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

by Clarrisa R. Smithe

  "And you can tell your sister that too before she jumps to any conclusions," she added in a softer tone than before.

  His shrewd gaze lingered on, not a single hint of surprise to be found at the slight assertion of her tone. It was as though he were waiting for her to shrink beneath his attention and admit a false truth, but when she did neither, his lips turned up in a smile and his posture melted back into the casual disregard he'd assumed before. "I was only asking. No need to roar, kitten."

  Without further words spared for the unsavoury discussion, he closed the distance to his brother's chamber, and poised in a knock, knuckles hovering over the wood. "Last chance," he said. "I can have you on a horse and headed for Nowheresville in the blink of an eye."

  "I don't want to go to Nowheresville." Which was an incredibly silly name for a place, but she supposed she had to understand that she was the foreigner here. "I'm quite happy staying here. I'd like to stay with Tristian."

  It was the truth. She did want to stay with him, but she would rather he was like he was before with her. She did not savour the hardness of his gaze, or the twists of his lips as he near enough snarled. It was surprising that the site of his outburst had not left a mark upon her cheek and she knew if she wished to concentrate on the future, she had best leave any hint or mention of that incident behind.

  She reached for Prince Rhenan's wrist and caught it in her grasp. Looking up to him then, she tried her very best to appear genuine and determined. She did not wish him to dismiss her enthusiasm as something childish and not at all serious.

  "I'm going to try my best to make him happy, Prince Rhenan. Or at the very least, remove the sourness if I cannot make things sweet. We can't live our lives like this. It'll be torture for us all."

  With all that had occurred, it was no surprise when he looked to her strangely. Perhaps what came as the true surprise was when he rapped his knuckles to the wood frame loudly, muttering, "I see why my brother likes you now." Which was, in and of itself, absurd. Particularly after the way he'd treated her within her brief return to the castle. But then he added, "And why he hates that he likes you."

  She was quite terrible for making him feel that way, so self-hating when it came to whatever affection he had for her, which she believed to be non-existent. Not now, anyway. She stared up at his brother with a look that conveyed both surprise and hurt, for she presumed that his brother knew him much better than she did, even though she imagined Tristian and Rhenan did not consider themselves to be close.

  "I've got to try to make him like me, or give him more reasons to like me, or at least, not hate me," she said softly. "But I don't think he likes me much. Me being here has brought about the ruin of his life, he seems to believe."

  "You heard my family. He is dramatic. The bright side of that coin: he becomes entirely predictable. The not so bright side: he's dramatic with his predictability—by the God, Tristian!" He pounded his fist to the door now, having not even tried opening it. "Here I am trying to be gentleman-like by not barging in for once and I am ignored."

  And in the midst of his third pummel, the door swung open to one angry looking Tristian, but when the fury laden eyes assessed the two of them, his temper blanched and evened as though a bolt of lightning had simply scorched all expression from his face. That blankness settled heavily on his brother, mouth turned down to mirror his dismay. "What?"

  A thumb was hitched at her, and whatever minuscule sense of acquaintanceship she and Prince Rhenan may have formed on the walk over, all but diminished as he said drily, "Dropping the girl off. We've finished with her. Mama and Beth wants her back this evening for dress-fitting. She left Father tongue-tied with her scant, hardly-a-meal food choices, so I doubt he's eager for her back.Therefore...here she is." A space of silence. Then Rhenan playfully bowed and was all too eager to leave her standing alone with the towering figure who now regarded her with that same blankness.

  Her hands moved to clutch at her skirt as if it would suddenly fall from her body, though of course, he had seen everything that was underneath a couple of times now. They could stare at each other and she could descend into more and more of a worry with each second passed, or she could attempt to say something. Really, there was only one option.

  "I meant not to offend your royal father with my choice of meal. There is a reason behind it, I assure you." The left corner of her mouth pulled into a smile, just deep enough for a dimple to form. "I missed you."

  He glanced both directions down the now empty hall, then back to her. He'd changed from the morning's attire, in exchange for the flannel breeches hung now from his waistline and the white cotton long sleeve resting in waves along his torso. He'd even undone the restraint of curls in back so that they hung ruthlessly in his visage. "And?" he prompted boredly, hand still attached to the knob of the door, as though he might close it in her face.

  "And..." She moved to reply, but realised she had no answer. Each moment that passed was a twist in her ankle across the walk of time, where the distance was growing ever-greater between her and Tristian. "I really did miss you." Her eyes grazed down his person and lingered perhaps a little too long at the top of his breeches. "And you look nice."

  "As ever, repetitive and stating the obvious," he said on a sigh, pushing the door open. Invitation. "I merely don't understand why he deposited you here, as though he's forgotten where your chamber is."

  She took a number of steps forward until she was within the confines of his room. Now she felt she could speak more freely and if they had followed a lawful route and she was married and expecting in that order, it would be more than acceptable for her to speak quite liberally to him as his wife. Of course, she was not yet his wife, even though she was the mother of his child. And there was that awful matter of sourness.

  The chamber's architect, like all else with Redthorn, differed drastically from that back home. Starting with the sheer size of it. The lay was not unsimilar to that which was her prison, but the attached double doors of glass leading to a side room previewed an elegant atmosphere that was perhaps more of a place of lounge than personal setting, and was clearly where he had been previously seeing as one of the doors sat slightly ajar. Which explained why he had not heard Prince Rhenan's knock—or barrage.

  "I asked your brother to escort me here."

  Unlike before, with the lie she told Prince Rhenan, she met Tristian's gaze. Holding it for a few seconds though not too long as to make it uncomfortable. "He obliged."

  A wayward motion of the wrist dismissed the mention of his brother and her explanation. It seemed all anger had dissolved from his person, or had been diverted elsewhere. He closed the door behind her. Then locked it. "You seemed so reluctant to depart with me before. So why now? You've gotten what you wanted and are here to reap more." His tone wasn't accusative in the least, but a steady roll of what he likely presumed to be facts.

  "You said that we weren't hungry but I was. It's important that I eat and I was mindful not to depart without the say so of the king and queen, who both seemed to not voice their consent."

  "Their consent is irrelevant in the wake of mine. I'd hate for you to have to learn that the hard way. But that does not tell me why you're here now. Was it only to tell me of your lovelorn in my absence? To bathe in my comely warmth once more? Or," If possible, his voice ironed out even more. "Was it just to annoy me?"

  All portions of her brain that may have been relaxed beforehand were roused from their dormant state with the same ferocity of a thousand roosters bringing in the dawn of the day. She annoyed him? That she knew, but the affirmation only had her brimming with a panic she tried her very best to contain.

  A small squeak left her lips and she smoothed her hands over her skirt, though found that the creases were already set in due to her iron grip, no doubt worsened by the terrible heat.

  "I-I just want to spend time with you. I was sad when you left the table and I am worried you did not get anything to eat."

  "Oh?" followed
by a belligerent lift of his brow. Then a finger indicated the side chamber, a cool draft seeming to usher in on cue. "I would not miss a meal. I needed only escape the company of my irksome family, but I couldn't well tell them that I was leaving the warm embrace of a family meal to dine privately. My mother, bless her heart, would have been so disappointed. Though, you successfully secured her to that state regardless." He shrugged, then crossed his arms over his chest. "I was hoping you would join me earlier, and trust that I would not leave you, a woman pregnant with my child, to go hungry. But it seems you've already gotten your mind made up about me, yes?"

  She was about to express her apologies for the disappointed state of his mother, for a rift between mother and son was never something she intended to play a part in creating. Tristian's confession, however, had the thought completely disregarded.

  A pained groan left her lips and her hand went to slap at her face. The sound was no doubt amplified by the clamminess of both surfaces and as she slid her hand down her nose and then her mouth, she groaned again.

  "I'm such an idiot."

  But then Tristian raised a hand to her, and by the time it made contact, she'd already been poised in a flinch—even as the heavyweight of his hand did nothing more than drop onto the crown of her head. And then again. As if petting her, before resting there finally and tipping it back so that she was forced to look upon his profile. Which was very, very near to her own. Similar to the first night when he'd kissed her in the garden.

  "Try again," he insisted, neither mean-spirited nor redolent of playfulness. "For I know you're no idiot. In fact, I'd wager that deep down, you're one of the more intelligent of women I've unfortunately encountered."

  It was quite possibly one of the strangest things anyone had ever said to her. When it came to intelligence she had always lived in the shadow of another. Good enough at her schooling, though it was merely copying and sums, very little else. Each breath nudged her lower lip against the bottom of her top row of teeth as her mouth rested slightly ajar. If he had not been touching her or if he was not looking her directly in the eye, she would have thought he was addressing the wrong person.

  "You think that I am somewhat intelligent and yet I cannot take a hint that you laid so plainly before my eyes," she scoffed. "I've always been the stupid one. She always said so."

  "Well this 'she' was wrong to say so. Conniving, yes. Stupid, no. Wicked? Definitely." His hand dropped from her head and he took a step back. "I was content to eat alone before I was interrupted with the unpleasant surprise that is your presence, but I suppose it is not entirely unfortunate for there is a small matter I wished to convene with you."

  He gave her his back as he started for the double glass doors, and it was only this time that she gave the barest glance around his chamber. Like the private one she'd lain with him in, its shades were that of deepened red, splashes of obsidian black and various small artifacts no doubt forged of true gold.

  As she caught up with him in the adjacent room, she quickly found herself in what was a complete contrast to the other room, for this one was classical and... light. Sheer white drapes flapping softly from the open foyer doors, a number of instruments shuttled off to one platform of the room, and she only truly accepted how much grander these apartments were when her eyes fell upon the depression basin at the opposite end of the room. A bath. And housed along the gold-gilded walls were both courtiers and servants, simply waiting to be told what it was he may have desired at any moment.

  But he was leading her to the open foyer, that which looked out over the sands and ocean and sky painted portrait in the distance. Behind the secure balustrade was the single circular table, a light blue cloth settled over it, a steel-lidded platter.

  And two chairs.

  He leaned with an unsettling casualness against the stone work of the balustrade, arms folded yet again, eyes watching her precariously, and then too closely. "If my father remains faithful to his claim that we are to marry, then I suppose it's imperative we set the bounds and expectations early. Your behaviour at the breakfast, it will be forgiven this time, for you knew no better."

  She sighed heavily, an expression of true relief. The scale was tipping from sour to not-quite-sweet, not even a pinch of it, but it was a start.

  "This is where you thank me."

  She was going to do just that. "Thank you, Prince Tristian."

  And he was speaking on as though she hadn't uttered a thing. "From this moment onward, you're to dine privately with me. Morning meal, midday meal and the evening's dinner." He notched his head to the table, the chair. "This is where you will sit. Should I be away, I've already notified the guards you are welcome in these chambers, so upon my return, this is where I had better find you, or across my knee is where you will receive your punishment for the insolence. Is that clear?"

  She acknowledged the chair. Her chair. One assigned just for her and in a position that suited him. It suited her well enough too. At least he could stomach her company enough to wish to eat with her. Surely she did not sicken him that much.

  "It is only proper that a husband treats his wife's body as he sees fit," she whispered. His brother had discussed Tristain's likely intention to see her shaped to the standard of personality and behaviour that suited him best. Perhaps this was what he meant. She had been disciplined plenty of times previously, though the prospect of being secured over Tristian's knee while he made her very sorry for her wrongdoings and wickedness while instructing her never to do whatever she did again brought a great air of humiliation. "Though, while I do not disagree and understand you clearly, I currently share my body with another who is more fragile than we can both imagine."

  His expression was unchanging. "Then I suggest you behave."

  She nodded quickly and he did make a legitimate point. If she behaved herself she would not be instructed to bend over his knee and no undue strain would be placed upon their baby. "Are you going to regulate what I eat?"

  Rather than answer, his foot notched out her designated chair, where he inclined his head. "Sit."

  She nodded and made her way to her seat. Her dress was smoothed to prevent any additional creases, though she did not relish the way in which the material clung to the sticky skin of her legs.

  Only when she was completely stationary and looking up at him for further instruction, did he adjust his own chair so that his back was to the ocean waves, chair strangely close to her own, and his eyes to the doors of the foyer. On the table, laid delicately against the steel lid was a black, silken papyrus, the paper's edges lined with, again, what she had no doubt was pure gold.

  "My father takes great pleasures in his menus. The kitchen staff serves a main dish, entrees, fruits, vegetables, sweets and a variety of appetisers. It's ever changing and we're never really sure what will show on it. Will I regulate what you eat? No. However, if there is an item or more you wish to make a daily trend, you need only notify the staff, but in this case, you will ask me first, and should I approve, I will notify the staff. Is that clear?"

  She nodded. It appeared that it was the norm here, for her to be expected to have some element of choice in what she ate. No one had attempted to enforce her around the dinner table, though the king's bafflement might have served as a hint that she could at least order something he considered to be more substantial to go with the berries. "I cannot have sweets though. She told me they were evil and would ruin me."

  "Did I say you could not have sweets?"

  She shook her head. He did not, but she did. "They will turn my body to fat. I shall no longer be desirable."

  He stared at her. Extensively. Gold saucers, a black disk large within their molten pools. And then he beckoned two fingers at the staff within the chamber. At once, they hurried onto the outdoor terrace, bowed, long handkerchiefs draped over one arm each.

  "The dessert," he said simply, and they disappeared, where he resumed his silence. When the staff returned hurriedly sometime later proceeding the long stretch
of awkward sitting, they set a basket directly before the prince, and within it was a maroon cloth holding what appeared to be a fried batter of something entirely, undeniably sweet. The scent was that of a kitchen whose sole task was to prepare cakes of all flavours.

  When the servants left them alone once more, Prince Tristian lifted one of the golden balls, then blew on it lightly. "Cake balls," he explained with utter disinterest. "There's some form of berry or another within. More often than not they're grapes or strawberries, sugary breading, fried in a maple simmered syrup. At least, that's what the menu says." His eyes lowered to her mouth. "Open."

  She was prepared to protest and state that she was not hungry or yet again turn down the path of explaining that if she ate the cake ball she would no doubt grow large around her middle and not at all due to the presence of their growing child. But then she recalled his words just moments earlier and she knew she had to do as he said.

  "It smells nice," she commented as she opened her mouth around an inch, though her bared teeth revealed that she was prepared to take a bite when offered. Strangely, she looked forward to it, both due to the anticipation of the taste and the rather rebellious aspect of disobeying the woman who had previously had, and still did she supposed, such a strong hold on her life.

  Instead of placing the small round sweet between her teeth for her to sample a bite, the warm cake ball was placed directly in her mouth, the prince's finger tapping her lip once before commanding, "Chew."

  She supposed she had no choice, lest she swallow it whole or allow it to roll from her mouth. There was a strange sense of enjoyment in being told what to do, even when the appropriate action was logical enough for her to make sense of it by herself.

  A burst of flavour engulfed her tongue as soon as her teeth clamped around the cake ball. Sweet, sugary, of textures soft with a core that was runny and fruity. She could not help the moan that escaped her, nor the smile that formed through lips tightly closed for it would be most unladylike if he was to witness what was going on inside her mouth.