Cursed

by Keri Arthur

  “What you want will always matter.” To me. He didn't say those words aloud, but they seemed to hover in the air anyway.

  That featherlight touch moved down my spine. I shivered and crossed my arms, fighting the desire to just turn around and take.

  Now was not the time.

  Not when we had so little of it.

  And yet, if I didn’t take the time now, I might well regret it in the future.

  I took a deep breath that did nothing to calm the racing of my pulse or the deeper down ache.

  “That still doesn't answer my question, Princess.”

  The featherlight touch left my skin and disappointment screamed through me.

  I briefly closed my eyes, gathered the unraveling wisps of control, and said, “Time. I want time.”

  “To decide?”

  I turned and placed a hand on his chest. His skin was warm under my fingertips, his heartbeat strong. As strong as the man himself. As fierce as the desire I could see.

  “No. I want time to explore. To know every bump and bruise on your body intimately, to feel your reaction to my touch, to taste your desire as it beads your skin.” I raised my gaze to his and saw the heat of desire and the glitter of understanding. He knew what I was about to say, but I said it anyway. Because I not only needed him to know what I wanted, but also what I feared. “But most of all, I want the time and the courage to explore what might lie between us beyond the realms of mere passion and sex.”

  For too many seconds he didn't say anything. Then he simply raised my fingers from his chest to his lips. His kiss was light, barely a brush of heat over skin, but it nevertheless held an odd sort of promise. One that had my heart racing and my head spinning.

  “That is also my wish.”

  “Good.”

  I ordered the bracelets to release and let them drop to the floor. The last thing I wanted was them on my wrists; they held too many memories—and far too much heartache and darkness—to be worn at a time when the choice of sex was finally mine.

  I raised my lips to his and kissed him. He released my hand, wrapped his arms around my waist, and then drew me even closer as our kiss deepened. It was a long, slow exploration intensified by the close press of our bodies. I could feel the heat in his skin, the fierceness of his desire, the rapid beating of his pulse. Knew that he could feel the same in me.

  But a kiss, however deep and satisfying, wasn’t enough now. I wanted more, a whole lot more. I broke away, kissed his neck, his shoulders, his chest, and then followed the long line of hair down his washboard stomach, tasting and teasing and nipping. I explored every inch of his body with hand and tongue, until he quivered with desire and the scent of his need stung the air. Only then did I let him do the same to me. And when the desire that burned between us became so fierce the air practically hummed, I pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him.

  But I went no further; instead, I leaned forward, kissed him gently, and said, “Thank you.”

  The intensity of his gaze said he not only understood the intent behind my words but also suggested he’d do far more if I only asked.

  But all he said was, “I’d say you’re welcome, but I’d rather not have any sort of conversation at this particular point in time.”

  I raised an eyebrow, a grin twitching my lips. “I thought highlanders were renowned for their stamina?”

  “We are. But the particular form of stamina we’re talking about involves two people and an intimate connection. The latter is sadly lacking as of this moment.”

  “So you’re saying, in a roundabout but polite way, to shut up and get back to business?”

  “Indeed I am, Princess. Indeed I am.”

  I sighed, a heavy sound that made it seem the whole situation was nothing but an ordeal. “Only if I must. And only if satisfaction is guaranteed.”

  A smile twitched his lips. “It is, Princess, but if you’d rather not proceed, we can always—”

  “Don't you dare even think about moving, highlander.”

  And with that, I shifted position and drove him deep inside. It felt so good, so perfect, so unlike anything I’d ever experienced before that for several heartbeats, I held still and just enjoyed. And then desire surged with renewed force and that moment was gone, swept away by the gathering tide of need. We moved, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. Pleasure was a wave that rose ever higher, until it felt like every part of me was thrumming with desire and my body was wound so tightly I’d surely shatter. I couldn't think, could hardly even breathe.

  Then rapture hit, everything did shatter, and oh, it was glorious.

  For several minutes afterward, neither of us moved. I don't think either of us could move.

  Eventually, I slipped to one side and propped up on one arm. “Well, that was certainly a pleasant way to waste half an hour or so.”

  “It was indeed.” He raised a finger and traced the line of my cheek down to my lips. I kissed it lightly. “Had we more time, I’d suggest we waste a few more hours. But the wind informs me Marttia is on her way, so we’d best go take a very quick shower and get dressed. She might be well aware of your splendor, but she has never witnessed mine, and I won’t flaunt what she can’t have.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “This from the man who only very recently admitted brazenly flaunting his wares to all and sundry at a Falorian alehouse?”

  “All too true, and if she were alone, I would indeed gift her a glimpse of my magnificence. But Rutherglen accompanies her, and he's known for his strong views on protocol and nakedness.”

  Rutherglen was a name I'd heard only once in passing—he was one of four nominated heirs who'd go into battle for the throne on Marttia's death. “Meaning you have no desire to advertise your wares in the presence of an unappreciative audience?”

  “Precisely.” He rolled off the bed, then caught my hand and tugged me upright. “Come along, Princess. They'll be here in five or so minutes.”

  “Five or so minutes is not long enough by half.”

  A wicked grin touched his lips. “You might be surprised at what can be achieved in five minutes.”

  As it turned out, I was. Pleasantly so. By the time Marttia appeared, we were both sitting at the table and the bracelets were back on my wrists. Her gaze swept us and a slight smile touched her lips. But she didn’t immediately say anything, just walked across to the table and sat down opposite us. Rutherglen—a powerful, thickset man with a shaved head and cold black eyes—sat to Donal's right.

  “We've word the Westal air mages will be here later this evening,” Marttia said, her gaze on Donal. “Will their presence enable you to bring the full force of the elements against the bipeds?”

  “To a point,” Donal replied. “But if their mages use shields, as they have in the past, then no.”

  “Meaning we need to stop the mages before we can rain hell on these bastards,” Marttia commented. “Rodestat's fence line will hold back any who attack from ground level, but it cannot stop those who go under or over.”

  “You've had no word from my aunt?”

  “Not as yet.” She frowned. “And the fact of the matter is, whether or not they arrive is irrelevant. Neither they nor the air mages can cause any great harm to the Volker until their mages are taken out. And that means you have to return to Divona and claim what is yours.”

  My gut clenched. What she said was nothing less than the truth, and something I'd wanted from the moment the king had taken what was mine and then destroyed my world. But now that the moment for confrontation had finally arrived, all the fear—all the hurt and self-doubt driven by years of being told I was unworthy, that I didn't matter—rose like a ghost, threatening to smother me.

  I pushed my plate away and crossed my arms on the table. And hoped, with every inch of my being, that the inner turmoil didn't show. “There's one major problem—the king has threatened to incarcerate me the minute I return.”

  “He wouldn't dare—not when you're a part of an official Mauvai
ssian delegation.”

  I snorted. “If you think that, you don't know the king very well at all.”

  “Whatever his reasons for refusing our request for additional resources, he won't act against a delegation. He can't afford the unrest it will cause amongst the others.”

  A statement I would have agreed with little over a year ago, but these days, his decisions were governed more often by emotion and mood. My gaze flicked to the silent Rutherglen. “I gather that's why an heir accompanies you? He’s leading the delegation?”

  “Indeed,” she said. “Rutherglen is well-known and respected in Divona. Your father has already agreed to my request for a meeting of the full council—it's set for tomorrow evening.”

  “Such agreement actually means little,” I said. “He's just as likely to send either my brother or another representative to speak on his behalf as attend such a meeting himself.”

  The real problem, however, was the fact that the council only rarely met in the great hall. And despite the fact that Vin often used the sword in our practice sessions, he didn't generally carry it on his person. It was instead kept in an ornate but very secure display case near the glass throne in the great hall—a gilded reminder to all those who attended him there of the power he could no longer actually control. “Besides, it takes three days to get—”

  “For Divona's haulers, yes, because the treaty only grants you access along set energy lines and areas. We, of course, have no such restrictions. The sprinters will get you there by dusk.”

  Of course, they didn't, and it was stupid of me not to have realized that.

  “When do we leave?” Donal asked.

  “Within the hour.”

  She rose, as if that was all there was to be said—and I guessed to a woman who'd won her crown by taking the life of her sister, it was.

  “You do realize,” I said softly, “that what we plan here amounts to treason against a sitting king.”

  “The treason was committed twelve years ago,” she said bluntly. “We merely seek to right a wrong.”

  “That's not how it's going to be viewed by many.”

  She shrugged. “Their view isn't important right now. Claiming your birthright and saving this land is. They'll soon come crawling forward offering acceptance and seeking forgiveness once the true depth of the danger is known.”

  I hoped she was right about one but wasn't sure I'd ever be capable of the other. But there was little point in saying anything, especially when I had no more choice in my actions now than I did when the restraint bracelets were keeping me in check.

  If I wanted to save this land—and I did—then I would have to find courage and do the one thing that had kept me going through the darkness of the last twelve years.

  Confront the king.

  And perhaps even kill him.

  Thirteen

  I rested my head against the sprinter’s wall and watched the city of my birth grow larger on the horizon. Dusk was settling in, and the long orange streak of metal that was Divona's mighty wall gleamed brightly against a sky filled with hues of yellow and pink. Lights glowed atop the evenly spaced towers, and although we were too far out as yet for the eye of any of them to fall on us, I had no doubt our presence had been noted and reported.

  My gaze drifted up the city’s tiers to the castle. Divona's strength had never truly been challenged—not after the Westal Ranges had fallen to her rule—and it had led to a belief that Divona, her people, and most importantly, her king, were unstoppable. Unbeatable.

  The Volker had certainly proven just how wrong that belief was. But would me taking up the sword and revealing the true depth of the lies the king and my brother had told over the last twelve years convince the council to believe otherwise?

  Or would they be in such fear of my reaction to their abuse that they’d side with the king even in the face of a greater threat?

  I suspected the latter, and that, in turn, meant no matter what else happened, there would be casualties in my quest to reclaim what had been taken. If I was sure of nothing else, it was the fact that the king—once he realized what was happening, what I intended to do—would go down fighting.

  But there’d be even more casualties—possibly a whole continent of them—if I just walked away, as some dark inner corner of my soul begged me to do. Even if I could live with the guilt of such an action, it wasn't like I'd remain safe for very long.

  At least we’d have one ally in the council’s midst. I’d sent word of our departure via the earth to my aunt and had been told Jedran had already left for Divona. I really hoped his support would calm the other lords, because the last thing we needed right now was a true bloodbath.

  I flexed my fingers, trying to ease the tension gathering within. It hadn't helped the dozen or so times I'd tried it in the last hour, and it didn't help now.

  The small movement seemed to wake Donal, because he stirred and said, “Are you okay?”

  “No, I'm not.”

  He took my hand in his and twined our fingers. “He will not hurt you. Not ever again. Not while I still have breath in my body.”

  His words had that inner part of my soul—the part I’d so fiercely protected for so long—rejoicing. “I'd really prefer you not dying, Donal. It would be rather inconvenient given future plans of seduction.”

  “Oh, I have every intention of fulfilling those plans of yours, of that you can be assured.” He paused, his expression contemplative. “Although there has been many a tale of Wildmen rising from the dead. It would seem the promise of great sex has great power.”

  “Only a Westal Wildman would even believe something like that was possible,” Rutherglen commented.

  He was sitting on the opposite side of the carriage, his arms crossed and eyes closed. His expression gave nothing away, so it was hard to tell if he was joking or not. I suspected, given what Donal had said about the man, that he wasn't.

  “That's because we are great believers in the fact that anything is possible if you want it bad enough,” Donal said evenly. “And I've actually witnessed love snatch life from the jaws of death.”

  Rutherglen snorted and opened his eyes. The coldness remained, despite the hint of amusement playing about his mouth. “I daresay there was a healer or medic involved in that feat somewhere.”

  “Indeed, but sometimes neither is enough. The will has to be strong for life to remain.”

  “You know,” I said casually but with a tightness gathering in my throat. “I'd rather not be discussing the ins and outs of death when we’re about to meet two men who have tried to do nothing other than kill me for the last twelve years.”

  Rutherglen's ungiving gaze met mine. “Then let's instead discuss what happens if a representative takes the king's seat at the council meeting rather than the king himself.”

  I smiled, though it felt tight. “Simple. You don’t deal with whoever is sent and demand an audience with the king. You are not only Marttia's representative but one of her heirs and have the right to such if so requested.”

  He nodded. Though his expression still wasn't giving anything away, I suspected he was probably more aware of his rights than me. That it had been a test, however small. “And once we get that audience?”

  “The earth will rise—”

  “The air will defend,” Donal cut in.

  “—and I will claim what is mine,” I finished, gently squeezing his hand. “But neither the king nor my brother will go down without a fight.”

  “And that's what you plan?” Rutherglen said evenly. “To take them both down?”

  “I don't believe I'll have any other choice, although I would prefer to keep my brother alive.”

  Rutherglen raised an eyebrow—a small movement that hinted at contempt. “After all he has said and done?”

  “All he has said and done is the reason I want him alive.” Though my voice was flat, it nevertheless ran with deep fury. “I want to visit on him exactly what he and the king gave to me.”

  �
�Ah,” Rutherglen said. “That is most excellent news.”

  His response wasn't what I'd been expecting. “Why?”

  “Because he has in the past rebuffed both Marttia's overtures and mine.”

  Surprise ran through me—not because Rutherglen had propositioned Vin, but because Marttia had. “Really?”

  “Yes.” He uncrossed his arms and sat upright. “He did in fact say that he would rather lie with dogs than barbarians such as us.”

  “I'm surprised she allowed him to live after a statement like that.”

  “She was tempted to gut him but decided revenge was a platter best served cold.”

  “When did this happen?” I glanced briefly out the window; the drawbridge was lowering. The churning in my gut grew stronger.

  “Three years ago.”

  Which was well into her “relationship” with me. “Given her preference runs to women rather than men, I gather she was after something other than just sex?”

  He smiled, though it held little in the way of warmth. “What can’t be won by force can sometimes be gained by succession.”

  I blinked, and then laughed. Only Marttia would be devious enough to try and gain the glass throne by bearing my brother’s bastard.

  The carriage rolled onto the drawbridge. The magnetic exchange technology cut out, replaced by the noisier impeller units as we moved into the long tunnel that led into Divona.

  Had it only been weeks since I'd left this place? It felt like a lifetime longer. So much had changed—both within me and without—and those changes hadn’t yet finished. But no matter what happened over the next few hours, I was no longer alone—and that was the most welcome change of all.

  “Once we reach the royal district,” I said, as the carriage began to weave its way through the tiers, “neither of you are to look at me or speak to me. The king has to believe I've been cowed by Donal, or this will all be for naught.”

  “What happens if you're forbidden to enter the council chambers?” Rutherglen asked. “Or he follows through with his threat to lock you up?”