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

by A. K. Koonce

  “Nothing could be as bad as Syren killing herself for a few days,” Miranda says around his filled mouth of food.

  Pointing fingers like children, are we?

  Bear blinks, looking slightly repulsed by his friend as he flicks a stray oat from the table in front of him.

  “Nothing bad happened,” I finally say.

  “What did you do? Any plans for today?” Bear leans forward, the anticipation clear in his stature. His plate has hardly been touched.

  The weather outside is dreadfully rainy, so it ruined any plans for adventuring today. Though I don’t think Miranda would be up to going out anyway.

  “No plans for today. Why? Thinking of doing more wooing?” I wink, secretly hoping he will say yes.

  Woo. It’s become this flirtatious code word of ours.

  It’s . . . weird.

  He answers with a laugh. “I wish. Today I have meetings with Earl Bartley and the chaplain. Apparently, I need advice on our unprotected borders. Oh, and as a cherry on top, I don’t pray enough.” Bear taps his finger against his chin as he muses on his wrong doings. “Enough about my day. Tell me about our evening, please.”

  Well, since you asked nicely.

  “Miranda took me out to a bar.”

  “Excuse me?” Miranda chokes. “Are we blaming me now?”

  “Blame? So there is blame to be placed?” Bear’s shoulders sag as he leans back in his chair. His face tips up toward the glistening star-dotted ceiling. Even during the day, the ceiling is breathtaking.

  Even as it shines in his dark eyes.

  “It’s not as bad as you think.” I chew my lip.

  “It’s worse,” Miranda adds, with a dirty smile.

  Oh, come on!

  Bear’s eyes widen, his voice pitching an octave. “It’s worse?”

  “Miranda, seriously,” I say, already exhausted. Might as well get it out there and quit playing games. What’s done is done. What’s said is said. Now I guess all that is left is to decide in which order will I deliver the blows.

  Miranda chuckles, patting his friend on his shoulder, and continuing with his breakfast.

  “I may have lost some money.” I cringe, waiting for Bear to yell. I crack open a tightly-shut eye to watch him.

  Bear merely looks bored. Maybe a little annoyed.

  “You built it up to all this, and that’s all you have to say? That you gambled some money away? Who did you gamble with? Rigs?”

  I mean, Rigs was there. So does that count?

  “Kind of.”

  The muscles in his jaw cord, but nothing else about his demeanor changes. “You had both Miranda and Rigs with you?”

  “Y-e-e-s,” I draw the word out slowly, already cautious about how calm he’s being.

  “How much money?”

  Miranda’s gaze darts between me and Bear because he’s waiting too. We are both waiting for the blow up or the spout of anger or some sort of punishment. Miranda knows how much money I blew last night, and it isn’t a good number.

  “Ten thousand talkens.” I chew on my lip, my leg bouncing nervously under the table to keep me from bolting right out of my chair and running from the room.

  Bear snorts, sitting forward and picking up his spoon. He takes a quick bite of his oatmeal, then shrugs. “That’s better than you being dead.”

  My brows lift high.

  “So you aren’t mad?” I venture after a moment.

  “Do I look mad?” Bear smirks slightly, letting me look him over. His hair is pulled back messily at the nape of his neck. The collar of his shirt is wider than his more formal outfits, making it easy to spot a few lightning-white scars peeking out. The shirt is a dark cranberry color that makes his skin tone look even more immaculate and his eyes daringly electric.

  “No,” I say, still not able to relax completely. There is more to tell. I buy time by scooping a spoonful of fruit. As I chew, I contemplate how to share the threatening things that I had heard.

  If he took that so well, surely he can handle what I have to throw at him next. He must have woken up in a really great mood today. That works in my favor, I suppose.

  “The—the people we met last night. They are not in favor of the current rule of this city, Bear,” I say gently.

  His gaze drifts to the darker grain of the wood at the middle of the table.

  “Yes, I know.” He looks to me with a bland but muted appearance of sadness.

  How do I gently explain the hate that I saw last night? How do I make him see the reality of this situation?

  “It’s more than that, though. It’s more than just gossip and bad-mouthing. They—” My words die on my lips as a loud noise grows with passing seconds.

  My ears catch the faint sound of the shuffling hallways, the shifting grind of magic as it spits someone onto our hall. Not someone but someones. A cadence of marching feet weighted in armor.

  Guards.

  Loose strands of dark hair sway as Bear cocks his head, clearly waiting for the two guards to enter the dining hall. They stop at the door, clad in black from shoulders to toes. Only their heads remaining uncovered, their helmets balancing between one hip and an arm.

  “Terribly sorry to interrupt, your highness.” They bow.

  “Rise,” Bear says, his voice losing the calming tone he had with me and turning instantly hard. “Speak.”

  “There is a gathering crowd of citizens. It doesn’t look pretty.”

  My chest tightens at the words. Oh, no. It’s too late.

  “How bad is it?” Bear furrows his brow. “Send them away.”

  “They carry weapons.” One guard says. The other shoots him a warning glance.

  “We’ve tried pushing them back, but they are pushing forward quickly. We wouldn’t bring this to you if it wasn’t a pressing matter.”

  “Where is Mathis?” Bear sets his spoon back in his bowl, abandoning his meal and standing.

  “He is out front directing the guard.” The two guards shift under Bear’s gaze.

  A loud bang erupts. The noise is bone chilling as it echoes throughout the castle. I gasp as the walls shake. Another loud explosive rumble sends Bear into motion.

  I was worried about how to tell him. But now I’m too late. The city has come for him. They’ve come for us, and they want to seize the castle.

  “Miranda.” Bear calls to his friend. “Get Syren to the safe room. I’ll send a group of guards to protect her. Once they have her, you join me.”

  Shallow breaths rattle my chest. I stand from my seat so fast, the chair falls backward. But then my feet refuse to move. Miranda grips my arm and guides me. My gaze holds on Bear, though. He calls for the guards to gather his armor, his golden eyes searing my skin.

  Be safe. Be safe. Please, Goddess Nature, let him be safe.

  Then he nods as though he understands completely as dust falls from the ceiling in another earth quaking roar. It clings to his dark hair. It thickens around him in a white cloud of smoke.

  And then it devours him completely.

  I don’t focus on our surroundings until we’re running through a dark hall. Sparks fly off of Miranda’s fingertips to light the way, and it’s only then that I remember the secret passage Donovan had told me about.

  The third tunnel runs from the ballroom in case the royal family needs to flee.

  My stomach drops as I remember his words. It’s being used for that very purpose right now.

  The narrow tunnel drags on in darkness for several passing minutes. Then it opens to a room. The safe room is made up of three blank walls and endless iron bars and doors. The dungeons.

  Between breakfast and finding myself surrounded by cages meant for fae, my dress tattered along the edges. Somehow it must have been caught in my shuffling feet as Miranda and a team of guards ushered me away.

  I focus on that as I slide down the wall and sit on the cold ground. The sounds of pounding against my home’s walls has stopped. Dust no longer falls from the ceilings. A new sound has repla
ced it. Wailing, screaming, crying. Agony echoes through the halls, and I pray it isn’t King Iri or the castle guards.

  My stomach turns ill at the thought.

  I wanted to save them. I wanted to save them all. And now it’s come to this.

  The room spins. Slowly, I stretch out an arm to steady myself on the nearest wall. I can’t decide if it’s just anxiety or if I took too large of a dose this morning. Maybe it’s a mixture of both. My chest tightens, worry creasing my brow, as I wait for something to happen.

  Nausea rolls through me and I feel like I can’t catch my breath.

  Big black boots storm in, and Miranda says something to me but I can’t catch his words.

  And then he’s gone.

  Startling, bone-chilling screams erupt near the door at the top of the staircase in front of us. Screams turn to moans of pain that eventually fade into nothing. I shiver at the ghastly sound.

  Guards tense at the sound of the twisting door knob and the creak of opening hinges. Footsteps echo through the silent dungeons as we all hold our breath. The guards lift their swords. Each footfall mirrors the turbulent beating of my heart.

  Sharp blades are poised forward. I hold my breath, torn between wishing I had a sword in hand to defend myself and wishing I wasn’t here at all.

  Could it be that they’ve made it into the castle? That they found the secret passage? That they’ve gotten this far by will alone? No. King Iri would not allow it. He would tear this castle down, shining black brick by shining black brick, before he let anyone touch me. He loves me. I tighten the cloak around me, blinking at the thought. But what if he dies?

  Gut-gripping, heart-stripping anxiety slices through me like a wound from a sharp blade. I need him to live. We need to get through this.

  Together.

  Shining onyx armor appears. Stars like the walls of the castle glitter and shine from Bear’s chest as he lets out a long exhale. Bear looks like a wild storm. Messy brown hair clings to his sweaty face, sheltering a brooding gaze. His eyes glinting with darkness that only lights up when he looks at me.

  Then I see it.

  Blood, shockingly silver, dripping from his brow. It stains his metal armor. It coats his hands. Blood is everywhere.

  His head bows. One hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Guards dart out of the way as I charge through, pushing anyone who hasn’t moved fast enough. I don’t care that blood gets on my hands or my dress as I cling to him and search him for the source of the wound.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask, panic making the words cling to my throat. I touch every uncovered inch of him looking for injury.

  When he doesn’t answer, my fear only grows. With two hands, I grip his arms, shaking him with all of my might. “Talk to me, dammit. Are you hurt? Are you okay, Bear? Tell me. Tell me you’re okay!”

  Bear looks up, his eyes glassy, but he doesn’t look at me. He searches over my face like he’s never really studied me, and he won’t waste another second until he sees every single part of my soul.

  “Guards, I need you to meet with Miranda and secure the grounds. Make sure everyone has left the palace that does not reside here. Anyone captured is to be brought to the dungeons and kept for trial. No one else can come or go. We are on full lockdown.”

  I let go of the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, letting my forehead drop against his bloody armor. Behind me a chorus of “Yes, my king” and marching footsteps lets me know when we are alone. When the sound of the storming footsteps silence, it’s replaced by our shaking breathing.

  So I lift my face to him, watching him as he watches me with caution.

  “Is this your blood?” I resist the urge to shout it all over again.

  “I only received a single blow. The cut is already healed.” He takes a shuddering breath. “This blood doesn’t belong to me.”

  His weight falls onto his weak knees. I let him kneel to the cold stone floor, lowering myself with him. What is normally strong in him is broken; it’s weeping and shaking.

  Holding his blood-speckled face along the shadow of his beard, I pull his gaze to me. “Bear. Listen to me. I’m fine. We’re okay. Anything else that has happened, we can get through it.” His eyebrows draw together like he’s in pain. “We will get through this.” I add.

  So this time, I let him fully lean into me, and I give him my strength right back. I hold him, wrapping my arms as tightly around his frame as I can manage.

  “What have I become?” he whispers into my hair. “I’m a monster. I’m the person I sought to save these people from. They see that now. Somewhere, in protecting myself, I’ve become my father, and I don’t deserve you.”

  “You are nothing like King Doverrett,” I say with pained sincerity. My mind drifts back to the stories he told of his father. “Nothing you can do can change the fact that I’m yours. That I’m going to marry you.”

  “You don’t know.” His words becoming a low wail. “You don’t know how many people I killed, or the anger I felt. They ran from me. It didn’t make me feel powerful. It made me feel like a soulless beast.”

  A soulless beast. I may have thought that about him at first. But I didn’t now, did I? King Iri doesn’t feel like a monster now as he leans into me for strength. King Iri is just a man. Scarred, abused, and lost, while he carries the weight of a nation on his shoulders.

  He lifts his face, his eyes looking dark like endless black holes. I trace my thumb along his dirty cheek.

  “I won't hate you for what you’ve done. You saved our lives. You protected this kingdom.” I wish my words could encourage him, but his entire body seems to sag with grief and exhaustion. “You protected me.”

  I press a kiss to his forehead. He freezes, holding his breath and watching me carefully. My eyes wander from his sorrow-filled gaze to his full parted lips. I want to kiss his anguish away.

  Even broken and coated in blood, Bear’s handsome. Achingly so. Carefully, I press my lips to his. It’s a soft press of our lips, filled with as much love as I can offer. His body melds against mine, the hard shell of his armor pressing into me as I press right back. It’s a push and pull of our bodies, like we can’t get close enough.

  Searing calloused hands slide up my back, pushing any air between us completely away. He accepts my kisses, letting our lips linger against each other. Until he pulls away, his tongue slipping over his bottom lip.

  Shame riddles his features.

  “You haven't seen what I’ve done, Syren.”

  I hate the hurt in his eyes. I want to steal it all away and never give it back.

  “Show me,” I whisper, brushing strands of his hair away from his face.

  One foot manages to push him up to standing. I take the hand he offers, holding my skirt. The dress, while beautiful, is thankfully not one of my best gowns, because now, after the panic, I can see the tiny rips and tears created along the hem are beyond repair. The seamstress would be furious.

  Bear leads me back down the dark passage. Now with his back turned to me, I can see where his armor has been melted away. Where his fire-tipped wings emerged. Where had he flown? Through the courtyard? There surely wasn’t room for his wings in the halls.

  I don’t need to ask the question out loud, though. Not as we cross the threshold into the twisting hallways. They don’t move now. Nothing changes as we step out, except for the sinking feeling in my stomach.

  Scorched black bodies are dotting the singed red plush rug. Smoke still lazily floats off of them like they are pork fresh off the spit instead of citizens of Nalerpera.

  From a distance, we hear orders barked out between guards, and then Miranda turns the corner. His face is uncharacteristically pale, but it livens when he sees us.

  “Oh, thank the Goddess, you two are all right.” He rushes forward. Bear lets go of my hand long enough to give Miranda a partial hug and allow me the same opportunity. I hug him longer, though. It’s just a passing of embraces, but there was a moment where he was gone.

&
nbsp; And he could have died.

  The smell of burnt flesh and hair lingers in the air, but somehow, it’s stronger on Miranda as he slowly releases me.

  Bear’s soft gaze hardens in the presence of his friend, his shoulders righting and his once sorrow-stricken face molds into something like indifference. I allow the pair to lead me through the halls with random fallen bodies acting like pieces of decor until he opens the large doors to the courtyard.

  A line of burnt grass is drawn into the earth. Bodies melted or smoldering like the ones inside, tossed aside like rag dolls. I glance behind me, doing a double take as I find the singed markings of two large wings branded into the doors of the castle. Iri had been here when he killed them all. And he had killed them all. Or almost all of them.

  For a moment, instead of being horrified, I marvel. I stand in awe of how absolutely powerful he is, and then wonder if, with practice, I could be as powerful, too.

  “I did this,” King Iri says, exchanging a look with Miranda.

  “The people did this,” I correct. “You didn’t ask them to attack the castle. They made that decision by themselves.”

  “No. I was too worried about how having you as a wife would affect me, and I sent you off. I prolonged their pain. Now I have you, and we still aren’t wed. I’m going to fix this.” He glances at me, taking in my appearance. “I’ll fix it for everyone.”

  He turns to a guard discussing replacing the door. My mind wanders as I take in the scene and cough, choking on the smoky scent. He should keep the doors. Keep the burned impression of his wings as a reminder of his power, as a reminder that only he is king. I would, just out of spite.

  Maybe he is becoming a better version of himself. King Iri won't give up on this kingdom, even when it forsakes him.

  And I won't give up on him.

  Fifteen

  The Fish-brain Cursebreaker

  Syren

  The castle is in pieces. What used to be the large metal entry gate is in shards. Light dances through holes of shattered rock in any room that shares a wall with the front of the building.

  The bodies are gone but the black scorch marks on the carpet and burnt into the rocky walls still remain. A sickening reminder of yesterday’s event. Riots rock the capital. Noise carries over the large walls lined with the entirety of our forces.