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

by A. K. Koonce

  “Would it be too much to ask for a sip of water? My throat is parched.”

  The guard’s sword clanks against the stone wall as he marches away like a man on a mission. His words are an almost whispered breath before he disappears around the corner. “Certainly, your majesty.”

  Wow. I forgot what it was like to have people listen to you. Bear should take notes.

  Alone, with no other guards posted outside my door, I beam at the empty hallway. Prancing out onto the soft red carpet, I do a small dance before composing myself and jogging away, going the opposite direction of the guard.

  The plain halls feel darker at night. Light cast from the small lamps is somehow dimmer. Part of me worries I’ll lose myself here and be found wandering the castle by King Iri himself. That or perhaps I’ll starve to death in some lonely corner.

  Each rough calloused fingertip of my right hand reaches out and runs over the textured walls. If I feel long enough, will I discover hidden passageways? This castle gives off that visual, with its many dark hallways. This castle was not meant to be easily maneuvered.

  Left.

  I take a turn, whispering the word out loud in hopes of remembering my way back. Right. Right. Left. Right. Left. The turns are endless as I pass empty corridors and archways and a few rooms that actually have doors on them. I remain extra quiet as I pass for fear those rooms are sleeping chambers.

  The corridor I’m on now appears darker the farther down I goes. Lamps still remain lit and flickering, but the light somehow is swallowed up. The space begs for my skin to crawl, for me to run away due to my own superstitious fear.

  I’m intrigued.

  Nothing in this kingdom feels right. So if it’s wrong, it must be right? That’s some kind of logic.

  Shit. I don’t even know now.

  On sure steps, I plunge deeper into the dim light. Air like the hands of a ghost travels up my arms, leaving me with chilling goosebumps.

  “Where are the bodies now?” A rough voice whispers.

  Every muscle in my body freezes. The voice emits from a door left ajar farther down the hall.

  “Burnt on the pile.” The second voice sounds assured.

  Bodies . . .

  The ladies-in-waiting. Marigold and Jenevieve. I try not to think back on the fear in their eyes or the wet drip of blood on their cheeks, but my mind fails me. It’s a dark memory, forever tattooed on my mind.

  “I thought that magic couldn’t get in this castle.” The first voice rises, the familiarity of it made crystal clear with the hint of anger in his deep tone. King Iri. “I thought we were safe from that disease.”

  “You are, my king. You will be. I’ll speak to the spell binders and have them tighten the protection spell.”

  “Yeah, and say a prayer to Goddess Celeste while you’re at it.” King Iri huffs, his heavy steps echoing as he stomps around the room.

  Keys jingle and more footfalls ring out. A scurrying pace of a nervous guard. I glance down the empty hall. The noise is so near, I’m certain there must be another hall on the other side of the rooms.

  “Your majesty,” a new quivering voice says.

  King Iri doesn’t respond. I imagine he is all brooding brows and narrowed glares. Typical.

  “Princess Syren is not in her chambers.”

  Oh . . . shit . . .

  “You’ve lost another princess?” Iri’s voice spikes in anger, and I have to admit it does sound like a recurring issue here. “Find her. Tear this castle apart, I don’t care. Find her or the people will have our heads on stakes. They will abandon this dying fucking kingdom!”

  “Yes, sir.” The steps hurry off, a parroting of voices calling for action ringing after them.

  “I warned you that she was a flight risk.” A third voice says lazily. “Should have posted more guards on her room. Or at least smarter guards.”

  King Iri sighs long and low. “Why does she not want to marry me?”

  Really? Why? We’re really asking ourselves the hard questions right now, Iri?

  “Perhaps I can suggest that it may have to do with the banishment. Or the rumors that you forced her to bow to you upon arrival. Even I’m remotely ashamed for you.”

  “Who asked you?” His stomping steps dissipate, leaving just his whispering comrade alone in the room.

  “You asked me,” the voice groans.

  Once Bear is gone, the voices talk sneeringly without their king.

  “Now you.” The third, commanding voice turns dark on the remaining member. “I suggest you worry more about doing your job than summoning that witch to rebuild the protection spells.”

  “But—” The voice is quickly cut off.

  “No. You leave the rest to me. I’ll fix this kingdom, even if it means turning the castle upside down. Do not talk to that witch again. We cannot trust everyone, Chaplain.”

  Are they going against the king? Just how often do these two conspire together?

  Curiosity leads me as I step closer. I only wish to know who the Chaplain is speaking with. Though the closer I get, the more my twisting gut says to run away. The air feels tense with anger even from my distance in the darkness.

  Slow moaning wind rushes down the hallway, and something like black swirling smoke flows out from under the door. A snap of white light flashes with the resounding crack of a whip.

  A sudden flash of light dazzles me, leaving me blinking and momentarily blind. Two hands grab my bare arms.

  “Princess?”

  My heartbeat thunders in my chest as fear claws its way up my throat. I brush off the arms, stumbling back until my vision comes to focus.

  Hanging black hair veils almost equally black eyes. They look more concerned than evil, as they peer down on me.

  “We need to get you back to your chambers.” Donovan hovers near me, but places his hands in his pockets. A cocky smirk spreads over his face like warmed butter. “Are you trying to sneak out?”

  “No, not at all.” I flatten the skirt of my nightgown, even though it’s still neatly pressed.

  “You know, if you want to get out for a night on the town, I’d be happy to show you around.” He offers me his arm.

  For a second, I think it better for me to not take it. To instead run wildly down the halls screaming to Bear about what I’ve just heard. To have everything explained and to pray against the dark magic in this kingdom.

  Donovan’s dark magic. And the conspiring words between the trusted weapons master and the sweet chaplain…

  “Perhaps you should instead escort me to my room.” Plotting ideas of getting more information from him are slamming through my mind.

  Donavan considers the idea, his mouth tugging down into a playful forced frown. “I’d be happy to.”

  I slide my arm into his, noting how cold he feels even through the fabric of his shirt. Though my heart still trembles and my head spins with the absurdity of what I just heard and saw, I hold my composure. It’s too risky to be vulnerable in front of these people I barely know. Half-truths and exaggerated lies are far safer at this point.

  “The king is looking for you, you know,” he continues, his walk so slow and casual we hardly make it a far during our conversation.

  “Then we should get me back to my room before he finds me anywhere else.” I quicken my pace, pulling him alongside me in a most unladylike manner.

  Donovan only manages a chuckle as he follows beside me. From our new close stance, I can see the slight shine of red streaking through his inky hair. It’s the faintest glint of color but it’s a telling hint of his fiery magic I have yet to see. His fingers shine as light bounces off his many rings. The most noticeable one is round and flat: his seal, containing the image of two half-moons back to back over a flaming heart. It reminds me of the king’s insignia: two half-moons back-to-back over a flaming crown.

  Important men wear rings like that. And Donovan comports himself like a very important man. Between his confident stature, carefree vocabulary, and the way he appeare
d so quickly after that interesting conversation I overheard without his king present.

  Did he earn his place in this court working behind Bear’s back?

  We turn down hallways, my memorized lefts and rights far from my mind, as Donovan directs us back to my room. I’m taut under his touch. Every thought that passes through my mind brings a new bead of sweat to the back of my neck.

  My bedroom door remains open, no guards waiting there for my arrival. All still busy ‘tearing the castle apart’ to find me. Seeing my room gives me new energy. A burst of hope that I can make it back unscathed.

  “Princess,” Donovan stops, sliding his hand back into my grip. “Do you believe in the curse? Do you think you’ll save our kingdom?”

  Chewing my lip, I think before I respond. “I believe that the people believe the curse is real. I don’t think my marriage to the king will do anything, no. But I can tell you once your people are my people, I will stop at nothing to save them.”

  Donovan cocks his head, satisfied with the answer. He lifts my hand and gives it a chilling kiss as cold as ice. “Goodnight.”

  With his back turned, I sprint across the carpet, throwing myself into my room. Wood groans as the door slams shut. I close my eyes, leaning against the door to let myself breathe freely.

  I did it. I really did it. I left my room without permission and survived the labyrinth. I didn’t get—

  “Where were you?” a voice growls from the darkness.

  My eyes pop open. Sitting in an overstuffed pink chair, King Iri stretches out his long legs. His hands clasped in his lap spark with embers between his palms. The firelight flickers in his dark eyes in a sinister but sexy image of danger.

  “I wanted a glass of water.”

  “Don’t toy with me,” he bites out. “Why would you leave your room alone?”

  “I’m not an animal, Bear.” I raise my hands high. “You shouldn’t cage me in.”

  “I am protecting you,” he hisses. “You don’t even know how to navigate the castle yet. Do you know the halls are enchanted to sway and drift and lose visitors on purpose? And the people? These people are just as crafty, too. You don’t know what this kingdom does to people, what this curse has done to my people. It’s dangerous here. It’s especially dangerous for you.”

  My hands ball into fists. The urge to punch the wall or Bear’s dick comes to mind. Instead, I grab a handful of my night dress, lift it up regally off the floor, and trudge past my future husband to my bed. The mattress dips under my weight as I sit balance on the edge.

  “I can take care of myself, you know.” I want to be strong. I want to feel strong. But the words come out like the sulking whine of a teenage girl.

  “I don’t know that. Not yet. I hardly know you, and you don’t know me.” Bear stands, making his way slowly toward me.

  He kneels down, and my knees tremble when his big palms push along my outer thighs over the thin, silk nightgown. The material shifts higher beneath his warm hands that blaze across my skin with tingling sensations.

  “Syren?” His voice softens.

  I close my eyes, not wanting to look at him, wishing away my awful luck with men and kingdoms. He continues to speak. My heart trembles, but my body refuses to allow his touch to affect me the way I know he’s trying to affect me.

  Will everything between us always be a game of courts?

  “Will you please accept this offer?” His voice is a painful plea that I almost believe. “Will you please, please, be my mate?”

  My heartbeat skips.

  Mates are a sacred thing. Something that is cherished, not something that should be made a mockery of in this arranged marriage. When you see your mate, something inside you is supposed to click. Love should overshadow everything else. I do not feel that love. Lust, maybe. But I feel lust even for attractive guards who want to make me smile and so much more when my father isn’t looking.

  I’ve made the mistake of accepting King Iri’s offer once before. I won’t be stupid enough to do it again. He’ll have me as his wife. But never as a mate.

  My silence is answer enough. He shoves off from the floor, the mattress jostling beneath my body as he pushes away from me. He turns the door knob, watching me with disapproval. “Don’t you dare leave this room again without an escort.”

  Paintings on the wall rattle as the door slams into the doorframe. A resounding click of the lock echoes in my ears long after the king leaves me alone in my room.

  His mate.

  How can I be his mate when I’ve only ever been his prisoner?

  Thirteen

  Now It’s a Party

  Syren

  Morning comes, but only after the tossing and turning of fitful sleep. Yellow sunlight breaks through the gaps in my curtains, casting my room in an amber glow.

  Ruffled pink sheets and the crumpled rose comforter remain tangled on my limbs. I kick them off unenthusiastically. I lift from the soft mattress, but I sit there for several long minutes. I’m unprepared for the day. My mind is still a jumble of burning palms, bloody tears, and whispered conversations.

  Bear has an annoying way of being right. I don’t know the people here. I don’t know what the looming illness of this curse has done to them or made them do as a result.

  After following a particularly yellow ray of sun my eyes land on my dresser. Large white peonies bloom over greenery within a large square vase. A small red envelope is tucked within the petals.

  My feet meet the chilly morning floor, curious what kind of apology Bear has written out for me. I lick my lips in anticipation as I pluck the card from the flowers.

  Be ready by noon.

  Wow . . . the romance is too much right now. My ovaries are truly wooed.

  The looping black ink stains the red paper. Another demand, not an apology. Exasperated by the sheer will of this man, I sigh, fanning myself with the card. He has no respect for me. I’ll truly be a captive in this castle forever.

  Taking a handful of the pretty white peonies, I walk to my balcony doors. Water drips from the stems of the flowers onto the ivory tiles. Drip. Drop.

  Every droplet compels me to move faster. With the doors swinging wide open and the sun warm on my face, I pay no mind to the servants in the courtyard who turn up to look at me still in my night clothes.

  The stone edge of the balcony, black and sparkling, looks less magical during the day. Stars that twinkled off the building in the evening light are nowhere to be found. A soulless black castle is all that remains.

  It’s a fitting image of a kingdom with a cruel, cruel king.

  I tilt the flowers upside down over the ledge before opening my hand one finger at a time until they tumble from my grasp. White petals fall slowly in pursuit of the flowers that land down on the green grass. I dust my hands off, ridding them of the dirty feeling of the arrangement.

  I am not King Iri’s prize. And flowers aren’t enough to make up for how much he’s done to me.

  Welcoming the cold morning air, I leave my doors open. I thumb through the wardrobe, no longer finding any appeal in pleasing the king. So instead of the lovely blue dress that my hand is instantly drawn to, I push past skirts—some heavier like what I would traditionally wear and some form-fitting like the fashion of this court and stop on a red dress. It calls to me because it’s less formal than anything I’ve ever worn, but equally as pretty.

  Vibrant and bright, like a mockery of the death witnessed last night, it’s a silky red slip covered with a long lace skirt and sleek lace sleeves that flare at the ends. It looks breezy, fun, and a little out of place for a climate such as this. I feel out of place here. And what’s wrong is right, remember?

  I love it.

  I glance at the sun, reading its position, knowing I have little time to prepare myself for whatever Bear deems that I must be ready for. I duck around my small privacy screen to change. Where I expect air to pass through the lace I’m surprised as it feels oddly warm with no breeze grazing over my skin. Do they kee
p spelled fabric in this palace too?

  My father doesn’t work with witches. Says their influence and magic will only corrupt good men. So, we have many fine fae things, but none quite like this. Maybe that’s why I always loved the idea of the Northern Kingdom so much. I remembered the tricks of magic this land has. It’s beautiful in a flamboyant way. Simple isn’t good enough. Extravagance is what the Northern Kingdom has always loved.

  Two small raps against my door, and Aisha pops her head in. A dazzling smile lights up her all-too-beautiful blue eyes. I fight the urge to magically suck the moisture from her skin and leave her peeling and dry on my bedroom floor.

  I’ve heard of mermaids doing that to girls. It sounds disgusting and useful all at the same time. If only my magic cooperated enough to allow that kind of reckless rage within me to release.

  “Must you be the one to do my hair?” I step out from behind the divider, planting my hands firmly on my hips. I stare her down with unwavering confidence.

  “Lucky us, I’m all you have left for a lady-in-waiting.” She purses her lips. “So, I’ll assist you in getting ready. Sit, sit, sit.” She waves me toward the vanity.

  I gather my lace train up from the floor and hold it in my hand, only dropping it once I’m seated in front of her. I try not to, but can’t avoid staring into her ocean eyes in the mirror.

  How did she even get considered as a wife for King Iri when a water fae is what he needed?

  I keep trying to think that question through, but another question burns against my tongue.

  “Why did you lie to me yesterday?” The question is bold and brash. Maybe I say it a little too harshly.

  Aisha’s hands don’t falter as she selects a wide bush and gently tugs it through my hair. She gives me a playful grin. “Oh, come on. Do you really think I’m going to let you have my husband that easily?”

  “You are still in love with him,” I say slowly.

  “You say that as though I’m supposed to turn off my feelings just because I was booted from the throne. Kings have mistresses, you know.” She sets the brush down, picking up a sparkling black-tone hair clip accented with a large ruby stone. She focused on pulling strands back, leaving the hair on the nape of my neck.