s a shame that the Northern Kingdom has so little sunshine to offer.”

  Right. There’s no light here. Bear has no light to offer me.

  Pursing my lips, I wonder if he is being literal as he glances up toward the cloudy sky or if it’s a metaphor for how completely without joy Bear can seem. The weight of his kingdom is slowly crushing him.

  “Well, are you satisfied that what you’re not looking for isn’t here?” Rigs breaks the silence, handing me the reins to the horse.

  “Since I’m not looking for anything at all, I can say this trip was successful. I suppose we can leave.” Trying to look cheerful instead of defeated, I shrug and pull myself up into the saddle of the horse.

  Time is running out, and people will riot under our rule if I’m right about the curse. The Northern Kingdom will fall to ruins.

  That’s the bigger picture here.

  It’s a deadly picture.

  And yet, it’s not why my heart hurts so damn bad right now.

  Seven

  Actions Without Words

  Syren

  A thundering clatter of hooves pounds against the cobblestone road. The city street remains almost like a ghost of a memory. Empty. Bare. Rotting with death. Somehow, we have managed to get stuck behind the city’s patrol. They lug around the wagon, toting bodies in various stages of decay.

  It’s like the deaths are worsening. Or maybe I’m just now seeing it at its full effect.

  With little to no plans apart from studying the dead, we take our time behind them. Miranda whistles a sorrowful tune that matches our surroundings. Every once in a while, part of the song makes bits and pieces of pasta I’d almost forgotten burn back up my throat.

  “My mother used to sing that song.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to bring back as much of the memory as I can. It remains useless, though. The small fragments of what I knew of my mother are too long gone to fully be remembered. “What happened to Bear’s mother?” I ask instead.

  “She got sick.” Miranda says slowly. “She was the first. The Goddess placed the curse on this kingdom, and it all started with her. People used to think King Doverrett was so great, so bloody fantastic, that the Goddess was jealous of their marriage.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think the illness doesn’t pick and choose who it wants to take. I think it just takes. It takes and takes until there is nothing left. It picks cleans the bones of fae, trolls, and others no matter their status, race, or morals. Death doesn’t care if you’re good or bad, if you lived a long life or no life at all. Death isn’t sorry and neither is this curse.”

  Rigs nods along as Miranda speaks. My eyes dart to my dress, the pocket concealing the flower.

  “I have a theory,” I whisper.

  Miranda blinks slowly as if he is pulling himself from his deep, sorrowful thoughts. “Sharing is caring,” he finally says, leaning into the bouncing sway of his horse.

  “It’s not a curse. It’s dark magic.” I grip the reins tightly, waiting for his reaction. Waiting for the moment he laughs or sputters how absurd or blasphemous it is to even speak those words out loud, I keep my eyes trained ahead.

  He does none of those things. Curly red hair falls in his face as he tilts his head.

  “What do you know of dark magic?” His tone is low as if he doesn’t want the dead to hear.

  “Enough.” Though it never feels like enough. I’m forever feeling like I’
m one step behind, like whatever, whoever, is working against me knows what I’m trying to do. “You know, you still owe me a trip to see your witch.”

  At the mention of the witch, Miranda’s shoulders stiffen. “Nobody gets to see the witch. And you were promised after the wedding.”

  “I won fair and square.” I try to tease, even though the air between us has grown tense. “I’m curious how you’ve managed to talk a witch into helping protect a fae kingdom. Witches are oddities and not very generous.”

  “Aspasia is different.” His voice lowers to a hoarse whisper. “She is all the things you’d think she’s not. And no one gets to see the witch.” He kicks his heels into the sides of the horse, snapping on the reins. “Orders from the king.”

  Orders from the king. I was promised a visit with this witch after the damn wedding. Miranda and King Iri will see this promise through.

  His horse takes off as he rides past the wagon hauling death. I curse under my breath, and Rigs follows me closely as I take off after him. In what feels like a single blink, we leave behind the nearly barren city and enter the courtyards of the palace grounds.

  Everything, with the help of magic, looks so much more promising on this side of the fence. The grass is greener, the trees fuller, and fae mill about working on various projects. No one here seems to know or mind that everyone out there has panicked and run. They think being here will keep them safe.

  Black onyx stone shines under the quickly fading sun, making the castle look blindingly like hope. Or like the end of something . . . kind of like the light at the end of the tunnel . . . like I’m walking into death. If that isn’t an omen, I don’t know what else is.

  Miranda’s horse is already in the hands of a servant who waits to take my reins as my horse comes to a stop, and I slide down. He’s long gone. I laugh, a dry sarcastic huff of a breath, as I roll my eyes and look to my guard. Rigs appears bored. He doesn’t care that Miranda got squirrely at the mention of his witch's name and disappeared like smoke in the breeze.

  “Princess,” A troll with brilliantly white hair steps forward with a bow. “King Iri has requested that you join him for dinner.”

  With my hopes of getting anything further out of Miranda crushed to dust, I shrug. “Tell him I will change and be with him shortly.”

  The hallways shift slowly even though I walk with a determined step. I play new scenarios in my mind, trying to fathom if I could have or can say anything that could persuade Miranda to let me see that witch—until I find myself at my bedroom door.

  Rigs gives a small nod to the guard already posted outside. The brass knob squeaks as he twists and opens the door. With a soft thud, the door closes behind me. Annoyance, anger, and impatience have my stomach bundling in a tight knot inside my throat. I don’t want an idle dinner with Bear, I want answers. I want solid proof.

  Maybe I’m wrong? Maybe this is all for nothing, because all I need to do is marry Bear. It’s the easy thing to believe.

  I even wish I believed it.

  But I don’t.

  Hot and wet tears sting in my eyes. Lifting my head, I stare at the ceiling until I’m able to blink them and my frustration away.

  Kicking off my sand-covered shoes, I slip out of my cloak and pull at the satin strings on my corseted dress. My bare feet meet with the cold floors on my way to my wardrobe. Shining blue paper catches my eye, an odd contrast against the pearly pink of my room. How had I not noticed it sooner?

  My fingers freeze against my gown, holding it to me as I narrow my gaze at a rectangular box tied up with lace. A tag rests atop it.

  “For dinner” is all that is written in a sloppy cursive writing.

  Every inch of me feels weak, shaky even, as I rip through the paper and toss open the lid. Inside, a dress as blue as the box looks exactly like ripples of water frozen and stitched into a dress. It is magnificent.

  Silky and smooth, the fabric shines under the light of my lamps, ripples traveling through it as I pick it up and hold to my body. I’ve never wanted to try something on so bad in my life. This had to cost a fortune. Hastily, I drop the gown I’m wearing and step out of it, only to slide my legs into the new dress.

  It’s definitely a Northern Kingdom fashion. Every inch of the gown hugs my body. I slide my calloused hands against it, savoring the luxurious feeling, listening to the sound the material makes as I glide closer to my mirror.

  If the dress looked like frozen water before, it looks like a cascading waterfall now. With every movement, light dances down my body. It makes me feel powerful. Like I really am a powerful water fae.

  The edges of my lips turn down in a sad frown. This gown doesn’t make up for the lives he takes.

  His gifts don’t make up for his actions. I will not be bought. But I can wear this for a bit.

  Alone.

  Where he can’t see me fawning over my own damn self in the mirror.

  Eight

  Woo

  Syren

  I can’t believe I’m still wearing the fucking dress.

  Why was it so hard to shove it off and kick it into a dark corner?

  Because it’d feel like I was shoving him and his small efforts off . . .

  Or maybe the dress is just really pretty.

  Yes. It’s the material, not the man.

  The lights are out at the end of the hall. Was he not able to wait for me? Was the message incorrect? Maybe I should turn back and head to my room.

  Red plush rugs conceal the sound my heels make against the stone floor. Every hall remains unmoving and so sure of my destination. In the back room, I see the flicker of a candle. The smells of dinner still wafts down toward me, despite the lack of light.

  With the doors propped open, I venture in to find Bear sitting at a small table that feels tiny in comparison to the enormous room. A single candle lights his features.

  It looks almost . . .

  Bear snaps his fingers, and lights flicker on as candle after candle illuminates the space one by one. Their flames reflect in the star-covered ceiling. I had wanted to say the scene looks creepy. But now words like dazzling, romantic, and breathtaking seem more appropriate.

  Romantically creepy.

  “Do you not like the dress?” Bear clears his throat, examining the frown on my face.

  “No, I love it.” I crack a smile and cross the room to the table. Bear rises from his chair and pulls mine out for me.

  Butterflies swarm my stomach now that I’m standing before him.

  He’s compulsively cruel to everyone around him.

  Because you’re thoughtless.

  Oh, my Goddess, now my own subconscious is against me.

  “So why are you frowning?” His voice is a soft, warm breath along my ear while he guides me to sit and slides the chair under me.

  “You should really quit showering me with gifts.” I breathe. I so badly wanted to come in and show him I wouldn’t be bought. That his gifts couldn’t convince me to see past all the bad inside of him. But it is hard to think, much less vocalize, anything other than how completely thoughtless my mind is when I’m near him.

  “If you do not want my gifts, why do you wear them?” There isn’t a trace of anger in the question, only curiosity.

  “Because they are pretty.” And I’m shallow. My attention falls to my hands. It sounds so absurd now. Like I really am a young naive princess, and he is truly a king who wants me to be a part of his kingdom.

  “Miranda said I should give you a gift to make up for my actions.” Glass clinks together as he lifts a bottle of wine and pours a hefty amount. He brings the bottle to my glass and fills it equally as high. “How will you accept my apologies?”

  With fire-hot kisses and dangerous touches. I still as the errant thought comes to mind, but I push those ideas away quickly. It’s like there is something in the air around us sometimes. The smoky scent of him makes me intoxicated. I’m not sure if I want to run to safety or burn in the fires only he can provide.

 
I act as though I think on the question when really, I’m only trying to keep my thoughts straight. “Gifts don’t make up for the lives you ruin. I need action. Real action. Not dresses and flowers and candy.”

  Hemphway could have been of use in other parts of the castle. He could have helped in another position.

  Bear took away his livelihood without realizing Hemphway was a good worker. He was a hard worker who needed relocated. Not fired.

  A good King, a good employer, sees his peoples worth and does the right thing.

  Not the rash thing. Not the easiest thing.

  Reaching for my glass, my hand stops immediately as he leans over my seat, curling his fingers through mine. “I’ll be better. I will be good for you, Syren Stormson.”

  The butterflies are rioting in lust and love.

  I close my eyes, trying not to recognize the tingling feeling that races over my hand and up my arm, but doing so only makes me more aware of his presence. His body so close to mine. His hot breath against my neck.

  “Well.” I force myself to pull my hand away and open my eyes, finally scooping up my cup to take a sip. “Time will tell.”

  What is there to say? Maybe yesterday, he beheaded a man, but tomorrow, he’ll do better and only take their arms and legs.

  Sometimes, better isn’t enough.

  Bear chuckles, striding with a sure confidence to his seat across the table. Every flame around us flickers along with the light of magic in his eyes as his gaze devours me sitting across from him. I’m not sure if the attention is meant to make me anxious for another brief touch, but it does. Each inch of my being is drawn to him, my body involuntarily leaning forward in my seat.

  Someone needs to spritz me with water before I crawl into his lap like a needy cat.

  Propping my elbows on the table, I balance my head on top of my fists. He looks more polished than normal. Not that he doesn't normally look put together. It's just that tonight, there is something extra about him.