by A. K. Koonce
Next to us, the coachman dismounts from his perch, easily opening the door of our plain carriage as if we hadn’t appeared from thin air. Miranda doesn’t miss my look of astonishment as the servant looks utterly bored and unamused.
“He is paid well for his silence on the witches.” His eyebrows furrow. “Your mother's whereabouts.”
My weight rocks the wagon as I pull myself into the seat. “Everyone has their price, and there are a lot of people who would like to get their hands on this witch.”
“Are you worried for her or thinking of selling her to the highest bidder?” Miranda scoffs.
“Maybe both,” I purr, patting his knee, still wet with her handprints.
“Should the coachmen talk or sell away his knowledge, his family has been spellbound and will die the moment the words are uttered.”
I blink, somehow surprised by the security measure. No wonder she is this kingdom’s most well-kept secret.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Miranda sucks his teeth. “You married the Cruel King himself.”
6
Cold Pie
Syren
Rolling to a stop, our conversation-less carriage ride comes to an end. The pile looks larger than ever, casting its orange glow through the windows and over every angle of the interior.
Miranda reaches for the knob, his hair still attractively tucked around his face, the eyeliner seemingly unsmudged. Though he roughly rubs his sleeve over both eyes, trying to wear the look away before entering his court.
“That really is good eyeliner.” I offer a tentative smile, still aware of all the tension I alone have created.
He chuckles and pushes the door open for me. “I’ll get you some so you can try it out for yourself. I know a guy.”
Of course he does.
The carriage bobs as we climb out. Gravel grinds under my feet while the stars reflect off my shining onyx castle. Are you asking the right questions, Syren?
Am I? Surely, I have not, because if I had, there would be answers by now. Think, Syren. Think!
“After you.” Miranda points up the grand steps to the waiting closed doors.
“Actually, I’ve got an interview with a river to do.” I step away from him toward the path that will take me to the small river on the back of the castle grounds. “You know, trying to find the right questions to ask.”
“You water fae are so weird.” Miranda shrugs. “Fire doesn’t talk. It only burns. Go ahead now, run off and have fun talking to inanimate objects.”
“Jealous,” I whisper, walking backward.
“Perhaps.” Miranda winks and turns to take the steps. “Don’t leave the castle grounds, Princess. Or our King might not be so happy, and we both know what happens when he isn’t happy.”
Something in the air seemed to spark. An electricity of excitement within me and urgency to find answers. Even through the sparse trees, past the bewitched flowers of the King’s garden, and near the farthest gate of the castle grounds, the waters call my name.
A tingle of magic fizzes against my hands, traveling up my arms and back. It’s magic more powerful than I have yet to fully comprehend according to this water witch, according to my birth mother.
I pat my pocket, reassuring myself that the simple necklace remains. I nod as I leave behind some pacing guards who watch me, interested, but make no move to intercept me. Within these walls, I remain safe. And never alone.
The closer I grow, the faster my movements become. I sprint forward once the racing waters come to view. Trickling, the river ebbs to a small creek that splits from the main path the water has forged. Silver under the moon, the liquid flows in its lively current and splashes over large rocks.
Stiff and cold, the earth digs into my knees as I fall forward, letting the icy bite of the creek sink its teeth into my skin. I can feel the heartbeat of all the life that lives within the water.
Where is she? Where is she? My nerves grow, my body shaking with the thirst for this knowledge. I’ll beg the world for the information if I must.
“Where is she?” I yell, closing my eyes.
Magic glows in strands of the water’s current, white and pure, swirling and swaying under the even surface till it meets my fingertips.
I can see her.
Dress ragged and torn, hair ratted, and her brilliant blue eyes squinting up to the moonlight. Leaning down, she dips her hand into the river, cupping up fresh water while her gaze still twitches from side to side. She drinks and lets the excess water splash to the ground as the sound of guards nears. Her gown snags against the tree as she disappears into the brush, ripping it only further.
My eyelashes flutter as I look straight ahead. Soft silk swaying in the breeze clings against a tree just past the other side of the creek.
“No!” I scream, slamming my fists into the earth. Water arches up into two tidal waves meeting and crashing apart.
Pushing off from the wet earth, I sling myself past the trees. Wind makes my cheeks rosy, mirroring the burn of my frustration.
Clad in black armor, a guard tilts his head. “Are you all right, Princess?”
Am I all right? I finally asked the fucking right question, but you, my good friend, did not.
I grip the arms of his armor, sinking my fingers into the chainmail underneath and drag him closer to my face. “You assholes, she’s been here this entire time. She is on the castle grounds. Find her!” I spit the words into his face, uncaring of the type of monster I may look to be in the moment.
My race through the grounds and into the castle becomes a blur. I push past servants, shrieking at any guards who stop to question my explosive entrance. The halls twist angrily, but in the end, they spit me out at King Iri’s doors.
“Princess,” the guards start but I wave them off with a flick of my wrist, pushing past them and storming into the room.
The open window allows the curtains to flicker in the night’s breath. Clean sheets and feathered pillows appear undisturbed on his bed. The sitting chairs are empty as well.
King Iri isn’t here.
Where are you? I call.
Should you take a moment to unbury yourself from your burdens, you could have a look for yourself. Bear coos through my thoughts.
“Or you could just tell me.” I mutter.
“Princess, the King has not returned to his quarters yet,” A guard says, holding the door open.
I nod, feeling heat blister on my cheeks. With a deep breath, I walk down the hall, slowing my steps as I venture the bond, as I choose to see through Bear’s eyes as I do mine.
Soft plush blankets cozy under his back where he has wedged himself against the headboard of a bed. Books litter the expensive desk and the windows behind it remain closed, pink curtains covering the view.
The bastard is relaxing on my bed. In my hurry to find him, I didn’t allow myself to trust the bond or to call out to him as I should have.
Don’t beat yourself up, my Queen; it takes time to get used to this bond. One day, you will be dependent upon it and talking to me, feeling my presence, and it will all feel like breathing.
Now the halls remain slower, my anger quelling under the sound of his reassuring voice. Soon, he will know the truth as I do. Soon we will find that traitorous bitch hiding just under our noses.
My door is visible with a waiting guard. Rigs drums his finger against his armored leg, a knowing smile on his lips as he sees me. The grin fades. I’m not certain if it is because of my enraged, blushing cheeks or the swiftness with which I walk that forces the smile to falter, or even my perhaps haggard appearance. I suppose it doesn’t matter.
“Princess.” He nods, holding the door wide, his body tilted to allow significant space between us.
My eyes are drawn to Bear. Shirtless and smirking like a child who has gotten away with a wrongdoing. Finally, I halt at the end of the bed. A ragged breath filling the silence.
“Aisha is still on the palace grounds.”
King Iri wrinkles his n
ose. “I know.”
“You know?” I huff, placing my hands against my hips. “How?”
The blankets dip under his weight as he pushes against them, crawling to me on his knees. The revelation of news, hardly a revelation to him apparently, not removing the way his eyes taper into an intense smolder. “Because I listen in on our special little bond.”
Bear draws a line up my arm, flicking away my ragged cloak to examine the tears in my sleeve and dried blood smeared over refreshingly healed skin, still raw and red.
“You smell like you’ve spent your time on a pig’s farm.” He brings his hand to my face, wiping at the dirt that is smudged against my cheekbone. “I've already talked with Mathis and guards should be sweeping the grounds now, unless they’ve already started. He is even personally checking each room himself. With the exception of this one, of course.” His beaming smile becomes wolfish. “First, let me draw you a bath.”
“You expect me to sit here in a bath and do nothing?”
“Hmm, yes. That’s right.” He slips off the bed, walking toward my bathing quarter. The fine muscles of his back slim and tight under the many scars become an appealing sight as he walks away. “Well, I suppose there are a few things you can do once you’re clean. Though I won't say them aloud for fear of dirtying my mouth.”
A thread of desire curls inside my thoughts. For a moment, life feels right. I am where I am supposed to be, and this is how it’s supposed to go. Normal. It’s a fleeting moment of normal.
But what if she is close? What if I could use my magic to find her faster?
Bear hums quietly, turning to lean against the door frame. His tongue chases over his lip as he shakes his head. If she is close, my men will find her. And if you wish to use your magic, ask the bath water for help.
My lips betray me. A smile hesitantly lifts one corner of my mouth. Bear strides back to me, watching me with his dazzling starlit and half-hooded eyes. He brushes his fingertips over my collarbone, a delay before his fingers make quick work of undoing the three buttons at the top of my shirt. The open fabric reveals the curve of my breasts. He skims his fingers over that sensitive skin as well.
“Come,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me into the bathroom.
Steam billows, water cascades into the white porcelain tub. It reminds me of my breath in the woods. It reminds me of the hot spring that houses the witch.
“This is why you need to relax, Syren.” King Iri folds his arms, watching me. “Your mind is always racing.”
I sigh. “Which is why I need to be productive, get things done, and my mind won't be racing anymore.”
With two hands, Bear gathers the hem of my shirt in his hands and gently pulls it over my head. His pointer finger trails down between my breasts and over my torso, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps and a growing desire. Nimbly, he undoes my trousers, kneeling to the ground as he pulls them down.
Heat hits me just above my pubic bone as he presses a fiery kiss to my skin. One steady hand holds up the necklace. “So, your mother is a witch?”
“I thought you didn’t want my mind to race?”
“We will work on that magic of yours and see what you can do.” He sets the necklace carefully on the ground next to the pile of clothing. “Tomorrow. We haven't the time today.” The muscle of his shoulders rising and falling in a shrug.
A cold, unseen breeze swirls around my body, despite the heat of the bath and my spouse. My nipples peak under what little clothing remains.
I still as Bear hooks his thumb into my panties and tugs them down my legs. Rough calluses scale my skin, his touch warming my body as it travels up my legs, stomach, and curls behind my back. One flick of his hand and the bra strap opens up.
His smile is gone now. Only awe and love reflect in his eyes as the last of the material falls away, and he lets his gaze drift over my curves.
“Get in,” he finally says, his voice lowering an octave that shivers all through me. Crashing waves of sexy tingles just because of his voice alone.
How does he do that?
“Are you getting in with me?” I purr, brushing past him. The water is hot, making my skin red as I slip one leg in and then the other. The heat doesn’t bother me. Anything to make me forget the cold of my travels tonight.
Quietly, Iri turns the faucet off. He remains somber and humorless, his hands undoing the buckle of his belt.
Something in the sound of the buckle falling to the floor makes the air tense with longing. An eager anticipation in the beating of my heart travels down to settle greedily between my legs.
Bear steps in behind me, gently placing his legs on either side of me. Water settles around my breasts, hardly hiding the view. Calescent liquid drips down my back, the gritty texture of a sponge gently exfoliating against my neck.
The long strokes of the sponge stop, a kiss pressing in the crook of my neck. I press my lips into a line and close my eyes. Contentment is a funny, fleeting feeling. Yet I could lay with this man even after this water goes cold just to enjoy his touch.
He leans closer, dropping the sponge and pressing his chest against my back. His want presses against me, too. Hard and throbbing.
“I still have one thing left to do on my to-do list.” Each world rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my back.
I lean into him, dropping my head back and letting my arms arc up and reach behind me to tangle in his hair. His big hands wrap around my rib cage in a possessive way that makes my thighs shift together hard.
Outside the bathroom, the bedroom door bursts open. A voice calling out tentatively. “King Iri, I apologize for the interruption.” The guard remains out of view.
We both tense but never release one another.
“This better be life or death,” Bear growls almost violently.
“There is a rebellion outside the gates that is growing out of hand. Mathis said to fetch you so it could be dissolved before it becomes a bigger issue.” He pauses. “I’m very, very, most sincerely, incredibly sorry for the interruption.”
“I bet you are,” Bear mumbles from under his breath before slowly lowering his hands from my body. He stands, water dripping down him, trailing over all the places I wish to be touching. His cock remains ready, too close for me to resist the urge.
With both hands, I gently stroke against his thick, slick shaft. He groans, tilting his head back.
“Is it so urgent I must leave this instant?” he asks his man, and he doesn’t hide the irritation in his voice.
I can feel the guard’s nervousness from here. “Um . . .” He shuffles, a longsword knocking against armor on his leg. “Mathis said I must fetch you immediately.”
Pushing out my lower lip into a pout, I pull my hands away, crossing them over my chest. How utterly unfair for him to have readied the baking dish but refuse to cook the pie. My vagina being the baking dish, the oven, and the pie in this moment.
“I’ll send someone in to wash you.” Bear gives me a sad smile, already pulling his pants up to his waist and doing the buckle loudly.
Still frowning, I fall into the place where Bear no longer sits, the water, covering my shoulders as I submerge myself. “Don’t worry. I can wash myself.”
“But you shouldn’t have to,” he points out, staring down at me.
I wave him off and shake my head. “I can decompress by myself. Maybe I can help you check stuff off your list by myself.” I trail my hand down the center of my body.
Bear looks out to the bedroom and back down at me, chewing the corner of his lower lip. “You shouldn’t have to do that either.”
“Hmm,” I purr. “Yet it must be done.”
“I’ll hang on your every thought.” He swallows, bows his head, and disappears from the room.
And now I realize how cold the water is without him.
7
Finding Answers
Syren
The halls seem busier now. Not in the swaying or changing of direction but in the unusual traffi
c of people throughout them. More guards wait at every corner. I take note of doors with the familiar insignia, wondering what sort of magic waits on the other side. How many citizens died in the attempted siege by opening the wrong door?
In passing, I even give Count Jesting Krow and his wife Countess Everly Krow a pleasant wave as they stroll arm in arm. It doesn’t miss me that as soon as I’m past, Everly leans in to whisper to her husband. Whether her comments are good or bad or if they are about me or not, I shrug away the thought.
My lavender skirt brushes along the carpet, the shawl a glittering show of gems cascading behind me that trails the material, too. Maybe people had noticed my swift shift to more refined upscale clothing that suits the taste of this court. Maybe they stare at me now because the guard last night was a gossip, and they all knew King Iri had stopped by to deflower me.
I turn down a plain hall leading to the servant’s entrance of the kitchens. A few trolls mill about, gossiping in their deep baritone voices. Their sentences stutter and stop when they see me. Somehow, they manage to bend at their waists, even though none are defined on their large, square bodies.
With a nod, I look into the bustling kitchens. Food, grown from our very gardens, is being chopped and sautéed. A steady line of dirty dishes being washed in bubbly water. The huff of troll conversations, a dialect I’ve learned far too little of. Cooks wipe their hands across their white aprons leaving them streaked in seasonings and batters.
Gently, I place a hand on the nearest troll’s arm. His skin is leathery, wrinkled with age, and the hair on his head almost glows silver.
“Excuse me, where might I be able to find the food logs?”
He whispers something in his unknown language to his friend before he nods and turns back to me with a polite smile. “My Princess, food logs are kept with the chaplain for review, as he is the one who approves all meal plans. Seeing how Goddess Celeste suggests such a strict diet.”