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

by Clarrisa R. Smithe

  She offered him a bashful smile as a blush crept from the neckline of her dress, the frills that provided a dainty barrier between skin and fabric, along with shielding his gaze from what he had studied so intensely as of late.

  "Is it not proper to be this way? I was taught that it is. Not everyone is like this though. I would say it's just me. Everyone else I know appears to be more confident than I. It's probably not a difficult feat as I do not think I'm confident at all and I do not know many people."

  "Not even in your homeland? You've met none quite like yourself?" He struggled to comprehend what population size Thellemere fell under, as the myths and derision made it out to be nothing more than a place of cold and desolation. But then his thoughts took a turn, as did the corners of his mouth as a trace of a smile came on. "Though you did seem awfully confident the prior night."

  She caught the smile and matched it with one of her own, coupled with a nervous little giggle. "Oh... I thought you knew you had an effect on me. M-more so than anyone else, I mean, in that erm... regard. In others too, a-as friends?" Her mouth smoothed into a line and suddenly she was staring down at the ground, at a speck of sand that attracted her interest beside her feet. "I usually spend time with my brothers and sister, or on my own. My second favourite group to spend time with is the servants, because they are always kind and never tell me I'm bad. Then I like the people I meet when I sometimes go out, for festival appearances. The little girls who present dolls they have made are always terribly sweet. Then there are the people I smile at when I am walking in the gardens. They usually pick the berries. Sometimes they don't see me, but I suppose I am intruding on their work. I don't think any of those people are quite like me though."

  He couldn't help the way he stared, compelled by the drawl in her words, even if the subject matter was far beneath his interest. "You talk a lot, Astrid. But only when you feel pressured to speak and explain yourself." He took a pause, eyes shifting over her visage, unable to fully grasp the reason she felt obligated to exert such an effort on his behalf.

  Tristian stopped walking, and as she drew up beside him, the touch of a smile turned into a quirk as he teased, "Do I make you nervous, then, is that it? Is that why you talk on and on to the point understanding you is moot?"

  "Never!" She exclaimed as she finally gazed upon him, her eyes impossibly wide and her hair delicately wild as tendrils bounced around her face and in the slight breeze. "I am more comfortable with you than anyone else. You are the first person I have talked to at such length outside my family. I talk a lot because someone told me once that I am naturally wicked. Perhaps it helps in excusing my actions, but I don't know."

  How right that someone must have been. But why was it he was excusing her wickedness and actions alike?

  He resumed walking, the waves rolling in near their traipsing steps but never quite lapping at the belly of their shoes. "I never said talking was a wicked deed. Merely noted you were fond of doing so in my presence."

  As they continued down the shoreline, their guards following a sizable distance behind like silent shadows, the prince drew up short at the small touch of the princess' hand to his chest, halting him.

  "Don't squash it!"

  His foot hovered briefly before he commanded his body back, puzzled gaze dropping to the ground

  She was down on her knees quickly, where his foot hovered briefly before he commanded his body back, puzzled gaze dropping to an object in his boot's shadow, an object she retrieved with a fond tenderness. The pointed relic was sheltered with delicate care in her palm as she stood with a satisfied sigh, the pale, speckled item safe from being crushed underfoot.

  "I've only seen pictures of these before. The only other shells I've seen have been the vacated homes of snails. I most certainly do not want to pick those up." She tested how sharp the tip was with a curious noise before she peeked within to determine if it was being occupied. "Look, it's pretty."

  He looked at the unimpressive piece of nothing she was so fascinated by, his brows raising in mock intrigue, but he only stared at the thing. "Very..." It had a white exterior, feathered a faded blue as it protruded in a slight swirl as was common of a snail's home. "Interesting," he concluded and fostered a bland smile.

  It seemed she bought his mask of interest as genuine, for her smile did not falter. "Something very interesting must have lived in here before it moved to live somewhere bigger."

  Tristian curved his attention to the distance, a brief glance away as he floundered over how incredibly easy and hopelessly appealing the girl beside him was. Inexplicably endearing.

  Any curiosity and excitement towards the shell was disregarded as easily as it had appeared when a more superior shape was noted in the sand. Five points, speckled and a pale shade of orange. He felt a tug on his arm as she squealed in excitement, and reluctantly, he was enticed and interested in whatever small nothing she thought thrilling.

  "What's that? What's that?!"

  Of course. The land of snow and frost would never have such varying critters like this.

  His smile was a smug one in remembrance of her earlier words. "It's a starfish. Like turtles, it can live both in and out of the water, though sometimes, if the tide is low, they have trouble making it back to the water. You can help it if you like, though I do recall you saying the ocean creatures were... what word did you use.. Stories? In which case, the poor imaginary thing will fare just fine."

  Her chest rose and fell with her excitement, and her eyes flashed with intrigue when he explained the characteristics of the creature. She crouched to examine it further, though shook her head when her looming shadow prohibited a decent view. "I never thought that fish could live out of water. I'll have to tell my tutor that, for I am sure he does not know. Starfish and turkles are fish that live in and out of water just fine."

  He barely concealed his snort and scuff of amusement, which in turn exploited it to full on laughter as he enquired earnestly, "Please tell me I have heard you wrong, for surely you did not say tur-kles?"

  "Turkles! That's what you said." Flurries of laughter were joining his, creating a most pleasant tune.

  "No, my dear, turtle—" His mouth compressed, as the taste on his tongue was one most foreign to him. Had he truly just referred to her as 'dear'? A habit adopted within Redthorn's realm to those they were quite fond of. He had run out of excuses for spending time with her the night he'd taken from her what she could never get back, and what was left was his own choice of seeking out joy and entertainment.

  No, beyond that. An unwilting sense of perfection. As though a strange rectitude had sidled in close to the two of them and sanctioned their encounter preordained.

  "Tur-tle, turtle, turtle," she toyed with the word on her tongue, perfectly oblivious to the sway he feared she was gaining over him. "Yes, turtle. And you also called me 'my dear'..." The princess gave a heavy sigh and glanced back at the starfish. "Does that mean you like me?"

  Or maybe she was not oblivious at all.

  He felt himself become stricken, mouth pulling into a firm line of reticence, for what was there to say in light of such an enquiry when the answer was so damning? "A reluctant fondness, nothing more, I assure you."

  She gave an incline of her head that he supposed was a nod. "But you would count me among your friends?"

  He thought on it, and no sooner did he shake his head. "No, I would not."

  "Oh." The princess still did not avert her gaze from the ground. "Sorry."

  Once more, he stopped and were it not for the quiet eyes behind them, he may have taken her hand to add but a pint more of sincerity to his next words. "You said friends. Plural, which implies I have more than one, which would be a lie for me to claim true—as pathetic an admission that is for one such as me, the Prince of Redthorn. But in fact, had you asked if I would consider you my friend, well then...I may have replied you were my first and only."

  Her head snapped up and she appraised him with a glance of sheer disbelief th
en the purest form of delight. "Really? Really, Prince Tristian? I-I have no friends either, apart from you, which means I have one. We are each other's only and greatest friends!"

  Yes, Astrid, you are as pathetic as me. But somehow, with those pale blue gems gleaming up at him, their brilliance measured by her glee, he felt not at all pathetic and alone, but incredibly lucky. And beside that, a deep kindling sense of perseverance. A desire to immortalise this moment, and if possible, preserve the nuances of it, so that in time, it would remain this way: him as her only friend, for those were the moments most cherished wholesomely.

  He thought of himself, his mother and his father. A semblance of perfection until the day Rhenan's infant cries had shattered their bonds of three, stretching it to that of four when really... there needn't ever be more than the two, should there?

  "Of course," he went on to say as he gazed upon her image, curious how someone of such pure beauty could be so wrong in its many facets. "We are each other's greatest friends."

  *****

  The time came where it seemed the Misseldons could take no more of the endless festivity streaming throughout the kingdom, for Tristian had been assigned the task of escorting them to their carriage when it was said Princess Astrid may have been feeling the slightest bit faint from the overwhelming activity. But as the female and her brother walked beside him, he hardly noticed a damper in her appearance or stride, or anything to suggest she was not the effervescent, lively creature he had come to know and regretfully accept.

  Which only served to show that his family had been entirely correct. The Misseldons had only come on mere trade business, though he had not actually seen them speaking officially of it. Rhenan claimed he had spoken with the brother, and in turn, to their father.

  He set the thought aside and chose instead to use the time to speak with the pale girl whose gaze had taken to crinkling under the assault of the sun. "I suppose you will not miss this as much as other things." A vague declare in the presence of her brother, though he was most certain the girl would miss his company above all else. It was the least she could do when she afflicted him the same.

  "There's one thing I'll miss more than anything," she muttered softly, as though her voice threatened to crack at any moment and the tears she was likely fighting to reserve for the carriage leaked in his company.

  Prince A'zur's gaze whipped to his own accusingly, and Tristian didn't miss the downward tug of his mouth. If anything, it was but solidified fact that her brother despised him, and Tristian was pressed to claim the feeling mutual. Particularly when that male was the sole thing standing in the way of him swiping away the tears and assuring her he would always be here if she wished to visit—but then there was the matter of him having been wed then to Lady Constance. He feared this Misseldon girl could not ever return under those circumstances, because his very opinion of her was bordering on a great sin that held no room for atonement.

  A'zur linked arms with his sister briefly, then lowered his mouth to her ear, whispering something before releasing her and carrying on ahead, leaving just the two of them.

  Tristian watched on for but a moment before casting a questioning glance to her.

  She sniffed as she too watched her brother. Only when his gaze had been fixed on her for a few seconds did she look up and offer him a meek, utterly unconfident smile.

  "I wish things were different," she whispered. "I suppose this is the last time we will—" Her voice finally cracked and she shook her head. "Tristian..."

  This time he did swipe away her tears. Quickly, all but a feather's brush against those plump cheeks before he composed himself once more. "It is no reason to cry, for you did enjoy yourself, yes? You have good memories here?"

  "Good memories that will warm my heart and serve to make me sad when I am with another, far away from you."

  "Well, I hereby forbid you from being sad. Any feelings of sadness will be to act against my order." A fleeting smile grazed his lips, where he tapped his centre chest and said, "At the least you will have the gift to help ward off such emotions?" Why had he never cared before of the women who left his company with similar theatric tears and declarations?

  She managed a small laugh then, much to his relief. "I'll love my gift forever. I'll even be buried with it, I promise." Her eyes found his with a stare that conveyed a warmth, despite the cool shade. "You can come to visit me. Please remember that. And write too, you can write."

  His mouth pulled tight and he averted his eyes. To walk upon that heretic soil, where surely God had corrupted it, frozen its crops and poisoned what water flows they had... "I will remember that." But he would not act upon such remembrance.

  "And remember what we are to each other? Nobody can ever take that away from us. Time or distance cannot either."

  The stringent set of his mouth curved upward and his felt his lids relax as he looked upon her. "That I can never forget, and I do promise no one and no thing can take it away from us." A fair truth, for he had mused just the night before how this winterborn female would always be his first friend and he hers.

  "Good," she nodded furiously before she reached into the pocket of her travelling cloak and fumbled for a moment. The look she gave him after was determined, though she failed on looking anything other than adorable. She sucked at her lower lip and inclined her head towards his hand. "Please give me your hand."

  After a cautious glance around, where there stood naught but the guards and the castle's pastures and paths, he presented his hand to her perhaps too eagerly, though grew skeptical almost immediately. "I will not accept any crude drawings or ruins upon my skin. And neither would my God."

  The laugh she gave was bright and unrestricted, and he wondered if he would ever hear the sweet sound ever again. "No, I would not mar your skin, ever." He felt the soft graze of her fingers in his palm, before a cool weight dropped. "I made this for you."

  He was expecting many things when he looked down, one of them being those sinister artifacts their kind were so fond of doting around. The small, weird figures stuffed with hay or cotton and stitched with black thread and immeasurable amounts of iniquitous beliefs, poured into its very foundation.

  In his hand rested but a bundle of shells all united by a single black band.

  He stared confused for a moment, before he recalled how she had lightened up repeatedly the previous night upon finding new and more interesting beach shells during their walk. He had made nothing of the fact the shells were not tossed back to the ground after her curiosity of the item was sated. She'd been collecting them. For this purpose.

  Of typing them to black string. He looked to her. "What is this?— Of course, it is a lovely, thoughtful gift, indeed. But... what exactly is it?"

  "It's a necklace. You don't have to wear it. I'd rather you didn't actually, so it's our special secret, and it'll probably get broken if you do. It's to remind you of our special day at the beach."

  He looked to the bundle of shells once more and was amazed at how their light weight suddenly felt so wonderfully heavy. A necklace that put to shame that which he had gifted to her, for this was not just a reminder of their special day.

  Their eyes met once more and possibly for the last time. "It will always serve to remind me that we are each other's first friend. I promise that when the time comes, I too shall be buried with it."

  And no one would ever know its significance.

  15

  ~ A'ZUR ~

  For all the times he'd thought of ending a man's life, never before had he thought he would come into spinning the wheel of fruition so soon.

  Rhenan was perhaps as mad as he claimed his father to be headed, but still A'zur could not object, not when...

  His sister's shoulder jostled comfortingly against his arm as they sat side by side in their carriage. They'd departed Redthorn in the early morning—two days proceeding her deed, in fact, and his hesitant agreement to Prince Rhenan's terms. A slight illness of his sister, A'zur had claimed. Yes, s
he does not appear too well, Rhenan had agreed, both males casting a look at one another. A look of knowing that said it was best they remove Astrid from the kingdom while all evidence was heavily stacked in her favour. He was unsure how to feel knowing Prince Rhenan was in favour of their plotted union.

  What more, the nobles were far too restless with their being there.

  He stared out the floral designed panels at Redthorn's great expanse of swaying grass and sunlight, villages dotted here or there, the occasional far-wandered cow or traveling horsemen. He would miss the brightness here, if not its crass inhabitants.

  "How are you feeling?" he asked, realising it was the second time he had done so since their leaving. What more, the cloth in his hand for marking away perspiration, he was wringing with uncharacteristic nervousness.

  She made a noise against his shoulder, a strange hybrid of a groan and croak from deep in her throat. "Sore, but I know that's to be expected. Confident too." She lifted her head to meet his gaze. "Is it wrong to be confident, big brother?"

  He'd not asked the details of their night, but had pointedly eluded it. "Being confident is essential to who you are. Builds you up stronger." He peered down at her, and struggled to see her as she was, as she had been before. As though he could see corruption or smell ruination. "You did well," he said.

  A breath of a laugh crept past her lips as her eyes twinkled in delight. "It means the world, as always, to be praised by you, A'zur. Do you think it worked? I hope I show soon, if it did."

  Where their hips and legs touched, he grasped her hand and squeezed. "It had to have worked."