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

by Clarrisa R. Smithe

  And like most guests, he had not the faintest idea where this 'chapel' of hers was, as he'd scarcely glanced over the layout sketch when the architect within the castle had prompted him to.

  But he was delighted all the same, for this woman was...fascinatingly simplistic. The sort of unblemished slate that demanded picking and prodding.

  He ran his finger over the hard rock wing span of one of the hawks, gazing across to the fickle firelight pulsating from one of the archways. "What is your opinion of falconry? Does the Sirista have falcons? Any birds? Are birds a sin, Lady Constance?"

  "On the contrary. The Sirista encourages qualified individuals within its ranks to keep a menagerie. Birds do have their usage after all." The left corner of her mouth quirked upwards into a hint of a smirk. "Especially ones fed meager scraps until the time is right for them to be put to work."

  He didn't quite like the way she'd spoken the last bit, nor the way those dark eyes flashed with a hint of something insidious. He tsked his tongue. "Starving animals is no way to bond with them."

  It was her turn to tut. "No bond is required to put them to work, to see them to submission. Bonding removes them from their most base instincts. They are animals. Why would you even attempt to elevate their status?"

  "Well, you said so yourself. They're not sins. What have they done to deserve it?" It was settled then. She would receive a baby falcon and she would bond with it and love it. Rhenan narrowed his eyes, moving on ahead towards the lengthy crafted sofa stretched before a set of empty portrait frames and woodwork of carved, sleeping vixen; twigs, leaves, acorns and pine needles were etched and scattered across the length of the wall in a way that gave him reason to reconsider selling the home to the crown. For he could imagine the female behind him now. She would sit upon that sofa there, and she would recite those words from her precious Great Book of Important Godly Things as he set about carving the chicklet here above the vixen. "And his name will be Gilbert," he murmured.

  "Pardon?" She turned with the same sharp piercing gaze as the creature he intended to gift her often wore.

  "The baby," he said, pointing to the empty slot of wood that made up the wall. "I will carve his image here when the time comes, and we will call him Gilbert. Unless the name does not suit you? Is it too soft? Might the other hatchlings give him grief?" Ah, she was as cautious as ever. A thoughtful female, it would seem, to have considered the image of the baby falcon already, before its conception. He shook his head. "My brother pegged you as one cold and hard as an ocean rock, but clearly that was a false accusation."

  He was sure he witnessed the flaring of her nostrils as she crossed her arms over her chest. He had learned from his sisters that such a stance suggested they were grumpy about something. "There will not be a baby, but a child. And besides, you're getting ahead of yourself." She turned away then to examine the contents of the cupboards and cabinets carved with similar decoration to the walls.

  "And your brother has terrible judgement anyway, so why take him seriously?"

  "An outstandingly truthful observation you've made..." His enthusiasm drifted as her fingers curled around the dainty little copper knob attached to one of the cabinets, and his father's words came back to him.

  "It is a manor the two of you can call your own!" the king jeered, then pulled his son closer, whispering. "I've even had the servant leave behind a little gift for the nights the woman's nagging goes on—and she most certainly will nag."

  Rhenan bolted across the room, and though she had made it perfectly clear, her desire not to be touched, let alone relieved of her ability to walk, he grasped either arm and lifted her from the cabinets.

  "What are you doing?" Her legs dangled and kicked as if she was a little creature he'd caught on his hunt.

  He set her aside, kicking the small progress closed as his smile wavered. "We were in search of the chapel, yes? I've just remembered, it is not on this floor."

  "You ought to know where the chapel is."

  He looked at her for a moment, sensing that she was the slightest bit distressed, so he reached out and patted her arms to erase his touch and the crinkles in her robe. "I know where the chapel is. I only wished to... show you the sofa. And I've done so." He turned for the stairs, though this time did not drag her along.

  She regarded the seat for but a moment before she turned back to the cabinet. With one swift motion she opened it and the contents within, those fine beverages and tipples he was very much looking forward to downing were revealed to her.

  "1473. Quite the vintage," she mused as she retrieved a rose shaded bottle. "Quite the vintage."

  He cleared his throat once, and then again, which was the usual sign of guilt he so expertly identified in others. "Yes, my father wanted to ensure we settled in and what better way to adjust to the suddency of this union than to muddle the mind and overlook its rather unfair, unexpected and twisted origin? I told him, however, 'No, not I, Father. If I am to be wed to the honourable, devout and upstanding Lady Constance, I shan't partake in the iniquitous beverage, so begone with such inebriating wickedness.'"

  To his surprise, she had her hand to her mouth and he was sure her shoulders were shuddering in what could only be laughter. Something he had not thought her capable of. The bottle was returned to its proper home, after which she clasped her hands together and shot him a broad grin.

  "I think I might have to revisit this later."

  He blinked at her and wondered if she was retaliating for earlier by luring him into the false impression that she might actually indulge in such a pleasantry. But as a fool in nature, he couldn't resist his own curiosity. "But your soul..?"

  "My soul is quite safe, thank you. This cabinet however, may not be once I've finished with it."

  Truly confounded, his brows knotted together—a wolfish grin of understanding cut across his face before he could help it. "Yes! We will down it together!" Perhaps fate was a true beast out there, orchestrating their lives, for Lady Constance was no bad character at all.

  Her little covered head bobbed in agreement. "Of course we will. There can be no other way! Now, how about you show me that chapel? We'll be there a few times a day. It's best we become acquainted with it."

  That was the portion he was not quite looking forward to. Over the past few days, he had mapped out various reasons and excuses to relieve him from the sentence. Perhaps the uproar following the murder of the king would make way as a distraction, a worthy cause that demands his presence for days. Though it may force him into a requirement for a 'grieving period' where he might find himself spending even more times stuck within a place of worship.

  Rhenan stretched his arms above his head and said matter-of-factly, "I feel, if we are to be married and live out our days with one another, honesty is a necessary ingredient for our well-being, as I'm sure you would agree. So I must admit, I haven't the faintest idea where the chapel is. There is always the next day, yes?"

  The smile was wiped from her face. "Well you need to learn where it is and remember that you are to frequent it several times a day. In fact, each room should have the Holy Sun and Star placed upon an altar for proper contemplation if we cannot make the chapel at the appropriate hour. One in each bedchamber is a definite necessity."

  "Can we not just consult with our necklace—"

  "No."

  "Of course," he said slowly as they ascended the stairs. In each chamber, she'd said. Perhaps it would not be all bad, like women who took joy in placing flower pots in every chamber of the abode. Though, he had to wonder.. "Does your knees not hurt from all of the kneeling? Or your brain from all of the thinking? Surely God supports rest." After all, He supported imbibing alcohol.

  "You are a prince of the realm. You should never cease to think. You should never view physical toil and strain as negative. It all pleases God. You are contemplating His holy person." Her voice was level and steady, though her expression resembled a building storm. "I have to educate someone else on the true path. Do not
make me have you educated too."

  He released a low chuckle, but when her face went unchanging, his smile became an abrupt straight line of seriousness. She was not joking. She thought to have him educated in these matters of God when he knew quite enough: live boringly and you were divine in God's eyes. But who was this other such person who needed teaching?

  At the top of the staircase, he spotted a servant dusting the shelves of an ivory white shelf case. He welcomed the distraction. "You there, Erma was it?"

  The woman of an age not readily discernible straightened her back and turned to bow to him, but he was already carrying on.

  "Where might this home's chapel be?" The word rolled off his tongue with a peculiar wrongness, as though a means to foreshadow his future detriment. Destined to take up prayer so long as he was in his own home? He'd have preferred Diadara's father's little shack to such.

  "It is down below, Your Highness, the second corridor on your right."

  He threw a brief glance to the woman beside him before squaring his shoulders. "My father has assigned a spectacular servant, one with an absolute inherent sense of navigation. Erma, you will receive my praise to my father the king upon my return."

  Colour and surprise crept to the woman's cheeks and eyes, the dusting tool hanging limp in her other hand.

  Rhenan turned on his heel to head back the way they'd come, telling Constance, "I merely wanted you to see the wonderful Erma at work. The chapel is down this way."

  "Do you typically know your servants by name?" she asked, following behind him once again.

  "Yes. Of course. I assume the Sirista knows all of its skinny, hooded men by name?"

  This time her answer did not come as instant and sharp as before. "Perhaps familiarity is a better concept worth considering. How familiar are you with your servants?"

  He brightened. "Very! I spend an intimate amount of time with each of them. We are usually entirely familiar after a few moons, though I've yet to acquaint myself on the desired level with poor Erma there. Her wrists must be so tired. Like you. Wouldn't you much rather collapse into slumber and socialise with God in the morning?"

  She closed the gap between them so that there was less than a foot in distance. From the formation of her scowl she almost resembled the most disgruntled little puppy. "It appears Princess Astrid will be gaining a classmate."

  "I mean only that if God is eternal, surely He will be there—" The name caused him to flounder in his thought sequence, before his head tilted to the side. "Astrid is the other you are set to educate?"

  "Presently she is completely unfit."

  "Unfit is such an unkind word. Perhaps try—"

  "Kindness will not save her soul."

  His tongue tapped the hood of his mouth. "Kindness will do just that. For you," He planted his hands on her shoulders, fingers curling into the material as he said, "are incredibly kind to take the time from your day to assist this pale lily. To overlook her past and usher her towards the future. To overlook her heinous act with my brother..."

  He couldn't help it as he brought the female into his arms and crushed her to his chest, careful not to let his chin touch the peak of her veil.

  She gave a muffled grunt against his chest and attempted to free herself from his embrace. "Are you... are you ever..." Another grunt came in the struggle. "Are you ever serious about... release me!"

  But she was so entirely warm, and those faces she pulled to hide her true light from the world, he liked it just where it was—mushed against him. Rhenan allowed it to linger, wanting to ensnare her tighter though knew she was not as seasoned to the pressure as perhaps Beth or Jocelyn.

  With a sea of reluctance, he released her. But then looked down upon her momentarily discombobulated and flustered visage in his own confusion. "Does Tristian...does he know of this?"

  "Of course he does. He was the one who requested it. He was in quite a panic that the heretic's bastard is going to be deformed."

  "Deformed?" That sounded a whole lot like the state of his brother's mind. Twisted and deformed.

  "You know the family history, surely?" Her brows furrowed as she stared at him, interrogating him and stretching his mind.

  He knew their history well enough. He waved a hand. "You must mean the matter of incest yielding little imperfect critters? That's just a myth, Lady Constance. You've surely told my brother as much."

  "Why are you so dismissive? If the bastard does not perish there is a high probability that something will be wrong with it. A fault inherited from its faulty mother."

  He smiled; inside something was darkening as he regarded her. "If I do recall, the Great Book of Good Words says it is not our place to judge. And faulty is another of those unkind words, for the princess is actually rather..." Sweet. "She is an innocent, so how could she ever be faulty?"

  She scoffed. "Innocent? A whore, a heretic, a product of incest... Innocent? She purposely encouraged your brother to be tempted, seeking out a weakness in his will."

  "But how can you know this?" he asked with genuine curiosity, before gasping and whispering, "Unless you were there."

  "Do not be so foolish. She is not of our faith, yes? She is not of the one true religion. She is a sinner, naturally. Sin runs in her blood and we have but one opportunity to see her reformed. Her spells turned your brother away from a righteous path."

  Rhenan stared at her for a moment as they stood before the corridor debating the princess's innocence. It was a valid conflict of assessment and opinion, one worthy of religious evaluation given she would someday be Queen of Redthorn. Keeping this knowledge in mind, he frowned, head tipping to the other side, thinking. When an answer came to him, he asked with sincerity, "How about we call the child Otto?"

  She made no noise of surprise, nor irritation. Simply, she stared in a manner that was rather reminiscent of Beth when Tristian managed to get on her nerves.

  Rhenan stared back, waiting for her answer.

  "You remind me of a dog whose attention changes with each treat waved before his nose. Do not speak of children until one grows within me. Occupy yourself with thoughts of the bastard if you are so drawn to infants."

  Hmm. Was this a subliminal message? Once, when traveling the borders of Pyracea, he had met a man deemed an expert in women. He'd told him that, when women changed topics abruptly from one thing to another, it was often a sign that they favoured the topic they had switched to. Rhenan scratched his beard as he peered deeply into those black eyes of hers. Before he had been speaking of the falcon chicklet, and the baby falcon he would retrieve for her, of which she had insisted he call a 'child'. Now that he had called it a child, she shifted the topic to that of one growing within her, which could truly only mean one thing.

  Rhenan stepped close to her and lowered his voice. "Sweet, kind Constance, you do not have to be subtle and vague with me, for I feel the same. In time, I will see that many children grow within you."

  If she was a hawk before she now resembled a startled owl. "You are the strangest man I have ever come across."

  What a female. To grant him more compliments than even Diadara. He smiled. "And you, Lady Constance, remind me of a button." The glossy black of her drifting robe with but the faintest trace of fair skin and eyes big and round and abysmal as she looked up at him, how could one not think of a button?

  "A button."

  The line of her mouth grew firmer as her gaze hooked him further, drawing him in and making her appear all the more charming.

  "A button? What are you implying?"

  "Do you own a mirror?"

  "Of course I do. Stop changing the subject."

  "Do you not see a button when you gaze into it? If I were you, I would have the item removed as clearly it is defective, if you cannot see it."

  She sighed heavily. "What do you want from me? What is your intended reaction with all this nonsense you spew?"

  He turned on his heel and shrugged, walking the length of the corridor and stopping at the door at th
e end of it. "Nothing at all—Mrs. Button."

  She stood still for a moment before she commenced a pursuit after him. "What did you call me?!"

  He feigned shock. "Why, I was not aware a lady of the Sirista could raise her voice in such a fashion." He pointed a finger at the door to the chapel. "You'd better carry on in and ask forgiveness."

  "Do not attempt to dictate to me the proper forms of devotion. Though I should question, if you know how to behave properly at all. Your brother seems to think with his genitalia. You think with—I am yet to comprehend whether you think at all!"

  "Of course I think. You said so yourself, I am a prince and princes must think tirelessly. Or did my betrothed fib?"

  "Must does not mean you do. And I would have you know that I never lie."

  "Does that mean you will make good on your promise to castrate me? Should I prepare myself? By the God," he whispered down between his legs. "I thought we had more time together, little fellow."

  She gasped in ladylike horror. "You are disgusting! Would you speak of such things before your mother or sisters?"

  "I would and have, my dear. And I will continue to do so, for you will be well acquainted with it soon, so it's best to get comfortable with it." Unless she was honestly set to see it removed from his body. But then what about their unborn children?

  "Do you revel in a lady's discomfort?"

  "Most certainly not. We Hansons are raised to believe our females should always be comfortable and happy. But I would not see any lady in discomfort so long as I can help it. Are you in discomfort, Lady Constance?"

  After all, they were in a corridor alone and such a little button like herself could easily become unnerved in the presence of the likes of him. But it was not as though he was being crude. At least, not overly so.

  "Well, speaking of, well, what you speak of, is not at all a matter appropriate to discuss with a lady. You speak as though you are in discussion with another male. I'd ask you not to speak so crudely in my presence, regardless of the acceptance your mother and sisters seem to have towards your ungallant behaviour."