The Crowned Fae Queen: A Sexy Fantasy Romance Series (The Cursed Kingdoms Series Book 3)

by A. K. Koonce

  “I said what I said.”

  Rigs reaches past me, twisting the golden knob and pushing my door open. The gems of my skirt trill against the wooden door as I press myself into it and peer out at Miranda.

  “I’ll be dressed and out in one minute.” I hold up my pointer finger, urging him not to leave me yet. I know he wants to disappear or find any excuse to avoid what has to be done tonight.

  The door clicks shut behind me at the same moment that I’m crossing the room for my wardrobe. Behind gowns of silk or beads or rare stones are the less appropriate queen attire. Pants. I live for this blissful time when my thighs don’t have to touch.

  First decree as queen. Better options for women’s clothing, for example, fucking pants. I’d love to see Bear try and prance around getting his kingly to-do list done in eighty-five pounds of unwanted material.

  “You know, all this could make you a few enemies in the council. I’m not sure this is the right timing for that.” Miranda calls, his voice muffled through the door.

  “Yes, I know. Chaplain, Mathis, and Sir Bartley might be the hardest to make the sale to. Though I could see Sir Marken going either way. But I know the Krows. I know their type.” Always willing to please. Eager to make their new Queen happy and to stay loyal members of the council. “I just have to plant the seed of doubt in their minds and watch it grow. They’ll see the truth. Give it time.”

  “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  I slip my shoe from my foot, tossing the heel at my door. It smacks the wood with a thunk. “Don’t remind me.” I yell.

  “If you put a dent in this door, I don’t think Bear is going to be happy.”

  If I dent my door from throwing a shoe at Miranda’s imaginary face, will you get me a new door? I slip the pants over my waist, buttoning them as I feel down our bond. My breathing automatically syncs with Bear’s.

  Gladly. I’m assuming he deserves it. The deep rumble of Iri’s voice inside my head leaves me with a spoiled grin.

  “He says you probably deserve to have a shoe thrown at you, and you’re lucky there was a door in the way.” I chuckle under my breath, slipping my arms into a loose blouse, and tuck the excess material into the waistband of the pants.

  “Tell him to eat my ass.”

  Wind whistles from the speed I open the door with. A daring smile and my wide-eyed expression make Miranda take a step back. Bear’s response is already a ghost of him inside of my head.

  “He says he would be happy to arrange for someone to do his bidding for him if that is what it takes to make you happy.”

  Miranda snorts, slapping his face with his palm, before dragging his features down. His shoulders fall away from his ears. He’s relaxing with the banter. If only I could relax, too.

  I mean, I hate to ruin the mood, but I have places to go and people to see. Mom people. Potential evil, plotting mom people. Person. One potential mom person. Witch?

  I’m not saying that my life is bad. It’s not. I live in a fancy castle with all of my needs met, and I’ve been saved from the brink of death not once but fucking twice, which is more than the stack of bodies on the pile can say. But . . . I have been banished. I have had to learn to fend for myself on a deserted island. I have been forced to marry the asshat who banished me (at least that turned out for the better). And somehow, here we are getting ready to travel to see a water witch who is rumored to be my long-lost mom and who may also have played a hand in this fucking curse.

  So, sorry, not sorry, my privileged ass has some complaining to do.

  “So, how do we get to this witch?” I smooth my hands over my already-unwrinkled top.

  Quickly and without a word, Miranda sets the pace, walking in long strides down the hall. I tug my hair back into a braid, struggling to cross the strands as I jog after him.

  “It’s not going to be fun.” Miranda grumbles. “She’s protected in many ways.”

  “But it’s going to be worth it, right?” I ask mostly for myself, for the panic of my heartbeat and the sweat building in a fucking wet mustache on my upper lip.

  “It’s always worth it to see Aspasia.”

  I don’t have to look him in the eyes to feel the sincerity of his words. Yet I still earnestly hope that it will be worth it for me, too.

  4

  A Brave Death

  Syren

  Today our carriage is unmarked. It lacks the gold trim, leather seats, plush carpet, and finer details I’ve become accustomed to. I bounce against what I can only describe as a thin cotton sheet over poorly stuffed pillows, also known as my seat, at every single bump in the road.

  Outside, small fires burn amongst the small crowds of people that gather daily. The small ounce of rebellion that endures. Snow falls around them, yet they remain.

  Specks of mud dot the windows obscuring my view of the citizens. But I can still hear their cries. Mourning so loud, weeping so palpable, I find myself shrinking inward.

  Miranda’s stern gaze has remained fixed out the window since we left. His legs are crossed and his boots bounce against the door, the only noise other than the grief.

  “You haven't seen Nalerpera since the attempted siege, have you?” His solemn voice breaks the silence.

  “No.” My voice cracks within the whisper.

  “You should be glad these windows are so disgusting. The image is just as bad as their sad serenade.” He finally pulls his attention toward me. “Don’t look out the windows anymore—look at me.”

  I want to try to look away to avoid taking in all of their pain and making it my own. But I can’t. It just isn’t in me. Not anymore.

  “No, seriously,” Miranda says in a lighter tone. “Look at me. Is my hair okay? Do you think I should put on eyeliner?”

  “What?” I cough, twisting on the thin cushion to face him.

  Raking his fingers through his hair, he fidgets. His hands dance over his curls, pinch at his cheeks, then reach into his pants pocket to pull out a skinny charcoal stick.

  “I didn’t have time to get ready. I thought I could get you to change your mind, and we wouldn’t get this far.” He holds out the onyx pencil.

  I take it, looking between the small object and Miranda. His green eyes stare back at me wide. He does look pretty good with eyeliner . . .

  “Do you really think I know how to put this on you?” I laugh, trying to hand it back. “I’m a princess. People do that for me.”

  He puts his hands up, pushing the pencil back toward me. “Well, it’s time you start trying. It’s not hard. Literally just smudge it into my eyelashes. You can wipe away any bumps above it.”

  Blinking, I look down at my hands and the way they shake.

  “Please, I don’t have a mirror to do it myself,” he pleads.

  “Gah,” I gasp, his large puppy dog eyes pulling on my heartstrings. “You fucking know your audience.” I sniffle, holding the pencil up to his face. “Close your eyes.”

  Miranda beams.

  “You better wipe that smug look off your face before I accidentally draw the male genitalia across your entire face. Your witch wouldn’t find you quite so handsome like that, would she?”

  His smile falters. “Actually, she is quite . . . eccentric. It’s one of her good qualities.”

  Goddess above, I hope she isn’t my mother. Nothing like having one of your best friends fall in love with your potential mother. Literally a motherfucker. Yuck.

  Black spreads smoothly over his eyelids, better than I thought it might. I leave a thick line across his eyelid then ask him to look up, as my handmaidens do for me, and continue to cover his bottom eyelashes.

  “Is she a good person? This witch?” I manage as I begin lining his other eye.

  The carriage hits another bump. A wicked black smudge spikes up unattractively across his eyelid. Damn it. I scrub my finger over the mistake.

  “She’s a woman of her word,” Miranda finally says as I pull away and admire my work.

  Goddess, he really is so mu
ch more handsome in eyeliner. He looks like some sort of devilish fae warrior from some unknown land.

  “But you wouldn’t describe her as good?”

  “That’s subjective.”

  Wow. He’s really talking her up right now. All this kindness is too much.

  “You, I’m talking about you. Do you think she is good?” I hand the pencil back, leaning against the back of the seat with one arm to prop up my head.

  His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat before he speaks.

  “I think she’s special. She’s loyal, keeps her word, she’s . . .” His voice trails off as he points his gaze away from me.

  “Beautiful?”

  “What? I didn’t say that.” He snatches the pencil out of my hand, hastily shoving it back into his pocket.

  “You seem mesmerized by her.”

  It’s the way his face softens when he talks about her, and how it hardens when he feels like she could be threatened. That doesn’t happen when someone talks about a person they don’t care about.

  “Has this little witch of yours put a spell on you?” I mock, fussing with his hair until the curls sit nicely. “Was it a love spell?”

  Miranda scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You make me out to be a fool. Only a foolish man would fall in love with a witch.”

  “Or maybe a man who is daring and adventurous. Someone who just can’t quite walk the path that was designed for him; a man who has to forge his own path.”

  Wait, I’m not trying to talk him into loving her. Or professing his love for her. Goddess above, someone take my tongue before I get myself into trouble.

  No matter what, I’m really just describing my friend. Miranda is this person, and falling in love with a creature that fae kind can hardly even stand would be exactly something he would do.

  His shoulders rise and fall with the easy nonchalance of a man who is lying to himself as the carriage rattles to a stop. My body lurches forward with the motion of the buggy itself. The world outside the splattered windows is a pitch-black void.

  “Are you ready?” Miranda asks. Unoiled hinges squeal as Miranda pushes his door open. An unbecoming roar of thunder answers him in the distance.

  “Of course I am.” I’m so fucking not.

  The fires of the rebellion are long gone. Replaced with the barren streets on the edge of the city. From the carriage, I can see the trees of the forest, their branches weighted in snow. Bitterness clings to the air, a tart scent that makes me crinkle my nose.

  “Let’s go.” Miranda urges. His eyes narrow at the sky and the tumble of dark clouds quickly making their way overhead. “It’s going to rain.”

  I hold my hands out to my sides, tiny raindrops hitting my skin like unwelcome kisses of snow. “Thanks for the forecast. I couldn’t figure that one out for myself.”

  He purses his lips, turning back toward the far-too-ominous forest. Dark trees overcast by dark clouds, villainous thunder, and more shadows than I can count.

  I turn to watch the coachman adjust the reins and settle against his seat, the pearly outline of the moon turning him into his own shadow. Twisting back to face the forest, I wipe my palms against my trousers and tuck my hair behind my ear. Hair on the back of my neck seems to stand at attention, the suspicious feeling of being watched making me shuffle with uncertainty. Like a million eyes casting their gazes upon me, all of which remain invisible.

  “It’s meant to make you uneasy,” Miranda says. “You will face many things as we travel: feelings, fears, obstacles. Just know most of it is only real to you.”

  “She really has cast her witchy-woo magic on all of this forest, hasn’t she?” I fold my hands in front of me to hide the way they shake. “It feels as if a demon lives here, too. Or perhaps your witch is the demon?” Giving Miranda my best snarky smile, I cock my head and watch him.

  “Now you’re starting to sound like that stuffy old Chaplain.” Miranda shakes his head, trampling over fragile layers of ice and thorny brush toward what feels like a fiendish forest. “I would try to play the part of the gentleman and allow you to precede me but, seeing as you’ve turned nearly green, I suspect I’ll need to lead the way.”

  Have I really turned green? I give my cheeks a good pat, my skin feeling cold and clammy.

  It’s only a spell. It’s only a spell. Nothing here will hurt you. Chanting the words, I muster up what courage remains after the magic that haunts the wavering limbs of the trees siphoned it away. You were the one that wanted to come here, remember?

  “You can hardly see it now. Actually, I doubt you can see it at all, since you haven't a clue what you are looking for. But just beyond the largest pine tree is a wall.”

  “A wall? Is there any way through it?” Snow crunches under my unsure feet. Wind curls and kisses my skin, blowing under my long dark cloak. I hold the fabric closer, tighter.

  “Like a door? Goddess, no. This won't be that easy. We are going to climb it.” Air clouds before him, and I can almost see the words written in the cold.

  “Climb it?” I force my jaw still as the cold and inexplicable fear leaves my body trembling, my lip quivering, and my mind foggy.

  “Is there an echo in this forest?” Miranda tilts an eyebrow. “Did I not ask you to wear your best climbing shoes? Silly me, must have forgotten.”

  I have never climbed before. At least, not the climbing Miranda is suggesting we are about to do. Shimmy up a tree for a piece of fruit, sure. Clamber over the low limbs of a sitting tree to flirt with a guard I may have fancied, yes. But scale a wall? A wall likely coated in snow and ice.

  “If I fall and hurt myself, Bear will have your head. Probably on a stick.” I frown as the memory of the tricky merchant comes to mind.

  “I won't let you fall, Syren.”

  His words do not feel as reassuring as they should. My stomach knots and my breath feels harder to catch. I am familiar with fear, and I’m not a stranger to misfortune. Yet somehow, this feels worse. Having those same threatening feelings but with no reasonable explanation.

  Truly the work of magic. Because even though I know that these lands are under a spell, my mind does not truly believe it. No, because it has to be anything but.

  I feel this way because something out there is looking at me. A beast. A monster. Something very, very hungry has its eyes on me, and I’m the prey. I’m being hunted.

  My shoe knocks against a tree root. The upper half of my body careens forward, my lower half stuck behind me. Solid and spry, Miranda catches my shoulders.

  “I will not be worrying about you when you chose this. I tried to avoid it. Just remember that. Stew on that thought a little bit.”

  I’ll give you something to stew on, I think to myself like the child I am. With a flick of my wrist, Miranda jolts upright and immediately begins to kick down the snow that has managed to work its way up his pant leg.

  Now this is entertainment.

  “Play nice.” Miranda pouts. “Or maybe I won't be so kind as to warn you of our troubles along the way.”

  Miranda moves to the side. Behind him, I can see the old stones of a solid, doorless wall. Evergreen vines and winter blooms poke out from under the cover of winter’s blanket. I glance up, counting the rows of stones that climb high into the sky.

  Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six . . .

  This wall seems to go on forever. If anything were to physically touch the sky or the heavens where Goddess Nature and Goddess Celeste live, it would be this structure before me.

  “High,” I say in surprise.

  “Don't worry, once you’ve nearly reached the clouds, you’ll be able to climb over the top of it.” He winks, but it does little to tell me if he’s joking or trying to be encouraging.

  Nothing he says or can say will be able to calm the unsettling the spell has done. I know that. And somehow, I also know that I must hurry to scale the wall before I turn and bolt right back to the carriage where unseen monsters cannot get me. At the very least, the wall seems to be very unevenly m
ade, and stones jut out every which way.

  “Would you like a boost?” Miranda offers, his arms folded over his chest as he watches me with little sympathy.

  “No, no. I think I’m fine.” I narrow my gaze, determined not to let the witch’s magic be my undoing. With one large step, I hoist my leg up to a jutting stone, my hand reaching for another to grab. Muscles burn along my arm and back as I stretch as far as I can. My fingers just barely clip the snow dusted rock. The heat of my skin quickly melts the fine powder that falls against my arm at every almost, but not quite, swipe.

  Huffing a large breath, I drop my leg back to the ground. “This is harder than I thought.”

  “Would it kill you to ask for help just once in your life, Syren?” Miranda tuts.

  I settle my hands against my hips and give him a level stare.