The Hundred Year Curse

by A. K. Koonce

  His lips part as if he might have the audacity to speak to a princess before he quickly snaps his mouth closed, studying the wall across from us.

  I pivot, turning my attention on him fully. His head is shaved so closely, even his scalp is kissed in a warm tone by the sun. The muscles of his jaw are strung tight, making it appear stronger. His height forces me to look up at him, my chin tipping back to count every detail of his long lashes.

  I should look away.

  I don’t.

  From the corner of his golden eyes, he peers down at me, not shifting an inch under my close scrutiny. The fingers of my right hand twitch at my side. I consider running my hand across the smooth leather of his armor, just to know what it would feel like to be close to him.

  It’s something Hazel would have the confidence to do…

  Not me. My stomach sinks wishing I was as sure of myself as I pretend to be.

  I clear my throat, forcing myself to look at the wide tiles lining the hall floor. Squaring my small shoulders, I pretend I know exactly what I’m doing in my own life… even though I haven’t yet received today's agenda from daddy…

  A restless tap begins to strum against my thigh as my fingers anxiously wait for me to decide what to do with my day.

  It’s not even eight in the morning yet. Hazel won’t be up for at least another three hours. I could call in my tutor but it’s her day off and I’d look a little desperate to demand she spend more time with me.

  My chest tightens as I realize I don’t have any real friends. When I walk outside of these imposing castle walls, thousands of people call my name, they cheer, and wave and wish me good days ahead. And yet, I have no one. Not one single friend.

  “Does this room still have a balcony?” His baritone voice pulls my attention to him. To his full lips.

  My brows raise, surprised he’s speaking to me. They never speak to me unless spoken to.

  Daddy won’t like him.

  A smirk pulls at the corner of my mouth at the thought.

  “Yes, it has the most beautiful view of the ocean.”

  A small smile parts his lips, revealing his straight white teeth. The smile changes his face, making him more approachable—more handsome.

  “Would you care to see it?”

  Silence slips between us, his shoulders becoming a little less rigid. Finally, he nods and turns back to the heavy mahogany door. I turn the brass knob and stand back for him to enter.

  The moment his dark boots hit the glossy floor I realize something, my stomach tensing and swirling with unease: I’ve never had a boy in my room.

  But he isn’t a boy at all. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s twenty-two. His posture and smooth skin make me wonder how he was raised. He strides with a sense of purpose. The curiosity in me grows with each passing second.

  Before I know it, he opens the double doors, the glass gleaming in the sunlight, streaking bright color across the floor.

  “My father always hated this view.” He stands within the doors, not inching out into the cool breeze that pulls at his clothes.

  On quiet steps I walk toward him, standing at his side as we stare out at the white crashing waves. I consider the way the sun reflects off the crystal water, the birds singing into the heavens. Who could ever hate something so peaceful?

  “This view?” I whisper, trying to figure out if his father was from this area.

  “The ocean. He hated the ocean.”

  “Why?”

  His hand bumps mine, sending a jolt of nerves right through me from the small contact.

  “He was terrified of the ocean.” A long breath parts his lips. “No matter your strength and power, your weaknesses will always catch up to you.”

  My gaze shifts to him. His brows pull low, shadowing his eyes as he stares out at the endless ocean. He’s smart. The way he speaks, his words flow in a stream of confidence and thought. It makes me nervous to even utter a sentence.

  “It’s beautiful, though.” He looks at the water with a contradicting look, as if he loathes it. Like it isn’t something of beauty but something of imprisonment.

  “It is,” I finally agree.

  He turns and his eyes lock with mine, his attention drifting down my neck, past the small red pendant at my throat, down a bit more before his eyes dart to the floor. He clears his throat as heat spreads through my cheeks.

  He turns his back on the sea, his gaze taking in the room. My arms cross as I watch him roam leisurely through my bedroom. He runs a finger along the beams of the four poster bed. A smirk pulls at his lips as he rubs the pink curtains between his fingers. My eyes narrow on that smirk. Is he mocking me internally? I wait quietly as he finishes his imposing tour of my bedchamber.

  “Do you play chess?” he asks from across the room.

  A family portrait of the missing king of Aveil with his queen hangs above the fireplace, the watchful family seems to study me now. The table near the large bay window is already set for a game. The one my father taught me to play. The one I haven’t played in years.

  “Not usually.”

  “Do you know how to play?” He sounds almost condescending.

  My blue eyes narrow on him even more, turning into thin slits as I watch the beautiful man run a finger along the table.

  “I do. I just usually don’t do it with guards.”

  Heat flames my face fast as the words replay through my mind with entirely different meaning. I just usually don’t do it with guards.

  Ugh. A smile fills his face and I close my eyes. I swallow hard before looking back at him.

  “I’m really,” his voice becomes husky and low, “really good. If that changes your mind,” he says in a confident voice that carries through the room. God, if anyone heard us right now.

  Daddy will not like him.

  With that thought, I cross the room and take a seat in the velvet chair, turning the board until the white pieces are in front of me. My arms fold neatly in my lap as I look up at him.

  “If we’re going to play, I should probably know your name. Unless you like being called guard.”

  His eyes shine down on me, warm like the morning sun before he plops down into the chair across from me.

  “My name’s Cohen, Princess Wren.” My name slips from his lips and flutters through my chest. A slow smile ignites his amber eyes as if he can see my private thoughts written across my face.

  I sink my teeth into my lower lip as my cheeks grow warm, but I nod carelessly as if he doesn’t affect me at all.

  ***

  At dinner, seated next to my cousin, Hazel, I’m still smiling like an idiot. Cohen’s laugh is infectious. Before I knew it, I was dropping the sharp tone I had with him and laughing right along with him.

  There’s no laughter now.

  My father sits at the head of the long table, his dark brows held tensely across his light eyes. His attention is settles firmly on me.

  “One of the guards said he heard a man’s voice from your room this morning.”

  The fork poised at my lips with a warm piece of apple pie sits waiting. It’s my favorite, I eat it every night. Tonight it turns in my stomach as I sit beneath his stern gaze. My chest heaves for a breath as I sit the fork against my plate, dabbing at my clean mouth, wasting as much time as possible as I think through my words.

  “That was me,” Hazel pipes up at my side, taking a long sip of her water before she smiles up at my father’s frowning face. “I was mocking Lord Nash, again.” She lets out a long giggle, her curls shaking as she wipes a tear from her eye. A real tear. How does she lie this easily? And why can’t I?

  My father’s attention shifts to me, making me squirm in my chair, my gown crinkling beneath my legs as I straighten my spine and nod enthusiastically with a tense smile against my lips.

  My mother takes a small bite of her salad, her eyes shifting from Hazel to me. “Lord Nash isn’t a man to be mocked, girls.” Her terse tone thins her mouth. She licks her lips before turning toward my f
ather at her side.

  “When will this year’s Ryken ball be held?”

  His skeptical gaze bores into me for a few seconds longer before he turns to my mother.

  “I’m thinking of just… canceling it. King Ryken is a bit too far in the past now. Most of the town’s people no longer know what the celebration is in remembrance of.”

  “What is it in remembrance of?” Hazel asks, earning another scowl from my father.

  “You can’t cancel it.” My mother looks to Hazel. “The Aveil kingdom once belonged to another family, dear,” my mother tells her. “King Ryken was a king with a temper, or so my father says. One night, someone killed my great-grandmother.” Her black hair whisks in front of her, veiling her features from me as she stares at her plate. My stomach flips uneasily, a chill racing down my spine as if the walls here know and see things that I can’t even imagine. “And the entire royal family disappeared.”

  “How is that possible?” I ask, thinking about the guards I have to pass to sneak out of this fortress.

  “No one knows. They searched for them for decades.”

  “Do you think they were… murdered, too?” Hazel asks, her lips parted as she stares wide-eyed at my mother.

  “Possibly. It’s possible King Ryken had one too many enemies.”

  I push my plate back, my stomach no longer interested in the delicious sugary treat. Something like that happened here. In the very home I grew up in. In the very walls I’m beginning to feel like a prisoner in.

  Perhaps the Ryken family did, too…

  Chapter Five

  A Princess and Her Guards

  Cohen

  The ticking of the clock crawls under my skin with each passing second. The sound’s growing louder in my mind until it’s all I can think about. I lower the book in my hand. The History of Ryken Reign textbook is the most inaccurate thing I’ve ever read; no mention of a mad king and no mention of a killing. It’s almost as if we all lived happily ever after…

  I close my eyes slowly and release a long sigh.

  My father doesn’t remember killing that woman a hundred years ago. It’s just something he’s conveniently pushed from his aging mind. When my mother died it only made it worse. I can’t imagine how he’s holding up now without us.

  My chest stings with emotion. I push my hand over my short hair, the rough feeling tingling my palm.

  We’ve been here for hours and we’ve found nothing about curses. A couple interesting erotic reads that Cormac seemed to linger on a bit longer than necessary but that’s about it.

  I heave a sigh and glance toward my brother. My head shakes back and forth and I groan when I see him with his head tipped back, his legs crossed comfortably against the table. Light snores emit from his lips.

  I stride across the room and throw my book against the table in front of him. It lands with a starling thud, making him jump to attention. His wide eyes look around wildly.

  “Find anything?” he asks.

  I cock a brow at him, my arms folding tightly across my chest.

  “You know this is important, right?”

  “Of course.” His voice falters with a hint of a laugh as he straightens in his chair.

  I open my mouth, a lecture ready to fall from my lips when the library door flings open.

  She pushes the door quickly closed and leans back into it. Her shoulders fall heavily once it separates her from whatever is lurking on the other side.

  The princess.

  I shift on my feet and Cormac’s attention turns from lazy to interested in a single second.

  Why can’t he put that effort into our real life issues?

  “Problem, Princess?” I ask, my gaze dancing down her slender frame.

  Her head darts up, seeming to just now realize she’s not alone.

  Her hands pull away from the safety of the door and smooth down the skirt of her dark gown.

  “Not at all.” The smile against her lips is forced. I know it is because it’s a signature look of royalty. I used to own that look, now she has to carry the weight of that false happiness.

  I can’t help but wonder who she’s hiding from. Her mother, her father, the lord who’s always lingering around her. Maybe all of them.

  “What are you reading?” she asks, walking across the room to our table.

  A single step is all I manage to take before her small hands scoop up The History of Ryken Reign. My lungs constrict with anxiety at the thought of explaining any of this to her. My hand is held in midair, ready to shield the book from her already peering eyes. I pull my palm back and run it through my short hair with a sigh.

  “Just … some light reading.”

  “The History of Ryken Reign is light reading for you?” A smile threatens her lips. A real smile. A taunting smile.

  She looks like she isn’t harboring a kingdom of stress. Just pure happiness and beauty.

  I like it. Too much.

  We all need to stay focused here. We need her help to literally save our lives. We can’t screw up this new friendship.

  With that thought I glance toward Cormac and find him studying her lips.

  Cormac and female friendships don’t usually work out.

  “Cohen always takes his light reading more serious than he should.” Cormac shoots me a lopsided smirk.

  As if he’s ever taken anything serious a day in his life.

  I roll my eyes at him and hold onto the back of his chair, leaning against it.

  The laughter that bubbles over her lips surprises me. She surprises me even further when she pulls out the chair across from us and sits down.

  She let me in a little bit the other day, showed her real personality for just a few hours. She might actually trust me…

  “What do you know about the Ryken’s?” I ask.

  Cormac leans into the table, his forearms supporting his weight while he studies her.

  He looks like he might devour her whole.

  “Hardly anything at all. Nothing good.” With polished nails she flips through the thin pages of the old book. Her bright eyes scan through the text, oblivious to the look my brother’s giving her.

  I shift my weight and push my palm hard into his shoulder. His brows lower like a scowling puppy that just got his favorite ball taken away.

  “Is Lord Turningten your betrothed?” Cormac asks.

  My neck turns stiffly to him again, my mouth parted with so many unspoken words.

  Can he not stay focused for even a minute?

  Once again he gives me a confused look, annoyed that I’m interrupting his oh so important question with my glare.

  Princess Wren glances up from the book, her dark lashes hiding her thoughts from us.

  “No.” The clipped word is spoken in an icy tone that makes my shoulders stiffen. “Lord Nash Turningten is not my betrothed. I doubt he’s interested in me in that way at all.”

  Tension fills the room. It seems none of us are sure what to say to that. Then something else crosses my mind.

  “Wait, where the hell is Cason? Isn’t he your guard today?” My head dips down, meeting her eyes.

  She bites her lower lip before a small smile forms there.

  “I asked him to escort me to a gown fitting this morning.”

  “And then?” My eyes settle heavily on her as she leisurely turns another page. She takes her time reading a few lines.

  “Then I left.”

  “You … ditched our brother …” I blink at her a few times, my mouth hanging open.

  “The women there were really enjoying his company.” Her lip quivers but she doesn’t manage to hold back her smirk.

  “When did you leave?”

  Her long dark locks sway as she tips her head up to glance at the grandfather clock in the corner. Her eyes narrow slightly as she reads the time. “About …” her brows raise as if even she can’t believe the time, “five hours ago.”

  Cormac coughs out a laugh. I close my eyes and I can’t stop the smile that’
s pulling across my lips.

  “He’s still there isn’t he?” I finally ask.

  She carelessly flips another page as she nods.

  “Most definitely.”

  Chapter Six

  A Rose by Any Other Name

  Cormac

  The man, Nash, eyes her skeptically. I’ve watched them together for weeks now.

  When he looks at Wren, he doesn’t see what everyone else sees. He doesn’t see the way the heat pools against her cheeks with every dirty or curious thought that seems to circle her mind. It’s apparent he doesn’t notice the way she bites her lower lip to keep from laughing at all the things a princess shouldn’t find funny. He doesn’t notice the cute boots that sneak out from beneath her formal gowns, a look of regality and rebellion all in one.

  No, Nash Turningten, son of the Duke of Wiles sees one thing when he looks at her: Power.

  His attention crawls over her body and it makes me cringe.

  Lines crease his emerald eyes as she speaks, a smile that is pulled perfectly in place for the princess. My jaw clenches as I watch the two of them from my post just three feet away. I fist my hands behind my back as I linger in silence, acting as a shadow that will never leave her side.

  “Would you want to walk the garden this morning? I’d love some company,” she tells him, her head tilting so slightly no one would notice the strain of her delicate shoulders.

  “No, I have severe allergies, Princess. Another time, perhaps.” With a tense bow he sweeps away from her, her lips parting as if to speak but nothing comes out.

  What an asshole. The guy prances around her for hours wasting her time. He’s wasting her time in hopes her father will crown him Princess Wren’s future husband.

  “I love the garden,” I tell her, slipping my hand in hers as I lead her downstairs. The sword at my side bumps against her leg. I feel myself leaning even closer to her as we walk, greedily lining my body up with her warm curves.

  She gives a curious look, her pale green eyes narrowing on me for a moment, but she doesn’t pull away. I lick my lips and a slow smile tilts my mouth just from looking at her.