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

Home > Other > The Crowned Fae Queen: A Sexy Fantasy Romance Series (The Cursed Kingdoms Series Book 3) > Page 9
The Crowned Fae Queen: A Sexy Fantasy Romance Series (The Cursed Kingdoms Series Book 3) Page 9

by A. K. Koonce

“Now my protection has failed you, twice. I was too far away, too busy, too distracted. I’ve almost lost you twice now. So . . .” he trails off, giving me a sad smile.

  “So basically, fuck the rumors?”

  “Fuck the rumors,” Iri repeats.

  It calms me. If only for a little while.

  Blood stains splatter the walls. The only difference between what is old and what is new is the sheen it gives before it dries. Even some of that has worn off as it’s crusting to the cellar floors.

  A busted lip, two black eyes, and a broken nose is definitely the sort of makeover the woman who snuck into my room last night needed. Damp strands of hair hang over her face as she sags, letting the chains that keep her standing hold her weight.

  Mathis, with a dark five o’clock shadow, stands with his hands balanced on his hips, his knuckles hosting the woman’s blood.

  Iri presses down the material of the ironed red suit he wears, watching her with disgust. He turns to me with a deepening sneer already on his lips. “All he has gotten out of her is that her name is Martina.”

  “Judging by her ears and that rotten mouth of hers, I would also peg her as a youth.” Mathis frowns, his eyes softening. “She’s still just a child.”

  He’s right. She’s far too young to be working as an assassin.

  “I’m not sure if I should be offended that someone sent a child to kill me or if I should be amazed at her skills.” My red heels click against the floor. Carefully, I lift my crimson dress to avoid getting it wet in all the excess of her bodily fluids. I wonder if she looks at my outfit and sees the blood that is and will be lost. Or maybe she sees the death of her friend.

  Martina spits. “You should be impressed.” Her voice is hoarse, barely even a whisper. “They sent the best of the best to kill you. I am the best!”

  Pressure builds in my chest. Then I laugh. “If you’re the best, then I needn't worry about my life, should I?”

  Chains rattle loudly as the assassin lunges forward, baring her teeth like a rabid dog. I catch her face in one hand, pressing my thumb and pointer finger into her cheeks.

  “How did you get mixed up in the business of death?” Despite how messy her face is, I can see her youth when I’m this close. The perfect skin of a newborn baby still stretched tight across her face, the vibrancy of adolescence, but the one thing that hides her age the best is the lack of innocence in her eyes.

  Her brown, near black, gaze has seen things someone her age should not have. The mourning of her innocence hits me like lightning. With a huff, I let her face go. Iri hovers near, ready to jump between us.

  “Relax. I didn’t wear this nice gown to come down here and ruin it by fighting with her.” I take two steps back until I’m behind Iri. “I’m just curious.”

  “It’s never a good thing when you’re curious.” Iri shakes his head, pacing between us.

  I turn my attention back to the girl, trying to ignore the musty, damp smell of her prison cell. “Who hired you?”

  Martina smiles with missing teeth and a bleeding lip. “I’m not telling you shit.”

  “I just want to know who sent you.” My annoyance bleeds into the words. “You see, time is ticking, my dear. Every second I waste trying to pry information out of you, more and more of the people out there on the streets,” I point out the tiny barred window. “Die. They don’t die a fast death given to them by ‘the best of the best’ assassins. No, they die slowly and painfully. So,” I clear my throat and straighten my posture. “I’ll ask again. Who sent you?”

  Martina just laughs. “You think you can manipulate me into feeling sympathy because I’m young? That alone would be enough to get me to talk? You stupid water fae. I don’t even have feelings.”

  “Take her chains off.” I shrug.

  “What?” Mathis stutters.

  “What?” Martina echoes.

  “I’m sorry, did I not speak clearly enough? Take her fucking chains off. Give her a bath; she reeks. Also, feed her. A proper meal, not what we would normally give a criminal.” A small part of me knows what I say is wrong. We don’t just let criminals, especially well-trained ones, get treated like guests. The chances of her escaping would increase with the amount of time we let her view the workings of the castle.

  But the assassin, no matter her skill, is simply a child. She was hired because she’s young and disposable but she may also have been hired because, she’s someone who can be pitied. And I do pity her. I’m not about to take the life of a child or let her go hungry. Not now. I mean, I was going to, but let’s just call that a lapse in judgment.

  I turn swiftly on my toes, waiting only for the briefest of moments for a guard to open the cell door. The doors whine on the hinges.

  “Buttering me up won't do you any good either.”

  Forcing myself forward, I refuse to look back. “You’re right. It won't. But it will do you some good.”

  Iri’s strong presence follows behind me. Together, we leave behind the sound of the keys twisting inside of locks and chains falling to the ground. I lift my dress over each step as we clamber out of the dungeons and out into the lantern-lit hall.

  You’re going to let her go.

  A statement and not a question.

  Why?

  Oh, wait, there it is.

  “She’s practically still a babe in her mother’s womb, she is so young.” I wring my hands together, knowing I am likely making the wrong decision.

  “I can’t let that happen,” Iri says.

  “What?” I whisper, closing the space between us.

  “Syren, she tried to kill you. She isn’t leaving the castle grounds. This fine meal you’ve suddenly provided will be her last.” He leans closer to me. “There are consequences to our actions. Young or old.”

  “I am the Queen. This is a partnership.” The tip of my finger brushes his silky dress top as I gesture between us.

  “And yet I still find myself the King,” Iri says with a cocky smirk. “I think that still means I’m in charge.”

  I’m going to kick him right in the nads.

  “Don’t you even try to kick me.” He holds up one finger.

  “You know, sometimes the arrogant asshole that drug me kicking and screaming—”

  “You were unconscious.” Iri interjects with a raised brow.

  “Sometimes,” I say louder, “the arrogant asshole that drug me kicking and screaming from my tiny island comes through. And I don’t fucking like it.”

  “Are you sure?” Iri hums, tracing his finger over the curve of my cheekbone and down my neck to the deep vee of my plunging neckline.

  “Fuck you, Bear.” I sneer, staring defiantly up into his caramel gaze.

  “If only we had the time.” The soft press of his lips against my cheek sends a fiery surge of want down to my core, the feeling tugging on our mental bond from either end.

  “I think you like to be challenged.” I grab his fingers, bending them backwards from his palm.

  Iri only laughs, sending a short glance down the deserted hallway. “As if you don’t.”

  Slowly, I release my grip and suck my teeth, avoiding his heated attention. Iri brushes my hair behind my ear with a sigh.

  “I guess we will see who wins this one,” I mumble as I begin my walk down the hall.

  “Where are you going?” he calls after me.

  “Shouldn’t you know, mind reader?”

  I only ask out of courtesy. In my mind, I can see him wink even though he is paces behind me. Enjoy your fresh air in the garden.

  The corridors don’t feel nearly as empty now. Guards wait at every turn and at intervals in between. More guards than I’ve ever seen within the castle walls. It is like I have my freedom, no looming group of protectors following me around. Just enough to have an eye on me from every odd angle.

  Brilliant sunlight warms my skin as the doors open for me, more waiting guards. The kiss of warmth reminds me of Iri’s kisses pressed to every uncovered inch of my body. I smil
e and trace my hands over a silky purple petal.

  Sometimes I’m thankful the guards can’t read my dirty thoughts. What would they think of the princess, cough cough queen, parading around the gardens thinking of smut?

  I half-expected Iri to chime in with a quip of his own. Some line slathered in sexual intent about how he loves to listen to my nasty thoughts or how he loves to hear me purr. But he doesn’t. He remains quiet, though I know he is there. I know he is listening.

  Cold air hits my lungs. It smells like earth and the sweet aroma of the flowers. I open my eyes wider, trying to take in the colors of greenery from under the thin layer of snow. Crystalized droplets hang from the roses where the sun has melted the snow, and the cold has frozen it once again. The wet of it calls to me. Snow clumps into a ball as I gather some in my palms.

  Clustered ice turns to dust which turns to liquid in the cup of my hands. I let my hands go, magic turning the liquid to steam. It warms my face as it passes up to the clouds.

  Iri’s promise to end the assassin’s life almost felt like a threat, or even a warning. Iri is who he is, and he does what he does. I could see the effort he put forth to be a better man and to keep me accountable. For Goddess’s sake, the man gave me an out just the other night to keep me from killing a child.

  Yet I think some things are too much to ask of him. Not punishing the person who tried to kill me being one of them. I see his side, I really do, but if I am going to be the saving grace of his people, I will be it for all of them, not just the few.

  I’d start with the girl.

  Whispers caught on the wind catch my attention. I pull up at my gown, thankful for the soft earth that quiets my steps. Tall green hedges mark the end of the garden. A vacant spot with the fresh imprint of boots in the mud marks the spot where a guard would normally stand.

  As quietly, as I can manage, I weave through the garden. Voices grow nearer but not louder. Harsh whispers becoming clearer with the closing distance. Green leaves and prickly cold snow tickle at my ear as I press myself into the bush.

  “You are foolish for coming here!” A man’s voice curses.

  “I know these men. I know what they want, how they want it, and who can be blackmailed into looking the other way. I just need to see him. Just a glimpse. I can’t get him out of my head.” A female voice. An all-too-familiar voice. “I can taste his kisses on my lips like yesterday. And I know if I could just have a moment with him, he would feel the same way.” The voice is pleading, desperate, and filled with longing.

  “You’re delusional. He would kill you in an instant. I hope, for your sake, you’re at least seeking asylum with the church.”

  “Will I get to see him? Alone?”

  The rest of her question didn’t quite make it to my ears. Not as I dart to the edge of the hedges and throw myself at the woman.

  10

  A Prisoner

  Syren

  A crisp bite of freezing snow gnaws against the bare skin of my shins. Gems and red fabric alike gather at the top of my thighs, nearly exposing the scanty pair of undergarments I’m wearing.

  Not that it matters. Not when my hands are pressing into the windpipe of the traitorous Aisha. There went my good grace and mercy.

  Her blond hair is fanned out over the slush of snow and mud. Brilliant blue eyes, bloodshot and large, stare up at me. Her nails are crusted with dirt as she scrambles to pry my hands away.

  The chaplain frantically waves his hands next to us. “She's come to seek forgiveness! She’s come seeking asylum with the church! You can’t hurt her!”

  She’s come because her assassin was caught!

  Is she out of ways to kill me already and wants to finish it all once and for all?

  “I didn’t hear any of those words come from her mouth.”

  With a snarl, I press my grip tighter. Aisha’s face deepens a few shades of red as she squeaks, “Seeking . . . asylum.”

  An angry growl bubbles over my lips as I let her go, still straddling her against the ground. Aisha sputters and wheezes. Bruises form across her neck, already fading as they heal. I look up at the chaplain with narrowed eyes.

  “I don’t think she qualifies for asylum.”

  “By way of the church, she has a right to stay and prove that she does. Though I think she may have gone mad in her time away.” Chaplain frowns down at the two of us.

  Spit sits visibly against her lip as she lays motionless beneath me, trying to catch her breath. She does look a bit rabid.

  “You make it sound like she took a vacation. She fled. She’s a wanted criminal.” With a grunt, I bring both her hands together and hold her wrists tightly.

  Aisha’s shoulders shake with a laugh. A cocky sneer twists her lips as she speaks. “Did you miss me, Syren?”

  “Do you miss my hands on your throat?” I dig my nails into her skin, watching the bruises on her neck I would rather press down on. “Doesn’t it hurt to talk, anyway? Shouldn’t you shut up?”

  “Worth it,” she rasps.

  “Princess, she is the church's guest. By our very right.” The chaplain butts in.

  “Fuck the church’s right. And her rights, too. She killed thousands, possibly millions of innocent citizens.” I stand, pulling Aisha up with me. I don’t bother to be gentle, and I smile at the sound of her whimper as I tug her behind me.

  There isn’t time for me to adjust the skirt of my dress as it clings to my legs. I don’t bother dusting the material off. Nor do I worry about the flowers and brush that I pull her through. If anything, it would be a convenience if she got stabbed a few hundred times by thorns on the way through.

  “Guards!” I yell.

  Purposefully, I walk close to the nearest rose bush, dragging Aisha at my side. I look to where I’d last seen a guard only to find Iri waiting with his hands planted against his lean hips.

  Rigs pokes his head around the king, his mouth parting in shock.

  “Princess, if you would just listen.” The chaplain follows closely behind us, trailing me like I’m dragging around a bone, and he is the dog.

  “Rigs, escort the chaplain back to his quarters.”

  Aisha stumbles, falling and ripping her hands from my grip at the same time. I screech in frustration, grabbing a fist of her blond hair.

  “Well, you got here fast,” I snap at Iri, trying to ignore how still Aisha has become.

  “I won’t let anything else happen to you. Remember?” Iri glances from me to Aisha. At the moment his gaze falls on her, Aisha trembles.

  “My King, my love, sweet Iri.” She reaches for his boots, and all I can think about is how if she pet-names him one more time, I’m going to drown her lungs slowly with tiny rain drops. “Please, I can explain everything,” she carries on. “We can make this right. We can make us right.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I gape at my husband. Anger rallies within me. My hands quake with the urge to hit her. Instead, I slowly lower myself to her. “I’ll be goddessdamned if you’re going to talk to my husband that way.”

  “She’s delirious.” Iri crinkles his nose. “And she smells awful.”

  “Husband?” she sputters. Her perfect lips are chapped and dry as she opens them to continue wailing, but I don’t let her. I won't let her get another word out of her mouth unless it’s to tell me how she’s still poisoning them.

  Iri slips his hands into his pockets and follows us. A lazy frown and lifted eyebrows make him look uncaring and bored.

  Every step we take, Aisha tries to turn her face toward Iri. One quick jerk of my hand gives her cause to yelp and face forward. Only this lunatic would have time to make googly eyes at my husband while she is being dragged away to the dungeons.

  The door knob squeaks as I turn it, and with the help of a swift push of my foot, the door swings open. Stairs lead down into the dimly lit space. Perhaps this would all be easier if I tossed Aisha down them.

  No, not yet.

  “Walk.” I push her forward.

 
Aisha grimaces, her dirty hands lifting the tattered edge of her gown up off the stairway. Each step is slow, possibly an attempt to delay the inevitable or to gather her thoughts.

  At the bottom of the steps, I can see the empty cell where the assassin had been. I hope she’s getting her fill of real food and not dead with her head on a pike. I glance at Iri, hoping to get an answer, but his expression doesn’t change, and his thoughts remain focused on the present.

  “The next cell over has a table. Chains are attached to the chair.” He points.

  “Go.” I push Aisha, already reaching for the chains to bind her hands. “I would assume you’re perfectly capable of chaining yourself, but seeing as I can’t trust you, I'll do the honors.”

  “Oh, I bet you’re loving this,” Aisha hisses through clenched teeth. “How many nights have you dreamed about placing my wrists in cuffs? I wish I could have given you many more of those nights, seeing as you never could find me. Do you know how crazy you looked clambering into those trees?” She leans her head back against the tall back of the metal chair and laughs. “I had to come to you for this to even happen.” She holds the wrist I just cuffed.

  “Yes, seeking asylum, I hear. How did you like coming back to find that your assassins didn’t get the job done?” I tighten her restraints until she winces.

  “So, we are blaming me for those assassins now, are we? You don’t think anyone else has a problem with you? The perfect princess, aren’t we?”

  “That’s enough,” Iri growls.

  Aisha blinks hard, her gaze trained on Iri. He breaks eye contact before she does. Her greedy attention trails down his body. So I step between them, forcing her attention to fall back on me.

  “The rolls are reversed now, Aisha. I need some answers.”

  “Pfft.” She blows out a long breath that makes her hair flutter in her own breeze.

  “How are you spreading the poison?” Placing both hands on the table, I lean as near as I dare.

  Aisha smiles. Her pretty little could-slap-it-right-off-her-fucking-face smile.

 

‹ Prev