Bonds: A Cursed Six novel (The Cursed Six Book 1)

by Clarrisa R. Smithe

  The servant set a pitcher of ice water on their table and for the first time he noticed there were five of them, all depleted. The food was untouched, save for the grapes and berries.

  "But it appears we did not account for our special guests," he said sourly. He was used to the high temperatures of his land and seldom visited water when engaged with activities.

  The pair of them had asserted themselves well, camouflaged the sufferance the heat did to their winter-born bodies. And now Tristian wondered if perhaps this was the true reason they had been seated near the rear—the fires and roasts were prepared towards the front, where wafts of heated winds passed.

  The girl was quick to shake her head. "No, Prince Tristian. Your family have been nothing but kind and hospitable, and it is so lovely that you came to speak with us."

  "Does she always address her intended by their title this excessively?"

  A'zur filled his glass and then his sister's. "Her tongue prattles when she's not watered enough."

  Tristian nodded in true sympathy. To live with such a demanding vessel. "You all have hardly touched your meals."

  "We were told the remains would go to the poor."

  Tristian suppressed a scoff. "Of course you were." As if these heathens were capable of having hearts.

  "Is it always this lively here?"

  "Always," he said mournfully. "All who attends do so in hopes of garnering something from King Gregor. And as it stands, the Prince and Princess of Thellemere are in attendance after having been secluded to their lands for shy of two centuries."

  A'zur opened his mouth, but Tristian cut his head left in negation, looking to the fragile thing next to him. He wished to hear from the hummingbird.

  "Is there something you want from me, my dear?" Gentle flowing lavender, a web spun just for her.

  Her sharp intake of breath was audible. She seemed to lean in closer. "I would like to get to know you better," she whispered.

  Just peculiar. Ethereal. Perhaps it was not all a game, and there was in fact a clash of customs in their midsts for her oddness stretched far. And beneath her bold, breathy reveal of her desire, Tristian felt a warmth invade his chest.

  He glanced away. Cleared his throat. He should have allowed the brother to answer, for now he felt fluster—something he couldn't ever recall feeling before. But when he looked to the male for confirmation, he didn't find signs of denial.

  "You must mean my family," he said to her. Women did not want to get to know him, but instead what he had to offer. And if that were not the case here, then he should very well fear that warmth in his chest, because it had the suspicious nature of pleasure.

  A confidence shone through her shyness, creating a strange mosaic of a girl who knew what she wanted, yet did not know at all.

  "I mean you."

  And the hunger struck him with an iron fist, his jaws clenching, his thumb running tracks over his middle knuckle. His mask, for but a moment, cracked. He felt the shatter. Could identify the exact location of its fissure, where if one were to look upon him deeply enough, just as this girl was doing, they might see his broken edges and ungodly lust. They might see him.

  Again, he ripped his gaze from hers.

  What was he thinking? This girl who could not be anything more than seventeen years, was the paragon of all things he went against.

  Rhenan's mockery ran through his thoughts. When did redemption and cleansing of the soul induct adultery into its ranks?

  Not to mention she was a princess and not a common girl who could be discarded after dragging her into his alcove of bitterness, taking her body to rake it from his desire.

  Claps circulated throughout the terrace, a tumult rising above the pop and wheeze of explosives. The king had said something of which the audience inspired noisily. Only then did he note the men and women pour in from the terrace entrance, wheeling a large cart of pies, the lackeys behind them balancing trays of creams.

  The scent of strawberries, blueberries, raspberries and every other berry their father had made sure to place on the menu began to mix a tarty sweetness with the tangy spread of saltwater and black ignition powder from the fireworks. The audience cheered.

  It was no wonder many of the women of the kingdom had to tighten their bodice to hold their gluttony in.

  But he gladly accepted the distraction.

  He clasped his hands. "Well, I do hope you would at least try the pies."

  Yet still the girl did not even glance in the direction of the pies. Her pale gaze remained fixed on him as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth as though he were the pie. The distance between them was gradually closed, his ear the target of her lips.

  "I do not have a hunger for the pies."

  His eyes snapped to her brother's, willing the male to rope in his kin lest he do something he would later regret.

  "Astrid," A'zur clipped. "Come." And the male pointed to the spot beside him.

  Her mouth formed into a pout, like a child who was told she could no longer have her fun. An irritated glare was directed towards her brother. "But I want to get to know the prince."

  "And I instructed you otherwise—"

  "A walk through the gardens later, perhaps?" he promised, enjoying the sudden narrow of her brother's eyes. He secured the girl's hand again, placed kisses to the knuckles as though sealing the promise. "For I too would like to get to know you."

  Alone.

  His hand was caught in a gentle yet undeniable squeeze and she nodded. "That would be the greatest pleasure, Prince Tristian."

  ~ ASTRID ~

  They perused the gardens beneath a smoky sky, the palls still incensing the air as he led them through twists and turns of verdure. It was quieter here, the chitter and buzz of small critters far louder than the dying uproarious crowd they'd left behind.

  Prince Tristian walked with a sure stride, arms behind his back, one hand resting in the other. Something in his expression had changed, become more refined and dignified once pulled free of the ruckus. As though he were coming alive.

  It appeared that her fear of being cursed with tropes from courtly comedic fiction was proven false. Those tales that invoked chuckles from their audiences of princesses seeing portraits or hearing testimony of a prince's handsomeness only to be greeted by a bulbous toad of a man. The tales that had always filled her with an anxiety while Eleanor had giggled, for such a case could certainly happen to her. No foreign envoy would ever describe a prince as ugly. It hardly mattered of course, even Astrid understood that. He could be the most hideous person in the world and a marriage could still be considered suitable if the deal was good enough.

  Though no girl ever wanted an ugly husband.

  The man beside her was far from ugly. It seemed girlish and whimsical to declare that he was beautiful, but that was what he was. His hair, those inkish curls and the trim of his beard. No boys her age ever had impressive beards. His eyes, molten pools that were so very unusual, almost like a beast's, yet she adored them instantly. The chiseled looks akin to what one would expect to find in a sculptor's studio.

  Truly, she was stupid for ever thinking that Tristian Hanson might be ugly.

  Gazing comfortably into each other's eyes did not appear to be an option, though it was nothing worth lamenting over. In fact, their difference in height was greatly enjoyable. He must have stood at over a foot taller and had more brawn than the typical lean Misseldon form.

  If he was to take her into his arms, would he accidentally squeeze her senseless, or would he be so very gentle?

  Could he see her fiddling with the skirt of her gown? Was her breathing too heavy as she walked? Had that damned blemish re-emerged through the course of the evening?

  "I think you are so very lucky to live in such a beautiful place." It seemed safe enough for her to say, for Redthorn was indeed beautiful, if a little hot. She had noted that many of the women who had chosen to reveal their arms in their choice of clothing had donned shawls to conceal them against t
he nighttime chill, yet her arms remained bare. If anything the evening had grown more pleasant.

  It came at a price, the exposure of her skin only adding to her self-consciousness.

  He said something, too low for her to catch in its entirety, but sounded something like, "I hate the colours."

  Did he see her almost stumble over that pebble? It crunched rather noisily. Perhaps he thought the sound came from her?

  "I do hope I am not boring you."

  Instantly, she regretted it. If he was merely disinterested, but not yet entirely bored, it would only make him more inclined to be so. It was a foolish assumption.

  She glanced up and saw an answering smirk upon his lips, his eyes straight ahead. A palpable cockiness, though this flash of arrogance was nothing like that which Ethan strutted throughout the castle. No, Prince Tristian's had justified weight to it. He was the prince, but spoke and regarded as though already king.

  Then she thought of something else, a distraction from her previous words she hoped he would take. He was older than her by twelve years if her understanding was correct. Twelve years more experience in talking to people, be they foreigners or members of the fairer sex or anyone in general. She was a green, stupid girl in comparison to Prince Tristian.

  "I apologise for my brother's intrusiveness earlier. He is very protective." And she felt quite terrible for disregarding his instruction, but she hoped A'zur would understand. "Sometimes I think he believes me to be a little girl still. He thinks I am five rather than fifteen."

  And suddenly the prince was no longer walking alongside her, but stopped. Staring at her in what had to be shock.

  Now she had done something terribly wrong. Something that had additionally offended the prince. Everything was ruined. In tatters because the reveal of her age to him had apparently stunned him into immobility.

  "I..." Her teeth clenched together, and her jaw stiffened, while her eyes seemed to want to narrow and widen at the same opportunity. Her confidence faltered, eyes lowering to his feet while her own scuffed the stones lightly. "I thought you knew."

  Why did this smirk suddenly become more prominent than the last, the shock sweeping from his face to shuttle in amusement. "There are many things I do not know about you, as I mentioned at the tables. Still..." He was prowling up to her now, curiosity joining the midsts of his mirth. "The age does make me wonder.."

  But he said nothing more, merely resumed their walks through the small slopes of the garden trail.

  And now he appeared to be doing something she had heard men were fond of doing. Teasing. Was it intentional, or was she drawing that impression herself? Trailing off, not filling in that gap that would lend more meaning to his words. She could ask him to elaborate, or she could be clever. Be wickedly smart, just as her brother wanted her to be. Just as she should be.

  "You wonder why a little girl rejected the option of a sweet, sugary pie for something more... savoury?"

  Had she really just said that? Gods, this was terrible.

  But the thoughts were swept aside as the prince whirled on her, stepped into her space to where he inhaled her exhales. "Makes me wonder where a little girl learned to be so wicked. And perhaps this little girl should have accepted the pie rather than something I suspect she's never tasted."

  There was a sudden excitement as she felt his warmth and each breath fall upon her sensitive skin. Each word she felt as well as heard. All her life she had been a good girl yet now she felt the burning urge to be bad simply for the sake of her own pleasure, rather than the plan.

  "Perhaps this little girl wants to be wicked and never wanted to be so naughty before she met a foreign prince, who happens to be so big compared to her, and who has twelve years on her. Perhaps she needs to be taught by him—"

  His fist bunched into the front of her dress, and with little caution, his lips were joined to hers. Warm, tugging. Stealing the breath from her lungs as though to say it belonged to him alone and if she wished to breathe again, she'd do best to return it. But despite his size, despite the sheer strength she felt as his arms came to scoop her against him, there was obvious restraint to the ambush, a small but definite passage for her to push him away...or participate.

  There was little desire for restraint, not to play the part of an innocent girl having a change of heart. No, she pushed forward, meeting his lips with just as much intensity. And when her lips fell in line with his, when her tongue flicked his in the dance of dominance, he made a startled deep growl into her mouth. Their hunger was matched, but her insistence extended to her fingers, tugging at his shirt, imploring him not to move away.

  His place was with her.

  The spider had begun to spin her web and he was playing directly into it.

  "Someone might see us," she took the opportunity to say as she managed to break away for air. "But I am famished and I hardly care."

  More of those sounds, this time charged with frustration as he seemed quite prepared to haul her off her feet and make good on her claim to apathy. But in that last moment, where his fingers clutched into the small meeting of her waist and spine, it was he who stumbled away from her.

  His face was confusion or outrage, hunger or disgust. The myriad of curls obscuring him, dipping into his line of sight as he bore his eyes into her, truly did shift him closer to that of a primal animal. An animal who was regarding her feverishly, a hand on his hip, the other trailing his thumb down the corner of his mouth.

  Oddly liken to that of a studious parent, wondering just what they would do with their misbehaved child.

  "I cannot see you," he murmured at last.

  Her brows furrowed, confounded, an emotion she hardly imagined she'd be feeling following the whirlpool of sensations he had left within her following their kiss. Cheeks burned with the heat of their prior passion and did not cool even as she attempted to comprehend his meaning.

  "Prince Tristian, you cannot see me? I'm right here, before your eyes."

  Her response only seemed to make matters worse as his scrutiny became unfashionably perplexed. And then he gave a short laugh, eyes finding the ground. "Are you obsessed with my name?"

  "It's a handsome name."

  "I like it on your tongue."

  The heat returned and scorched her. "T-thank you."

  "I must admit," He was looking to her once more, and the flare was back. "I've never met another quite like you. It's vitalising. But I am a man of constant wonder, constant doubt in those around me, for they favour lies, you see. Deception. When you say all you want is me, I've no choice but to believe it, because in my experience, angels do not tell lies."

  The angel imagery, so pure and heavenly, a universal motif of all that was good and right seemed so out of place applied to her person. She was a wicked girl, a failure, who always desired to what was right by her family. Angels did not do such things.

  He stalked in closer. "But then, the one before me has made it irrefutably clear she no longer wishes to cherish her wings. I ask again, what is it you want? I may just be willing to grant it."

  "You should perhaps reconsider your comparison. If those wings are all you believe keeps me pure and good, then you are ignoring the best transformation a woman can experience. Angels are boring creatures. They do not dabble in fun." Or politics. Or trapping men with pregnancies to get a marriage and an eventual throne.

  "I am perhaps fed up of being boring. What if I wish to sample something I cannot have back in my land of ice and snow?"

  His eyes sobered, lips parting as he gazed down at her. "Ah, I see now." The tone was suggestive but vague. A silence settled over him, between them, the world of the castle and its joviality dusted from the senses.

  "You want to rid of more than the wings, but the halo as well. And what is this, rebellion, obstruction, a final attempt at showing your father you are shroud with Independence and fire? Mmm, hmm. And that brother, what is it he wants? To watch his sister wreck her image?"

  The truthful answer was bubblin
g upon her tongue and he was absolutely ignorant of it. Wrecking her image was all part of the plan, but it would bring his to ruin as well, all for the greater good of reunion and reformed behaviours through their marriage.

  The false tale brought an irritated pout and a roll of her eyes. "My father intends to have me wed to a fat, old, Northern lord. Dull and probably more cobweb than man. Is it not a girl's right to sample what a man should be, the true ideal form of a male, before she is hurried away to be an old man's bedfellow? Do you not think it is a tragedy that I will be wasted on someone like him? Do I not deserve to have my image wrecked by a true man?"

  "Your brother," he started again, patiently, a clarity taking home in his eyes. "What does he want?"

  "A'zur wants to see the development of a proper and efficient trade route between Redthorn and Thellemere. You have resources we are in great need of, and you would benefit from resources found in our land. It is quite a simple desire."

  "Simplicity does not exist."

  "Well, then it's not very complicated."

  "Amongst other things before me now." He crossed his arms and appeared suddenly impossibly tall. "Your mind is not in the proper place, and neither is your heart. This moment between us, I'm afraid it did not happen. Best you return to the party, and truly, try the pie. It's the best throughout the land."

  There seemed to be three options. Failure, which would involve returning to the party and eating the pie which would no doubt taste sour to match the taste in her mouth. Attempting to force herself upon him, a ludicrous notion which would only cause a scene. Or, the only sensible path, moving ahead to entice him further.

  "Think not of my mind, or my heart. Think of what you have done to my body. The blush upon my cheeks, my ragged breathing, and, although it is not at all obvious, the tickling between my legs. All because of you. Disregard heart and mind. Put body first, as I am certain you have done so many times before."