Cursed be the Crown (Cruel Fortunes Book 1)

by RAE STAPLETON

  He leaned in and poked the fire with a stick.

  “Mein vater believes a marriage between ourselves and the kingdom of Southern Italy a good match. It would elevate my station in life. He wants to see me in a place of power and honor.”

  “So, you’ll marry?”

  He snorted a reply, which I took as a no.

  “Well, what will you do?” I felt him shrug.

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Fair enough,” I laughed.

  “And you? I’ve heard your uncle has designs for you?”

  “My uncle?” I questioned. Was marriage to close family acceptable here, or did Conrad mean my uncle had plans to marry me off—to the Comte?

  “Ja. Nico. Is it untrue?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  As the moon got bigger, we laid down. I began to drift off. With only the one blanket to share, Conrad wrapped his body around me like a spoon. It felt odd cuddling with a stranger, but it was cold. The least I could do was share a blanket and some body heat.

  “I do apologize for earlier, Prinzessin,” he whispered. “I didn’t intend for you to flee.”

  “I know, Conrad. Thank you.”

  My head was tucked into the hollow of his neck, his hand practically cupping my right breast. My damp shift clung to me, chilling me and so I snuggled deeper, shifting, trying to scoot back further into the warmth of his lap. His passion surged, nuzzling me in just the right spot, growing even larger. Almost by instinct I pushed against him. He groaned and swelled in return. I didn’t think it possible to feel so deeply connected to a stranger, but there I was. At least I wasn’t alone in my dilemma. I smiled a wicked grin and wondered if he would be able to sleep anytime soon. It didn’t feel like it.

  SIXTEEN

  W aking in the morning, I looked around, taking in the dark cavern formed out of trees and branches, and wondered if this was indeed the Black Forest the Brothers Grimm had detailed.

  The roof, if you could call it that, was a thick lattice of intertwining branches that barely let light through. Rows and columns of immense tree trunks lined up as far as the eye could see. I was used to seeing spruce and pine and all of the other coniferous trees that symbolized Canadian woods, but never had I seen a forest with so many of them so tightly packed in.

  After a quick breakfast, I searched for water to clean myself up in, which only reminded me of the lynx at the waterfall. I sighed and glanced at the big horse abandoning the idea all together. I would simply have to smell as bad as everyone else.

  We hit the trails and Conrad’s horse carried us without strain. I rode with my arms about his waist, feeling the closeness of his body once again. Warm sensations cascaded through me, and a deep, delicious ache built between my thighs, which I fought to ignore.

  At times, the path disappeared. We got off the horse and led it through the maze of dense woods. I grew tired and hungry and mentioned that to Conrad several times. Finally, we came to a part in the forest richly carpeted in moss and ferns, and Conrad whispered we were growing close. We passed outlying farms and cottages, and my heart leapt as we came into the lovely little village of Furtwangen. There were half-timbered houses with cuckoo clocks in the window as well as one large, outdoor clock in the middle of the square. I glanced over my shoulder as we rode through the delicious smells of baking breads, spiced meats and onions mixed with cheese.

  “Can’t we stop? I’m hungry.”

  “We’ll lose the light.”

  “Fine,” I said, grudgingly.

  We clopped over the landscape and, as we grew closer to our destination, I grew more impatient. Every step felt like lightning to my thighs.

  He came to an abrupt stop at the castle gate. “There it is,” he whispered, dismounting. “I think we will find everyone fast asleep at this hour, but you’ll meet them in the morning.”

  “It’s so dark. Are you sure we should go in there?” I whispered back.

  From what I could see, the castle was perched on a rock, high above the valley floor.

  “Ja, natürlich, dummes Fraulein.”

  I gave my most indignant look, letting him know that I was aware he had just called me a silly woman.

  “I know my own schloss,” he replied, before laughing. “Your fear is not necessary.”

  I flashed him another look to let him know he was patronizing me. Sure, I was grumpy, but in my defense, I was saddle sore, stone cold, and mosquito bitten.

  “It is…,” he paused, as if thinking of the perfect way to describe it. “Wunderbar.”

  Two eager hounds chose that moment to jump out at us.

  “Dagmar! Dux! Sitz!” Conrad turned to me. “Don’t be frightened. The hounds have come to greet us. Braver Hund!” he cooed, as they lapped at his hands, greedily soaking up his affection.

  He lifted me down from the horse and clasped his hand around mine, and we went up to the front door. I half expected a hunchback named Igor, but as the heavily carved door swung open, we were greeted by an old man Conrad patted on the back.

  “Willkommen zu Hause Graf,” the old man said.

  We stepped into a large marble foyer, and it took only seconds before Conrad sent Aldo, the old man, for food. My stomach took that opportunity to let out a large growl.

  “I concur,” he said, chuckling.

  I smiled and did a slow turn, taking everything in. Schloss Lichtenstein was elegant and beautiful. There was a huge, handsome Carl Spitzweg painting of the Bookworm hanging over a Biedermeier desk. That particular painting was a favorite of mine. Anything depicting books or a library made me comfortable. I started to comment on it and then bit my tongue, realizing that Carl Spitzweg might not be that famous yet.

  “Magnificent, is it not?” Conrad asked, in a rapture of understatement. Our footsteps echoed as I followed him inside. He squeezed my hand—which secretly made me nervous—and pulled me through the castle.

  Servants scattered about as we climbed the stairs.

  “The schloss is haunted,” he whispered in my ear.

  I was sure we were both half delirious from the long journey.

  “Oh, really—by whom?” I played along.

  “The Kobald.” He smiled, teasingly, as I struggled to keep up with his long legs. House sprites. I remembered writing a paper on Germanic mythology and folklore. “Watch out, they love to play tricks on pretty young frauleins,” he said, gently pinching my side.

  I jumped at his playful touch but looked warily over my shoulder. Those legends usually stemmed from some sort of truth.

  The Kobold mirrored creatures such as goblins from other parts of Europe. I looked around but didn’t see any carved effigies.

  The rest of the schloss fulfilled the promise of the entrance, with tall, beautifully carved ceilings, wonderfully inlaid floors, small crystal chandeliers, and long, elegant windows that I imagined in the morning would look out onto a garden filled with bright flowers.

  We increased our pace, as if there were a sudden urgency to our mission. My dress was dirty and wet from the grueling two days of living outdoors. Conrad rang for the servants, and I was quickly brought a sophisticated white housecoat with ruffled pockets and sleeves.

  Exhausted, I barely moved as one of the ladies helped me to unlace and then left me to settle in while she checked on the food. I wriggled out of my gown, stiff with sweat from the ride, and into a nightie made of fine muslin. Sniffing under my arms, I frowned and then looked around for a basin of water. I doubted anyone would smell me over their own stench, but I wanted to feel clean.

  The staff had thoughtfully lit a fire when we arrived, and even though the room was the size of a small house, it became an oasis of warmth. I kicked my shoes to the side and climbed up on the luxurious, goose down quilts and puffy pillows.

  The bed was soft and I felt good, until I spotted the mirror that reflected my massive mane of knotty, blonde curls. The curls were tight, almost ringlets. Before the highlights, my own hair was normally long, straight and
dark; I didn’t know the first thing about brushing out curly tangles. I could now understand why flat irons were so popular.

  I heard the rain pelting against the window, and I began to feel drowsy, lying there on the large fluffy pillow. Staring up at the ceiling, exhausted from the trip, intending only to rest for a moment, I fell into oblivion.

  I opened my eyes to a large hand stroking my face, brushing back my hair.

  “Sie sind so schön,” he whispered.

  With a lurch, I took a deep breath. I reminded myself he spoke to Sapphira, but regardless, intoxication overwhelmed my senses. I peeked an eye open.

  “What does that mean?”

  He smiled, probably wondering if I understood the word beautiful.

  His finger trickled down my neck, lightly brushing my earlobe, and he switched to French.

  “Comme un beau cheval blanc j’étais fauché.”

  He nipped at my ear and tingles danced down my neck. I could get used to this.

  “I like that.” I whispered back.

  French really was the language of love. Then he pinned my arm above my head, and a thrill rushed down my spine.

  I caught innocent and pure and I want to possess every inch of you. I shook it off. He was aggressive, but not mean like Nick.

  There appeared to be a slight delay between the words ringing in my ears and then registering with my brain. I pushed at his chest.

  “Did you just say I remind you of a horse?” I squirmed against his grip, but he didn’t flinch or look away.

  I thought of how to phrase my thoughts without dropping any F-bombs.

  “I’ve upset you. Please forgive me. I only meant to flatter you.” He looked at me with disappointed eyes. “It’s just that I want you. I’ve wanted you for a while now,” he whispered, as he pulled me on top of him, stroking my hips before gliding his hands up my back.

  I attempted to create a little space between us while I caught my breath. I wanted him too but it was moving a little fast.

  He resisted my attempts at space, pressing his lips to my neck.

  “Conrad, I think we should slow down!” I raised my voice.

  “Is that what you want?” He stopped and looked at me. Even as he spoke, his lips moved closer to mine, his breath warm on my cheek.

  I couldn’t help myself. “No. This is what I want.” I kissed him back with the same ferocity he’d shown me. Twisting my fingertips into his thick, dark mane of hair and pulling as his hands slid to the small of my back and pressed me into his chest. I wanted this to go further! With his help, I stripped him of his pants and smiled while he pushed the hem of my nightie up around my hips, crushing his mouth to mine. His fingers roamed. Feeling him hard against my bare thigh, memories of Nick crept in. This was so much better.

  He groaned, muscles tensing as he gripped my shoulders. He was gentle, resting and then kissing me. Allowing me to set the pace. I ran my fingers softly down the slope of his back. The large muscles of his thighs shook momentarily against my own, but he held off and kept from speeding up as any red-blooded man would. I shifted my hips forward against him, and he squeezed his eyes closed in concentration. His mouth was open, and his breath became ragged and shallow.

  I’d pushed him over the edge with my movement.

  “Ich kann nicht,” he said, in muffled German. His backside clenched, becoming hard as steel beneath my hands.

  That was good enough for me. I moaned feeling my own intense pleasure and tugged him against me as he shuddered.

  “Are you all right?” he enquired seconds later.

  “Yes,” I smiled brightly to reassure him I was not about to dissolve into tears.

  He encircled me close against him, my cheek against his chest. I pulled the throw over us, enveloping us in a nest of cozy goodness. We relaxed, silent for a bit as the fire slowed, listening to the intermittent snap and crackle of the burning logs and the faint sounds of the castle as it creaked and stirred. Maybe I could live in the 19th century after all.

  SEVENTEEN

  M y eyes opened as I rolled over, searching for him. He’d allowed me to hog the covers and he looked magnificent, his body hard and seasoned, the body of a warrior. The sun peeked through the clouds and rain drops sprinkled the window. I loved sleeping in the rain. I closed my eyes again and drifted back off.

  “Was ist das?” A woman’s voice questioned, it was shaky and accusing.

  “Conrad...” The words died in my throat as I felt him shoot upright in bed. He snatched at the quilt and furiously wrapped it at his waist, causing the woman to cover her mouth and take a step behind the man who accompanied her.

  “Mutter, what are you doing bursting in here without knocking?”

  For a moment everyone just stopped and gaped, listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops against the window pane, until the silence became too heavy to bear.

  His mother, the Baroness, was flushed with anger. She wailed so loudly I thought the vein in her head would pop. The man, who I assumed was his father, lifted one eyebrow, a gesture of disapproval, in his son’s direction.

  “The servants were correct. Who is this?” his mother glared.

  I blushed furiously. What a loose woman they must think I am in this day and age to sleep with their son. I frantically pulled the remaining bed covering up to my chin, gnawing on my bottom lip, unwilling to look at her, to see the condemnation I was certain would be there.

  “How could you do this to us? First the embarrassing display at your engagement party and now this. I thought you were in love?”

  Her words caught me off guard. Was Conrad a player? Damn it! Was I saddled with this type?

  “Calm yourself, Mutter.”

  “I, calm myself? Are you trying to hurt me or just soil our good name?”

  “Little dove,” the man said in his wife’s ear. His sparse gray hair had tufted up, and he was smoothing it over his balding dome. “There is no need for a scene.” He scanned the room, looking twitchy.

  I sat up straight against the headboard, clutching the sheet to my bosom, feeling slightly betrayed. Conrad had told me he didn’t know the Bourbon Princess; why would his mother claim he loved her?

  “Mutter, Vater; this is a little awkward, but may I introduce you to her Serene Highness, the Princess Sapphira Grimaldi de Monaco.”

  All the color drained from his mother’s face. Both his parents looked completely shocked.

  “Wilhelm, it’s her!”

  “Welcome to Schloss Lichtenstein, Prinzessin,” his father said, his mouth covered by a bushy mustache. “We apologize for the intrusion.”

  I couldn’t help but think all he needed was a monocle and a stein of beer and he would be the perfect caricature of the quaint old German man.

  He swabbed his brow with a handkerchief. “Come, little dove. Let us go for some air.” He turned to his son. “We’ll see you downstairs shortly.”

  “What was that?” I said.

  “My apologies.” He kissed my hand. “Allow me a moment, and then we’ll go for a ride and I’ll explain.”

  He quickly pulled on his trousers and coat and stepped into the corridor, closing the door softly. Behind him, I heard a flurry of steps and frantic whispering coming from some of the servants.

  An hour later Conrad returned to collect me, and we mounted his horse. The rain had stopped and I watched, fascinated, as the scenery rushed past, a trail of limestone, dense beech forest, moss and juniper bushes. All the birds and woodland creatures scattered as they heard us winding down the Swabian Alb on horseback. It was warm for fall, and I felt beads of sweat form on my hairline as my long blonde curls fell in waves over my shoulder. Conrad had said nothing as of yet. I had peppered him with enquiries as we rode, but he dismissed me in his moody way. As we rode, the mist became thicker, lingering heavy in the air, like the unspoken questions twirling in my brain.

  The edge of a lake appeared, and Conrad stopped the horse and helped me down. I paced back and forth a couple of times and fin
ally sat down in the grass while he fiddled with the reigns.

  “All right, time to spill,” I said, moving to the rock overlooking the crag. “What was that about an engagement party, and why did your parents suddenly change their tune?”

  Conrad looked up. “I don’t understand.”

  “Never mind. Why did your parents react that way?”

  “Oh, that. I was given a threat months ago. Marry Maria or else. As I told you, it would make an excellent alliance. They insisted I settle into my responsibilities. I planned to court you instead just as we discussed originally when we met which is why I returned when I did and found you hurt. Anyway, after you rode off with the Comte, I returned as well but a summons had arrived, and so, before I could speak with you mother and Nico about us, I had to leave.

  “A summons from who?”

  “My parents. I thought something had happened but when I arrived home it was to an engagement party—mine.”

  The horse whinnied and blew at us, shuddering its skin. Conrad patted the horse before freeing him from the harness to graze.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I didn’t either.” He clarified. I thought Principessa Maria was in Venice and didn’t understand how such an announcement could be made without her family present.” He was quiet for a moment, and then his hand touched mine lightly.

  “So, what happened?” I asked.

  “Vater said he understood my reservations over the prospect of marrying a foreigner, so he spoke to my uncle, King William, and arranged a meeting with Karl Von Weizsäcker, who served as Prime Minister to the King. Together, they determined I would wed the Prime Minister’s eldest daughter, Marianne.”

  My mouth hung open.

  “Yes, I was stunned too, completely taken by surprise,” he said.

  I fidgeted with my dress. Thinking of the conflicting information we’d found on Sapphira’s and Conrad’s union. What if my interference had changed things somehow?

  “It was around midnight when Vater made his announcement. There had been much to drink, and the guests clapped and cheered at the prospect of our union.”