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

by Clarrisa R. Smithe

  "Obviously two moons." He seemed to consider his tone. "Eight weeks, as it occurred during the spring festival."

  "Due in the dead of winter then. How is her size?"

  He shrugged, interest retreating. "Irksome."

  "Do not shrug. It is essential knowledge for the planning of the wedding. We have a little time yet, but not much."

  "Then why do you not go have tea with her and ask the female these questions?"

  A bad attitude had emerged and it appeared that he was the irksome one. "Tristian. This is for your sake I am asking. I'll say the word. Does she have a belly? A swelling? A bump? Hmm?"

  "She was holding something when I struck her," he said flatly.

  "Hiding herself?"

  He narrowed his eyes. "She'd not be so foolish as to dare." But with an incredible sigh, he divulged, "Yes, Mama, a bump."

  "Then the wedding must be soon. We cannot allow the world to see her condition."

  "If I'd any true say, we'd conduct it with but a single priest in the private chapel."

  She would have done the same if it was the most sensible option. Quick, official, married. Done. "Your father..." She trailed off. Nothing had been celebrated privately for years.

  Another of those shrugs, but then he seemed to take a moment to look at her. Truly look at her, and there was a phantom of the son she knew, the one who did not talk of murder with such detachment. "I am sorry to have worried you."

  "I am sorry that this has worried you." She came to her feet and reached for him, though her hands hovered over his arms. He would make the decision of whether to embrace her or reject her.

  His arms wrapped around her with strength, yet nothing quite like the warmth of her second son, rather this was removed, void, distracted.

  "It will be alright, Tristian," she stated nonetheless and she half-believed her words.

  He peeled away to look around. "And I apologise for disturbing an exhibition day. The losses will be deducted from my allowances. What more, I must now consider my words for the Father and Lady Constance, and I suppose I had better retrieve the heathen."

  "A wise plan." She gave him a squeeze, then she sighed. "Whatever happens, whatever you do, you will always be my son. I know it is scary, but you are brave, and I am here." The same words whispered into his ear when the nightmares came as a child.

  He had done a foolish thing only an adult could do, yet she felt he was more a child than he had been for years.

  20

  ~ ASTRID ~

  The next day...

  It was the prettiest prison cell in the land. A preferable location, much more so than the one she had been forced into the previous day. There was a bed piled high with cushions and quilts, mirrors both of full length and table-top, a circular rose-gold gilded table which housed a jug of water atop it, a balcony overlooking a walled garden which was free of any occupants presently. In all it was quite luxurious.

  For a prison cell.

  The water had turned warm hours previously and she was reluctant to call out to send for a replacement. The bowl of fruit which rested in a neat arrangement on the little writing desk carried a strange smell that must have come with the heat. She had attempted to devour an apple following the customary bout of morning sickness though found the softened exterior put her off attempting to take a bite, lest she grace the bowl with another visit.

  The tiled floor was her place of refuge. Despite the stickiness that came with lounging and napping against the hard surface while sweaty, it made for a slightly cooler location than the bed. Her back ached terribly for it, but there was nothing worse than being hot.

  It was where she remained now, sat up with her legs bent to one side, hair pinned into a loose arrangement so it did not irritate her neck. Naked and staring at her trunk which had been brought to the room prior to her arrival, penny man settled atop it. Dresses neatly folded, the same gowns she had packed when visiting Redthorn in the spring. Some of which were growing tight around the middle, but they were the coolest items she owned lest she venture outside in a short nightgown or her underslip.

  It was a terrible effort to even lift an arm to graze a hand across the material so she may judge which was the coolest. Her free hand went to her stomach, a curve clammy to the touch though she knew, despite her own discomfort, that her child, the child she shared with Prince Tristian, was as warm as could be, pleasantly dwelling within.

  He had locked the door behind him when he had shown her to her accommodation, and the maids who entered with a tub of cool water to wash her down had followed suit upon their exit. The doors to the balcony had been locked too, as if someone suspected that she may climb out and hurry across the gardens to someone who might provide her with any sense of relief from this cruel heat.

  His brother was a fair man and had shown her kindness. If she was to find him he might give her something proper to eat, cool water to drink, and arrange for dresses designed to be worn comfortably in the heat to be made for her. It bothered her not one bit, though she knew for the sake of decency that it should have, if he came to retrieve her when she was sat nude and melting upon the tiles. Anyone could see her like this and she would not care, providing she received the help she truly required.

  Her streaming thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the sound of the lock churning out of place sounded across the lavish chamber. The door eased open with a similar gentleness afforded by the maids and servants, but when she turned weakly to gleam the presence, it was neither maid nor servant, but the stringent image of the prince. She had not seen him since... well, since he had turned the key and left her to her surroundings.

  But now he stood in the doorway, his silhouette yawning across the room and landing over her. At first, his mouth had been turned down, pulled tight as though the mere action of arriving here pained him, and his eyes had been narrowed in a way that left little more than gold to be seen. But then his eyes widened when he looked to her, lips parting in silent stun.

  He averted his gaze at once, the hand still gripping the door's knob turning white in a sudden vice clutch. "By God, where are your clothes?" he grated next.

  She blinked, for it seemed like an obvious answer. They were not on her body. They were in the open trunk before her. Without realising, she had already adjusted her stance. Her arms were propping her up and she supposed she resembled some dog waiting for its master, panting and poised for whatever move he made.

  She was terribly wicked of course, though she was clever enough to come up with the plan and see these events come into play. This, after all, was just what she wanted.

  "Too hot," she mumbled.

  This seemed to perturb him further, but it was becoming apparent her voice alone had such an effect. Unsparing, merciless, his arms banded across his chest. "Then I suppose it would be too hot for me to feed you? Should I come back when the night has come and there are but scraps left from my family's meal?"

  Becoming nocturnal was not too bad an idea, for at least the nights were cooler, even if they were still extremely uncomfortable. Food, however, was important, more so for the sake of their child than herself. She gave a meek shake of her head and came awkwardly to her feet, with a great attempt to avoid the pool of sweat she had deposited upon the floor.

  She felt that she should fill the silence with something. They were to be husband and wife after all and as such they had to be prepared to discuss a variation of topics. But she knew she had to tread carefully. If he had been prepared to strike her in the company of his father and brother, she imagined he would do the same when they were alone together.

  No glance was afforded him and so she did not know where his eyes fell. He could have been looking at or away from her body, his eyes could have fallen upon her face, or her breasts or her belly which judging by the reflection she caught briefly in one of the mirrors was protruding well enough to notice her condition.

  "How are you, Prince Tristian?"

  She reached to retrieve the lilac gown wit
h the neckline wide enough for the sleeves to rest in short caps against her upper arms while exposing her shoulders. It would be tight around the middle, but it was the coolest dress she had.

  "I am to ride to Father Conwell's town chapel to relay the news of a void marriage that'd been planned for sixteen years between a most cherishable Lady. Tell me, Astrid, how do you think I am?"

  It was not difficult to conjure an honest answer to his question. If she had been in his position she would have crumpled beneath the pressure, for it was always terribly difficult to admit when one had done something wrong. Surely he realised, however, that pregnancy was a possibility when he had lain with her. Despite her plan, which he was completely ignorant to, there was always that risk.

  And yet she felt guilty all of a sudden. She had put him in such a position.

  "It is hard to tell someone you did something you think is wrong, but this is a good thing in the end."

  That was definitely not the answer he wished to hear.

  She was such an idiot.

  Tristian made a face at her that was most unbecoming of a prince. "Why've I never noticed it before? Every other word to leave your mouth is totally harebrained. Truly, I must have bedded a child as they say, one who've yet to learn to speak." He turned abruptly to escort them out of the door. "Do not prattle that tongue at the meal, lest you give my sister something to gossip over to my other horse of a sister."

  "I'm not a child..." Truly she was not. She was a woman and she had been since the moment she had experienced her first blood. He seemed to dwell on her youth when it suited him and she offered him a frown. "You know I'm not a child, Prince Tristian."

  He turned on her. "Do I? Do they?" And then they were walking again, her struggling to keep pace. Already sweat was sliding down her back, but she was sure it would have been the case even if she was to remain still.

  "I am having a baby and children don't have babies. Actually, we're having a baby. It's what adults do."

  He seemed to be fumbling with something at his neck, a pendulum of sorts. "In your frosted hell of a kingdom, all laws are backwards. Here, in this land, you are but a child and I am but a fool for not seeing it sooner."

  "But we're having a baby."

  "Your repetition has not waned either, I see." They were rounding the long hall of red rugged flooring and decorum, him leading them down the spiral twist of a steep staircase. "It is not I whom the child will come from," he was saying, taking the steps two at a time. "Thus it is you who will be having a baby."

  Before she could protest his claim, he turned on the last step, his wont of abruptness nearly sending her colliding into him. His face was set firm, unwavered, his eyes not angry but assertive. "I do mean what I say. You will not speak at this breakfast unless spoken to and that broken tongue of yours, if you feel you cannot speak right, do not speak at all. You've embarrassed us both enough as is. Do you understand that much?"

  She felt the stab in her chest and the growing sting of his words. For many years she was used to the expectation that she was not to speak unless spoken too, for the rule had been enforced by both her parents, but somehow, perhaps naively, she expected it would be different with him.

  "Can I just say something now?" she whispered.

  Silence rolled between them, their gazes locked, gold slate on diluted blue. And then a small nod.

  "I like you a lot, Tristian. I am happy that I am having your baby and we are going to be married."

  The words awakened a flicker in his eyes, and there may have been a true chance of his reciprocating the words were it not for the sudden company to come in through the main doors of what she'd learned was the castle's westwing. Tristian's younger sister and brother strode, their arms linked, and it was this sight of them that moved the crown prince away from her. As though reluctant to be seen standing at such a personable distance, when in truth, it mattered none, for they would stand even closer than that on their wedding day, and lie even closer during the faux bedding ceremony.

  "Ah, the overnight lovebirds," chimed Rhenan, patting his hand over his sister's. "A delightful surprise, really." He looked between his brother and her, then down at Bethan. "If it's too much of a bother to escort her properly, I don't mind switching. Princess Astrid seems much easier."

  She recalled that she was not to say anything unless spoken to directly, even though it seemed polite to greet Rhenan and Bethan with a brief 'good morning'. Instead she took to staring at the princess' feet, where an interesting pair of shoes without toes revealed bare portions of her feet. She was surprised at how freely Bethan's toes shifted and moved within the confines of the shoe, much more so than her own in her covered-toes.

  "Has my brother bored you to silence already?" Rhenan asked her suddenly.

  "I don't think I'm supposed to say anything unless spoken to directly," she replied quickly.

  Beside her, Tristian stiffened, then cast a betrayed glance her way before defending rapidly, "She has a tendency to prattle and I have no desire to have her ruining the meals, as if my life were not enough for her already."

  Rhenan's head tilted slightly to the side and she noted his hair was far longer than his brother's, whose fell a breath beyond the shoulder blades, clasped back by a single ornament. The younger prince's was but a heavy braid lain down his spine, loose curls escaping near its sides, enough to reveal the single scar above his right brow as he leered near Tristian. "I'm. Telling. Mama."

  And against all odds, the taunt actually seemed to provoke him. "I've done no wrong here. A man commands his wife night and day. Had you experience beyond the female hooked at your arm, you might have learned that. So do not pretend to know what's best for this heathen of a girl here."

  Her gaze slid up to watch the display of brother squaring up to brother, though as her eyes drifted to examine Tristian's expression closely, she caught sight of Bethan staring at her. They had never conversed during their visit and A'zur had commented little on being paired with her in the game. She was expecting a wave of insults to come forward, for spite to drip from the princess' words when Bethan parted her lips.

  And sighed. And rolled her eyes.

  "Having a good old play of the blame game are you, boys?" Bethan piped up. "I swear some things never change, but that's just the way things go. But, more importantly, right now, I am hungry. I also remember Mama's old rule. If we do not rise early enough for breakfast we will have to wait until lunch. And I want my grapefruit."

  She had never met anyone like Bethan before. The princess was well-spoken but rarely did her words pique with any form of expression. The turns of her features were lazy, almost effortless, but it was not entirely unbecoming. She wore strange shoes and spoke peculiarly of grapes, but Astrid was sure she was not as nasty as the other sister.

  And to her further surprise, the brothers actually set aside the small dispute. Or Rhenan did, anyway, petting her hand lovingly in a way that reminded her too much of A'zur, as he explained, "Beth can't go on without her grapefruit. You think he's the ogre," He notched his head at Tristian, then pointed a playful finger to his sister. "She's the queen of them, so we'd best get going."

  As they passed, Tristian practically growling, Rhenan tossed over his shoulder, "And I'm still telling Mama you're treating her bad on the second day."

  She did not wish for Tristian to get into any sorts of trouble, but if it improved her lot slightly, then it seemed like a worthy sacrifice for a man to make for his betrothed and unborn child.

  "Nobody goes in the sunroom when it's boiling outside. It's a nasty summer really, much hotter than we usually have," Bethan began and she was not too sure whether she was addressing her or the company in general. "A couple of storms and it should be back to how it should be."

  "Astrid likes the sunroom," he murmured as he followed his siblings to the dining hall.

  It would be something she would have to correct later, while being sure not to offend him. The sunroom was one of the worst places, if not the
worst, she had ever been.

  "Of course," Bethan replied with a quick look over her shoulder. "Astrid?"

  It was safe to finally speak and so she met her eyes with a curious, yet mild-mannered gaze. "Yes, Princess Bethan?" Even though Bethan was being familiar enough to drop the title, she was not confident enough to do it just yet. She wondered if that confidence would ever come.

  "Do you want me to send for someone to come see you to get you some more clothes sorted?"

  Beside her, Tristian postured. "She does not need 'someone'. I will see to whatever needs she may have and determine what aid is appropriate for her. I do not need you to try to pamper her, Bethan."

  "Mmhm," said Rhenan. "And that is why you allow her to wear that gown when clearly it's too warm for her?"

  "No one was speaking to you, nuisance."

  "Your ignorance invited me."

  Tristian appeared ready to cancel both their meals and have her retreat to her prison boudoir.

  It was a kind suggestion from Bethan, which had led to an equally sweet one from Tristian even though she gathered he was not too enthused about the task. Things had been blown out of proportion and truly, it was not Tristian's fault she was wearing the gown. It was the coolest item she possessed.

  "I do not mean to be rude, but looser garments are needed if we're to keep things hush hush," Bethan said.

  She glanced down at the span of her body and sure enough the shape of her belly was visible through the material. It was completely telling of the state she was in.

  "Let Mama sort it. You won't think much of flowing designs that conceal her shape, Tristian, I know it."

  The doors to the dining hall were pushed open as they neared, the king and queen having already arrived as it seemed both were obnoxiously early risers. He halted them. "Who are you to determine what I think of designs and how they flow on this pale female? A sleeved dress to the ankles and she'll be fine."

  Rhenan snorted. "He's such an idiot," he told Bethan, then to Tristian: "You're such an idiot. Let Mama and Beth deal with it. There will be plenty of other opportunities for you to dictate, dominate and assert your arseheaded ways. I have faith."