The Cruel Fae King: A Sexy Fantasy Romance Series (The Cursed Kingdoms Series Book 1)

by A. K. Koonce

  And I am. King Iri decided that right from the start.

  My leg lifts for one more step, but my movement comes to a halt. Behind me, the only bit of my dress that still trails the ground is tacked into the dirt by his long sword. Eager to disappear amongst the trees, I tug on the dress.

  The sound of it tearing, but not completely breaking free makes the way Bear is slowly coming toward me much more terrifying.

  “I would tell you I’m sorry for what I’m about to do. But honestly, I’m not.” His massive hand comes down on my shoulders, expertly finding the exact pressure points that make my knees weak. And not in the good way.

  I open my mouth to speak, only to find the words lodged in my throat as my beautiful green forest turns to ashy gray. Then everything is black.

  I hate the color black. Black is for funerals.

  And death.

  Three

  A Pain in the … Back

  Bear

  All the things I’ve been told about the Princess of the Southern Kingdom is true. She’s a pain in the ass.

  And my back.

  I flop her down on my mattress and I both want to glare and gaze at her soft features. All pretty things come at a price.

  Smooth features and angled lines make up her heart shaped face. Long sapphire hair fans across my pillow with too many dirty thoughts filling my mind.

  I shove those thoughts far into the back of my mind. She’s as beautiful as she is infuriating. And this trip is going to feel even longer because of her.

  “She’ll help you,” a voice says from behind me but I still stare down on her spread across my mattress.

  “If you try, she’ll help you,” my friend says reassuringly again.

  He’s always of sound mind but I don’t know if he’s right this time.

  The beautiful woman lying before me might be exactly as her father says she is:

  Not worth the trouble.

  Four

  The Enchantress

  Syren

  The first thing that hits me is the overwhelming scent of citrus of some sort. Fruit that doesn’t grow on the island. My island. Next, it is a headache. Each heartbeat pulses with a terrible pain that travels down my neck.

  My own sluggish fingers come up to cup my face. No injury, no blood, everything is perfect. Except my pride. The thin branches of my twisted, handmade crown still rest atop my head.

  Blinking, I take in my new surroundings as the memories flood back over me. Bear. Bear came to my island. Where is he now?

  The black of my closed eyelids gives way to the sight of a small musty cabin room. Swirls of wood grain cover almost every surface: the walls, the floor, the desk, and the door. A thin wooden chair sits adjacent the desk as if someone had sat there to watch me. I shudder at the thought.

  Waves rock the boat slowly enough I feel tempted to take another little snooze. Storming footsteps on the deck above me make dread drop like heavy lead in my stomach.

  Beneath me, the blankets still contain my body heat. I press longingly back into them. I notice how worn I look compared to the covers. The blankets look brand new while my dress is tattered and dirty.

  Rubbing my aching eyes, I sit up, listening for signs of other passengers. Nothing but the sloshing water outside my small window and the stomp of the boots above me indicates other crew members. When I take a deep breath, the tangy scent sends my stomach growling in angry hunger.

  Bright pink waterapple slices sit on the desk, freshly cut. I haven’t had a waterapple in weeks, and I hate how tempting it looks. The scene makes me think this chair hasn’t been empty for very long. Curious and eager to appease the continuous rumbling in my stomach, I set my bare feet on the smooth floorboards.

  It has been so long since my feet met something that wasn’t weathered by nature. Wiggling my toes, I grin. The smile quickly dies down at the looming thought of what this journey from the island ultimately means.

  I am to marry King Iri.

  My whole body feels tight from the anticipation of what is to come. Bear will bring me to the castle to be made presentable first, then I will meet the great Fire Fae King. The Cursed King. He’ll make arrangements for our wedding. My dad will likely come. That’ll be fantastic. Then . . . the wedding night, and the things one must do.

  Sex. Don’t get me wrong, sex is great. Fantastic if you have an experienced partner, honestly. But the part that plagues me is that the first time you consummate your marriage, you have all that unwanted company. I don’t like my father on any good day. Why would I want him to sit in while I have sex with my husband?

  He and any high member of society is allowed to sit behind these thin mesh curtains and watch. It’s like we are prized horses that they need to breed properly.

  Oh, my goddess. What are the chances Bear will be in that room?

  Why did I just think that?

  Heat rushes to my face at the thought. The man is a stubborn lackey. Will he enjoy watching the King touch and taste every intimate part of me?

  Or, or . . . I can escape before it gets that far. Ride an ocean wave right back to my island or wherever else I want to go. I’ve heard the Eastern Kingdom is beautiful in the summer. Warm and tropical.

  Trying to shake off the many unwanted thoughts bombarding my mind, I reach for the waterapple. Plucking one perfectly peeled quarter off the desk, I toss the small pink fruit into my watering mouth. Juices somehow both sweet and sour explode like fireworks against my tongue.

  My stomach howls again, begging for more. I snatch the remaining pieces from the desk, shoving them into my mouth, not even slightly remorseful that it was probably meant as a snack for someone else.

  The mysterious fruit, delectable as it is, doesn’t satisfy this ravenous hunger. I suppose being knocked unconscious for who knows how long does that to a person. On quiet feet, I creep to the door, listening carefully before reaching for the polished knob. Again, the only noise I hear is the random stomping of boots on the level above me.

  Surprise arches my eyebrows. The door opens easily. No locks or tricks or any other barriers to keep me trapped. Bear is going to let me wander this boat freely? How kind of him.

  How stupid of him.

  Outside of the room is a long, empty, and narrow hallway. My choice of exits includes the room directly across from me, probably another sleeping chamber, or the dimly lit stairs, likely leading to the deck.

  Neither of them seem too great. But if I can get on the deck, I can figure out how far away from land we are. I can lift any trinkets aboard to pay for my escape. I could swim away without so much as a goodbye to my captors.

  What could I do in the other room? Search through Bear’s luggage for old underwear? No thank you.

  With careful steps, I trudge up the stairway to the square door above my head. Light peeks down through a single hole in the small door that separates me from the free ocean air. I inhale deeply. The salty scent mixes with that of Bear.

  Somewhere between bourbon and coffee, that is what Bear smells like. A caffeine that gets you drunk.

  I don’t like it.

  Past his scent, I catch the hint of something else. Someone else. Honestly, with a boat this size, I expect more of a crew. Yet it may just be me, Bear, and mystery person number one.

  I press into the door above my head, but the hard wood panel doesn't move. It’s locked. Pain radiates mildly though my palms and shoulder as I try to break through it once more. I shove and push and think of ways my water magic might aid me, but nothing short of flooding the ship comes to mind.

  Amid my flailing against the door, it gives away, sending me jarring forward and washing hot sunlight across my tired, squinting eyes.

  I feel like a wild animal sticking its head out a hole, with just my head and shoulders protruding above the deck. Big black boots sit eye level with me. They are clean with little scuffs. My attention drifts up the long slender legs to the black shorts that eventually lead up to the narrow waist and broad shoulders of myster
y person number one. I frown. Brilliant red hair sticks out in uneven tufts. One long braid hangs down to the man’s shoulders, strung with black-and-grey beads that mirror the color of ash. The red scruff on his chin is scraggly and as unkempt as the hair on his head.

  “Goddess. You’re beautiful.” The stranger cocks his head. “Though not as beautiful as your people would have us believe. They say you’re some kind of enchantress sea witch.”

  Well, isn’t he charming. Why didn’t King Iri send this fine gentleman to escort me?

  “Stop it. She’s covered in dirt, mud, and other fluids I’m sure.” Bear’s annoyed huff reaches me, but I don’t see him. Not past his friend who hovers.

  “Who are you? Fire fae?” I roll my eyes, tossing out his powers like it’s an insult. The fire fae are temperamental little shits. Hot-blooded, some say.

  “I just complimented you, and you’re going to talk to me like that?” He balances his hands on his hips with an amused chuckle. “Name’s Miranda.”

  If he is referring to the fact that I’m ‘not as beautiful as your people would have us believe,’ then that was hardly a compliment.

  “Isn’t Miranda a girl’s name?”

  Bear groans from a distance. “Don’t get him started.”

  “Miss Syren Stormson. I thought you were supposed to be the evolved princess of the Southern Kingdom. Your people boast about you, cheer for you, and mourn and riot for you in your banishment, yet in this day and age, you can’t comprehend a man having the name Miranda?” His mouth drops in false shock. “It’s wholly unbelievable.”

  They rioted in my banishment?

  With a scowl, I stomp up the next few steps emerging from the musty lower deck. Sun illuminates the bits of metal that hold the ropes of the long sails and fishing hooks neatly hung along the sides of the railings.

  Bear leans over the tall wooden edge, watching the waves slap against the large boat. He doesn’t give me the slightest glance. I watch him for a long second, not too ashamed to examine the muscles tensed along his bare back.

  Goddess Karma did bless him. Gave him a shit personality to balance his favors, sure but . . . he’s painfully beautiful. Even with the thin lines of scars crossing his broad shoulders and back.

  “So glad you could finally join us,” Bear says flatly.

  “Now, now, Bear. Look, she isn’t half bad. I think under that . . . garment. Can we even call that a garment when it’s in such poor condition? Oh, never mind.” He swats his hand, dismissing his thoughts. “Under all that, she likely has a decent body.”

  Unconsciously my hands wrap around the two inches of exposed skin between my tattered shirt and my more tattered skirt at the thoughts of these men imagining what I look like under these rags.

  “Plus,” Miranda holds up a finger, “her people love her. Goddess knows we need the people to love our queen in the Northern Kingdom.” He sings the last line like a jolly ballad.

  “I know, I know,” Bear mutters.

  He seems so enthused.

  “If you don’t want me to be your queen, Bear, why would you drag me away from my island? I didn’t want to come anyway.” I cross my arms over my chest, until I realize that the neckline of my bodice is quite low, and I instead I place my hands more confidently on my hips.

  “I didn’t have much of a choice. The people want what the people want,” Bear says, as if that’s answer enough. He gives me a less than pleasant look.

  “Since when does your king care what the people want instead of what he wants?” My words are sharp and pointed, my only weapon.

  Miranda gasps. “Princess Syren.”

  Bear shakes his head. “Let her think whatever she wants to think about our king.”

  The bitter way he says it makes me wonder if he hates Iri as much as I do. Maybe that’s one thing we have in common. The only thing.

  Miranda snorts, turning to make work of pulling ropes and strings and other things that I don’t care to know about. I love the sea. I love the water. Boats, those are irrelevant to me. Miranda hums a little tune as he goes. He really is a likable guy, even if he does appear a little rough around the Viking edges.

  Tangles of my blue hair fall over my shoulder. Slowly, I pace around the large deck. The helm that is usually managed by the captain is unmanned. It turns only an inch or two each direction as the sea slaps at the ship. A long piece of twine ties the wheel in place, keeping it from drifting too sharply. A course has already been set.

  Looking over the rocking waves, I see no land. When I peer around the massive deck, my gaze lands on shining rubies. Bear’s sword on a small wooden bench.

  I don’t have a plan. Because, do I ever? I try to look casual, stepping around large piles of rope and a few barrels of sloshing liquid. Wine? I could use some wine. I could really use some confidence. Wine and confidence go hand in hand, don’t they?

  “So how long is this trip to your awful kingdom?” I make small talk, directing them somewhere else.

  “Two days by sea. One by land.” Miranda answers for Bear when he doesn’t reply.

  “That’s a long time to be stuck on this boat with you two.”

  “If you two tried harder, I bet Bear could think of something to pass the time with you.” Miranda’s chuckling is cut short when Bear’s hard features curl into a scowl. “Maybe we can play some cards to pass the time?” Miranda offers with more seriousness. “I have two decks in the crew’s quarters.”

  “Crew’s quarters? Are there more people aboard?” I run my finger over the smooth edge of the boat, pretending to examine it for dust. It isn’t dusty. It’s pure perfection.

  “Just me and Bear. I get the whole room down there to myself. Bloody grand, if you ask me.” Miranda looks up at me cheerfully, his toothy grin showing off two shining golden caps.

  “Miranda, quit giving her information. Don’t you see what she’s trying to do?” Bear drops his head into his large hands, rubbing his fingers over his temples.

  “Excuse me for wanting to know how many players we have for the card game we are going to play. Wouldn’t want to leave anyone out in a hand of Hobs Knobs” I direct myself toward Miranda’s smirking face. “Is he always this grumpy?”

  “Most days.” Miranda shrugs. “But get him drinking and he lets loose. If you can get him drinking, that is.”

  Drinking? I make note of Bear’s lightweight status. Miranda is a helpful friend.

  I lean over the edge, reaching my palms out. Small hurricanes of water rise up to lap against my palms. It calms my racing heart. There is nothing like the sensation of water kissing your skin. Water is my true home.

  Miranda watches me with curiosity. “Nice parlor trick.”

  “I could drown you with this handful of water,” I say in a bored tone.

  That is… if my magic cooperated enough for me to get ahold of the restless magic within me…

  “I’d like to see you try.” Bear laughs. “He’s a good fighter.”

  “You’d have to be with such a girly name.”

  Miranda frowns. It makes me almost feel bad for my comment. How many times has someone told him he shouldn’t be named that? It’s not like he picked his own name.

  Changing the subject, I point to Miranda’s wild outfit. The necklaces hanging over his baggy shirt that is tucked in his far-too-short shorts. “You look like a pirate.”

  “You know,” he says, glancing up to the sky. “I feel like a pirate.”

  “Is this what you always wear?”

  Miranda laughs, walking away from the pulleys and other gadgets to a map splayed over a long table. “Do you think they allow this type of garb in the fae courts?”

  “No, I suppose not.” I shrug, inching closer to the balanced weapon. “As queen, I would let you wear what you want to wear.”

  “Oh, I see why your people like you. You please them.” He bows low.

  Bear seems content to pick at his nails and listen to the sea.

  I take one long step, and I grab the swo
rd. The metal is warm from the sun. I take the blade and point it at Miranda’s back.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Bear’s whisper is a dark and heavy threat in my ear. His arms are strong and hot as he reaches around me and lowers my hand. Okay. So Bear’s fast.

  Goosebumps tremble over my skin. I’ve missed the caress of a man’s touch for too long. I remember the short relationship I had with Aaven before he found out I was betrothed to the most feared King in all the lands. Aaven was sweet. Aaven . . . was a fucking coward to let me go without so much as a goodbye.

  Bear isn’t Aaven. Not at all. I hate how sensitive I am to every small touch Bear gives me.

  I let the blade clatter to the ground, twisting around quickly. Bear’s smooth chest is eye level to me, but I refuse to let my gaze drift down his muscular build. “I do not wish to be your queen.”

  “I do not wish for you to be my queen.” He leans down closer to me, his cruel mouth half an inch from mine, the heat of his words skimming my lips. “You can quit saying it now. I’m well aware. I agree.”

  “I can’t believe you two are pouting,” Miranda says, his finger still lingering on the map. “I’m the one who just got a sword pointed at me. Show some condolences, for goddess’s sake.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “You’re not sorry.” He glances at me without annoyance. “And to think, I liked you.”

  Bear’s whiskey color eyes stare down at me. I shift under his scrutiny. “I have one job here. It is to bring you back to my kingdom to be wed. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

  “You clearly don’t know much about me, then.” I shove both arms against him. I push him harshly away before sprinting over the creaking boards and tossing myself into the vibrant, living ocean.

  Briny water covers me, the dormant strength of the water surrounding me in its warm embrace.