The Fae King’s Curse
Copyright © 2020 Jamie Schlosser
All rights reserved.
This novel is for your enjoyment only and may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without permission from the author except for brief quotations in a book review. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This novel is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to locations or incidents are coincidental.
Due to language and sexual content, this book is intended for readers 18 and older.
Cover design: Book Cover Kingdom
Formatting: Champagne Book Design
Editing: Amy Q Editing
Proofreading: Deaton Author Services
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
ABOUT THIS BOOK
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
EPILOGUE
OTHER BOOKS BY JAMIE SCHLOSSER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
To Amy Q. You’re an amazing alpha reader and editor, and a great friend. I couldn’t have done this without you.
Kirian and I were just twelve years old when I pulled him from the icy waters of the creek behind my house. As he looked in my direction with unseeing lavender eyes, I quickly realized our age was just about the only thing we had in common. He spoke with an accent, he had pointy ears, and he was so beautiful it made my heart ache. Oh, and he claimed to be a fae prince cursed by witches who stole his sight.
I thought he was crazy from hypothermia. Turns out, he wasn’t, and for some reason he keeps coming back. But a day in my world is a year in his. Every time I see him, he’s older. Wiser. Hotter.
Over the past six years, I’ve tried not to fall in love with him because the terms of the curse are clear: If he doesn’t wait for his fated mate in all ways, including an innocent (or not-so-innocent) kiss, he’ll be blind forever.
So when Kirian kisses me and pulls me through the portal to his realm, I make it my mission to do some damage control. It’d be a whole lot easier if he wasn’t determined to marry me… And if someone wasn’t trying to murder me every step of the way.
Quinn
12 Years Old
I sigh out a frustrated huff as I plop down on the dock. No fishing today. My pole sits pointlessly at my side, and I prop my head in my hands as I look out at the dripping branches and wet mud.
The big snow from last week has been melting, flooding the creek. Peeking through the wooden slats beneath me, I watch the rushing water that’s just a few inches away from my face. Any higher and I’d be sitting in it right now.
Oh, well. I’ve got about a dozen other things I can do out here.
Tilting my face toward the shining sun, I close my eyes and take the pair of marbles out of my overalls pocket. They’re smooth as I turn them in my palm. Round and round they go, occasionally clacking as they knock against each other.
It’s a soothing habit. The kids at school don’t understand why I do it. Then again, they don’t seem to understand me at all. Even when I try to fit in—wear the popular clothes, say the right things—they still make fun of me.
So I don’t try anymore.
Just as I open my eyes, I hear a shout. Frowning, I glance out at the woods on the other side of the creek. Left, right, behind me.
Nothing. I’m alone. Like always.
People say these woods are haunted. No one else is brave enough to come here. Rumors in town tell tales of ghosts, mysterious flashes of light, and strange sounds.
And yelling, like what I thought I heard.
I’m about to write it off as a bird when I see movement in the water.
I shoot up to my feet when I realize it’s a person. A kid. Caught in the powerful current, he’s coming straight for me.
“Oh, shit.” The cuss word slips from my mouth without thought. It’s exactly what my mom says when she realizes she forgot to switch the wet laundry to the dryer before it got musty.
When I see he’s going to miss the dock by a few feet, I think fast and grab my fishing pole. Lying flat on my stomach, I extend it out to the water. “Grab on!”
His hands grope wildly, and I think he’s going to miss it, but just as he’s about to rush past, his fingers close around the end.
“Don’t let go,” I say, holding tight to the plastic while scooting away from the edge.
If I get pulled in with him, we’re both toast. My parents have warned me many times about not getting in the creek when I’m alone, no matter how shallow it is. The only reason I’m allowed to come out here by myself is because I promised I wouldn’t. That, and the fact that they know they can’t keep me away. But seriously, what would be the point of owning twenty acres of nature if you’re never going to enjoy it?
The boy is close enough to the dock to reach it, but he doesn’t. I wonder if he’s in shock. It’s March in Wisconsin. The temperature of the water has to be forty degrees or lower.
“There’s a ladder in front of you. Right there, on the side,” I tell him, then nod encouragingly when his hand lands on the weathered wood. “Yeah. Climb up.”
I shed my jacket and my hat, ready to give it to the soaked kid. But as he rolls onto his back, panting and exhausted, I realize he’s not a little boy. He’s probably my age.
And so freaking beautiful.
It’s like time stops as I look at him.
His light brown hair is plastered to his forehead and cheeks, and his dark eyelashes glisten in the sunlight. His skin is perfection, not a freckle or a blemish on his gorgeous face. Lips the color of my mom’s prized pink roses are parted as he breathes.
The thin button-up shirt is molded to his body, and although most pre-teen boys don’t have much muscle definition, he does. He’s wearing loose-fitting khaki pants, and I wonder if he was at church earlier. I doubt it, though. There’s only one church in this small town, and there’s no way I would’ve missed him. New people stick out like a sore thumb around here, especially if they look like movie stars.
Maybe his family just moved to Ivesdale.
His eyes flutter open, and I swallow hard. I’ve never seen such a color on a person before—they’re lavender. It’s gotta be contacts.
I think of my own appearance, and self-consciousness makes me want to run away.
But I can’t.
I can’t allow this guy to get hypothermia.
“Take off your shirt,” I blurt out, and heat bursts over my cheeks as I shake my pink jacket and hat in his direction. “I mean, I won’t look or anything. Y
ou need to get into something dry.”
“Thank you, peasant.” He sits up. “But that’s not necessary.”
Did he just call me a … peasant? No. That couldn’t have been right.
“This water is—” Leaning his head to the side, he closes his eyes before opening them again. “About ten meters wide, yes?”
“About.” I nod. “Why?”
“The portal needs to be twenty feet to the east,” he mutters to himself. “Strike it all.”
“Huh? Strike… what?” Is he speaking the same language as me? His voice has a bit of an accent, but I can’t place it. It’s not quite British. He just hits his T’s a little hard and some of his vowels sound off.
Suddenly, I get a prickly sensation on my arm, then I feel a static shock on my wrist.
“Ow.” I rub the tingling spot.
“My apologies. I shouldn’t use such foul language in front of a lady. I didn’t think it would affect you here.”
“Affect me?” What the heck is he talking about?
“Yes. I shocked you.” It’s the first thing he’s said that makes sense.
“I’ll say. Finding you in my creek is the surprise of my life.”
“Well, I’m sorry for the inconveniences I’ve caused you.” Standing, he shakes his hair, spraying droplets all around him like a dog after a bath.
Confused, I dry my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “It’s no problem.”
Wringing out his shirt, he faces me. “You saved me, peasant. I owe you a boon.”
My jaw pops open. He seriously did call me a peasant. Rude. The pretty melodic lilt of his voice isn’t so cute when he’s calling me names. “Stop saying that.”
“What?” He seems clueless.
“Peasant.”
“Why? Are you royalty? Nobility?”
“No.”
“Then you’re a peasant.”
I’ve been called worse. Much worse.
But being bullied by kids at school isn’t the same as being insulted by the most perfect person I’ve ever seen.
“Stop.” I stomp my foot.
He sniffs. “I won’t take orders from a child.”
I sputter. “I’m almost thirteen, and you’re a kid, too. Whatever. We need to get you to the house so you can warm up. How long were you in there?” I point at the creek. “The closest neighbor isn’t for half a mile, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t come from the Hunts’ house.”
“What’s a hunts house?”
“Exactly.” If he doesn’t know the Hunt family, then he definitely isn’t from around here. “Where did you come from?”
“The Night Realm.”
“Oookay.” Maybe he’s worse off than I thought. Are hallucinations a symptom of freezing to death? “Follow me. My mom’s got hot chocolate.”
“Wait.”
The command stops me mid-turn, and I glance back at him. The sun shines down on his head, creating a halo effect. Geez. Could anyone be more gorgeous? It seriously isn’t fair how some people get genes like that. “What?”
He extends an arm. “Guide me to land.”
That’s when I realize he isn’t looking directly at my face. In fact, he doesn’t seem to be focusing on anything in particular.
I wave a hand. His eyes don’t follow. Just to be sure, I flip him the middle finger. No response.
“You can’t see?” I ask, my voice soft.
His lips press together, and he grits out, “Yes, I’m blind.”
“Oh.” Suddenly his rudeness doesn’t sting as much. “What’s your name?”
“Kirian.”
“I’m Quinn. Not peasant. Okay?”
“Okay. Since we’re requesting titles, you can call me ‘Your Majesty.’”
I bark out a laugh. “Uh, not happening.”
I pace over to him and stare at the hand waiting for me. I’ve never held hands with a boy, and the fact that I get to touch Kirian has me giddy inside. He gets to be my first hand-holding experience, even if it is just to help him get across the dock.
The second my skin grazes his, I gasp. Because he’s warm.
He’s not shivering. His lips aren’t blue.
That shouldn’t be possible.
Once our fingers link, sliding into place like two perfectly matched pieces, my heart goes wild.
Nothing has ever felt this right, and for a selfish second, I’m glad he’s blind. He can’t see how plain I am. For all he knows, I’m as pretty as Savanah Welch, the most popular girl in my seventh-grade class.
It gives me a boost of confidence.
But as soon as our feet get to the dirt path, he lets go. “Please direct me to the honeysuckle field, and I’ll be on my way.”
Still concerned for his health, I tilt my head. “Huh?”
I didn’t think anyone knew about the meadow but me. It’s smackdab in the middle of the forest in a large clearing. I like going there during the summer when the flowers are in full bloom.
“That’s why I’m here,” Kirian replies. “My mother likes honeysuckle wine. We don’t have those flowers in the Night Realm.”
There are too many things wrong with his statement. “First of all, I don’t know what a night realm is. Is that like a Dungeons and Dragons thing? Because I’d totally be into that. Also, it’s too early in the year. The field is dried up and dead right now. And this is private property. You can’t just go stealing other people’s flowers.”
Kirian frowns, and the surly expression only makes him more handsome. “I would’ve gone there by myself, but the scent took me here.” Leaning forward, he sniffs me. “It’s you. You smell good.”
Did I think my pulse was crazy before? Now it’s so fast I’m afraid I might pass out. My knees go weak, and my jacket and hat fall from my fingers.
“Thanks.” My voice cracks. I clear my throat, because apparently, I have difficulty accepting a compliment. “Are you sure you don’t want to go warm up at my house?”
“There’s no need.”
Against my better judgment, I nod. “Okay. If you really wanna go to the field, I can take you.” I smile when an idea comes to me. “But I haven’t cleared the trail from winter. There’s a lot of sticks and stuff. You’ll have to hold my hand again.”
Without hesitation, Kirian reaches for me. “Onward, tour guide.”
The arrogant order makes me roll my eyes.
“It’s Quinn,” I correct. “So, Kirian, the bridge is about two hundred feet ahead—”
“Your Majesty.”
“Not calling you that.”
“But it’s my title. I realize you’re an earthling, and this is America, which is a democracy. However, I’m still a prince in my world.”
“The Night Realm,” I deadpan, not sure if I want to strangle him or kiss him.
“That’s right.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“No, I’m not.” He holds up our intertwined hands. “I’m not touching your leg.”
“Not literally,” I grumble, amused. “I mean, you’re kidding. Making things up.”
“Check out my ears as proof.”
We stop, and I face him. His shoulder-length hair covers the sides of his head, and my fingers itch to move the strands out of the way.
“Go ahead,” he says, as if reading my mind.
With my free hand, I reach up and lift his damp locks, and I see what looks like an elf ear.
“It’s pointy.” I rub my finger over the tip.
A sudden laugh bubbles up from him, and I’m so startled by it I jump back, severing all physical contact.
He shrugs. “Tickles.”
He’s still smiling, and I have no words for the beauty in front of me. The grin on his face reveals straight white teeth and a dimple in his right cheek. Even half-drowned, he looks better than me on my best day.
Life really isn’t fair.
“Let’s go.” I can’t look at him anymore. It’s too much. I loop my arm through his and resume our walk.
&nb
sp; “Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me what you see?” It’s a request, not a demand.
My already-mushy heart softens even more. I can’t imagine losing my sight, and a wave of sympathy makes my chest ache.
“This forest is old, so the trees are really tall. The new leaves are just starting to grow for spring. It’s not all filled in yet, so I can see the sky when I look up. It’s bright blue today. No clouds.” As I’m describing our surroundings, I dig in my pocket and get my marbles. “There’s a wild strawberry patch on the other side of the creek. In a couple months when they get ripe, they’ll be scattered everywhere.”
“What do you look like?”
I don’t answer right away. Chewing the inside of my cheek, I think about embellishing a bit. I could tell him I have beautiful raven hair, sky-blue eyes, and peachy skin with rosy cheeks.
But I don’t.
“I’m not very pretty,” I admit with a sigh. “My eyes are brown, the color of mud. My hair is long, but also just plain brown. And… and my face…” I pause, because this is the worst part. “I have freckles. Not cute freckles. It’s called hyperpigmentation. Basically, it’s a bunch of little light-brown speckles all over my cheeks, forehead, chin, nose, and a few on my neck. I’ve tried everything to treat it—lotions, aloe, even prescription stuff. Nothing works. The kids at school make fun of me a lot. I don’t have any friends.”
Geez. All he asked for was a physical description and I treated him like my own personal therapist.
“Why don’t you have friends?” he asks. “Are you contagious with some sort of disease?”
I laugh.
“No. I’ve just always felt different, like I don’t fit in. It doesn’t help that my parents don’t like technology. Almost everyone I know has a cell phone, but my parents think that stuff rots your brain. We don’t have cable. Sometimes I sneak movies home from the library and watch them in my room after everyone’s gone to sleep,” I admit, hoping Kirian doesn’t tell on me. “We have one computer to share, and I’m only allowed to use it for studying. My mom offered to homeschool me, but I said no because if I do that, I’ll be even more socially awkward and out of touch than I already am.”
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