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

by A. K. Koonce

  “Oh.”

  As sticky as the floor, the countertop holds a new arrangement of fizzing drinks that don’t slide as they should. Glass clinks together as the waitress passes them out. She sets one down in front of me.

  In court we drink applewater and wine. All kinds of flavorful, expensive sweet wine. I’ve never drunk anything as frothy as this. Nor do I plan to.

  “Do you not want to try the drink?” The earl offers on a raspy breath. “They’ll think you rude if you don’t.”

  So the social rules of a common pub are not too far off from the social rules of dinner with high fae. Reluctantly, I grip the sweating mug and bring the cup up to my nose, giving it a healthy sniff. I want to please these people for the sake of not explaining myself. But can I truly trust it? Especially with all this dark magic talk.

  I take a polite sip. Bubbly, lukewarm, and bitter, the drink travels down my throat and settles in my stomach with the warmth of a fire. It’s similar to the sensation of drinking wine, but it’s hotter. Liquid flames extend from my stomach up into my limbs, and a small sweat breaks over my forehead.

  “That’s awful.” I push the glass away. Loud braying laughter mixed with cackles and short bursts of fitful giggles explode from the group at my reaction.

  “Pretty thing. I wish you’d take your hood off so we can see your entire face. If you stick around long enough, we might even sing a song or two at dusk. That’s when the party really gets started,” a man I hadn’t noticed says from the back.

  “And,” Donovan tosses some onyx coins against the old wooden counter, “that’s our cue to leave. I’ll be seeing you around, boys and girls.”

  “A shame.”

  “Greedy bastard won't share his girlfriend with us.”

  “You’ll miss all the fun, Masters of Wank,” the man with the torn pocket hollers, and everyone around him howls with laughter at his clever, clever name.

  I can barely make out their comments as they speak over one another in choruses, either begging Donovan to stay, wishing him farewell, or cursing him for leaving.

  Among all the jostling amusement, I notice him clap a hand on a man’s shoulder and the man slips him something into his hand. It’s the fastest exchange, as if the two men are simply shaking hands goodbye with smiles and kind words.

  But I see the large yellow seeds the man drops into Donovan’s open palm. I’m not blind to the passing of coins as he pays him and waves farewell.

  He conspires with so many people it’s hard to keep track of it all. A man like him makes a point to make friends.

  But how many enemies does he make in the process?

  Warmth settles on my back, and I can feel Donvan’s hand hover beside my waist, never touching me but guiding me toward the exit. We leave calmly, but as soon as the crooked-looking door closes behind us, he pushes me along faster.

  “Let’s hurry back. I may have made a mistake taking you out.”

  “What’s wrong?” Apart from the shifty exchange you just made and the waves of deadly illness overtaking this continent, or the fact that you’re using black magic, or that several people have lost faith in your beloved Goddess Celeste and think that what’s happening is a result of said black magic. Other than that, what’s the problem?

  “I didn’t recognize one of those men. Better safe than sorry. Let’s get you home so you can have your beauty rest for your party tomorrow. Plus, that way, Bear won't take my head off if I keep you around for the good times, and something bad happens to you. Nothing good ever happens at dusk, Syren.”

  That’s a lie. Everything good happens at dusk.

  The party outside of the tavern is still going strong. Some people dress in cloaks similar to mine and have their hoods down and their heads tilted back in laugher. A few children weave through the crowd as their mother mildly threatens them. Vendors are still yelling out the promise of a good return on their customer’s coins. All of this happens, but none of it sees us as we sneak down the alley and reach a mysterious brick wall.

  I catch one last sight of the kingdom’s magic, and then, I disappear.

  Nineteen

  Just a Shoe

  Syren

  Ripe blue sugar berries picked fresh from the bush, indigo wings on the butterflies that land in the gardens of the Southern Kingdom, and the fresh aqua hue of rapid, crashing waves on the beach of my isolated island all pale in comparison to the blue of my dress. It has a depth that I didn’t know could exist in fabric. Like the material was spun with pieces of each of these things in their purest forms.

  The seamstress had done everything right. Letting the material gather right across my hips and snug at my ass and my chest. She did everything right for my body. Shiny satin material hugs every curve, only flaring ever so slightly just below my knee. It’s perfect.

  A mermaid dress. How fitting

  It’s stunning.

  And I fucking hate it.

  I hate that it makes me look like the answer to all of their prayers, the perfect representation of a water fae, their Cursebreaker. I don’t feel like a Cursebreaker. I feel like a pawn in a game that I don’t completely understand yet.

  Delicate dyed-blue lace covers the low neckline of the dress, protecting my image of perfection and purity. This dress is what the people need. Bear was right to choose this dress.

  Which makes me hate it more.

  My head aches from the tug of my tightly-bound hair. Long strands are twisted up into a tight ponytail that falls down my back. It’s elegant and regal with every unruly strand slicked back against my head. If it gets pulled any tighter the skin on my face will be pulled back into a permanent, manic smile.

  A shoe-sized box, tied up in a red silk bow, waits for me at the end of my plush bed. Another gift from King Iri. I’m tempted to open it just to see if whatever costly shoe Bear picked would be as pretty as this dress. It feels like everything else pales in comparison.

  I’d be so happy right now if our lives were different.

  Currently, though, I only have two problems: I’m late for my own engagement party, and I have zero motivation to actually get there. So instead, I smooth down the silky panels of the sapphire dress and stare undecidedly at the waiting gift box.

  Every ten minutes or so, a servant or maid or whoever Bear sends pops their head into my room to check on me and see if they can assist me with anything. My answer is still no.

  If he’d greeted me the first time I’d arrived, if he’d given me flowers and chocolates and compliments, would I be happy right now?

  I’ll never know. Because my banishment will always hang over our relationship.

  I reach for the red ribbon and only tease myself with the feel of the sleek bow, but I don’t open it. As I stare at the gift, three pounding knocks rattle my door frame and what feels like the entirety of the stone wall it’s attached to.

  “Syren,” Bear’s gruff voice yells from the hallway. The door swings open without any further announcement, the gold knob colliding loudly against the wall.

  Dressed in a sleek black suit with a deep blue undershirt neatly tucked into trousers that fall over polished shoes Bear fills the open door frame. He storms toward me. A button remains open on his shirt, revealing the tan skin of his broad chest.

  I fold my hands in front of me, resisting the urge to skim my fingers over his exposed skin.

  “Can I help you?”

  His face blooms red, anger visible in the clenching and unclenching of his tense jaw. “You were supposed to be ready by now.” Cruel brown eyes move from my face to my bare feet then to the unopened box. “Why are you not ready?”

  “Perfection takes time.” I can’t stand the sulking penetration of his look any longer, so I feign the need to smooth out another non-existent wrinkle in the gown.

  “Guards,” Bear growls over his shoulder. “Please tell our guests that Princess Syren and I will be another twenty minutes. Let them know that perfection takes time.”

  Now it is my turn to blush
. It sounds ridiculous when he says it like that. I sound ridiculous.

  “You didn’t have to say it like that,” I snap.

  “They are your words, not mine.”

  With a flick of his hand, the door slams shut behind him. The tips of his fingers glow ember red at his side. With the same storming confidence, he comes to my side, picking up the unopened shoe box.

  “Do you not think that I’ve made you look perfect already? Are my gifts not good enough?” He places the white box in my hands. I can still feel the warmth from his glowing touch.

  “You can’t just buy me, Bear. Your gifts don’t make up every time you’ve comman—”

  He throws off the box’s lid. White tissue paper surrounds scintillating aqua gems. They glint over every inch of the dainty pointed toe shoe inside of the box. And the jewels, they’re ice crystals. Fine gems that can only be found or imported from one place: the Southern Kingdom. My kingdom.

  Light reflects off the stones in a mesmerizing way that makes it obvious to me that these shoes are the final piece to my outfit.

  Why does someone so horrible have such good taste? Trying to conceal how much I absolutely adore the heels and how every fiber of my being wants to slip into them and parade around with my best foot forward, I place white tissue back over the box. I shrug.

  “It’s just a shoe.”

  Bear’s features flash with annoyance, and he brings his mouth down to my jaw, one hand weaving into my updo. He grips a handful of hair tightly, the sharp point of his canines scraping over the side of my neck. His tongue slides over the faint bite of his teeth slowly, like a caress, and then he brings his mouth against my ear.

  “They match your hair, Syren,” he whispers my name like it’s a painful thing for him to say. “They match the waves of that damn island. They match the dirty thoughts that drown my mind every time I think of you.’

  Fear and want and intrigue leave me short of breath. Something like a moan escapes my parted lips as he presses another hot kiss against my skin. The shoes and gift wrapping tumble forgotten to the floor.

  Both hands unbind every strand of hair Aisha worked so hard to put up, and he runs his fingers through it, leaving long waves falling messily down my shoulders.

  “You drive me to insanity. You test me every day.” Vibrations of his growling tone reverberate against my throat in the most sensual way that travels from my racing heart right to my core. “So tell me why I want to please you so fucking much.”

  His voice is so frustratingly mellifluous, but his carnivorous eyes gleam with grave intent. Finally, he appears as everything I’d ever been told he is; unearthly strong, capable, and above all else, a cruel and unyielding king.

  It should frighten me, but the air between us is too taut with electricity and the undeniable need to close every inch of space between us. Between conflicting emotions and thoughts, I have no room for fear. I tremble under him as he bites down on my neck with claiming demands. Warm and wet, his tongue flicks over the sensitive bite mark, and he presses a kiss to the spot.

  “I want you to beg for my touch the way I want to beg for yours. Stop teasing me with your hooded eyes and your smart mouth.”

  The scent of burning fire and toasted pine is strong and apparent. Overwhelming me with wants and urges I fight to deny. Fingers grip my jaw as he draws my face to him.

  “Syren Stormson. You will be mine, and no one else's.” Bear flashes me a feral smile. His pulse races under my palms as I place them against his chest, finally testing my touch against the solidness of his muscles. Under my hand, his skin is so searing hot, it might brand my palm.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I haven’t accepted anything from you yet,” I say with a gasping breath that betrays me.

  “Yet.” I can taste his lips, sweet and warm like my favorite lemon-dusted dessert, as his mouth brushes against mine when he speaks.

  It isn’t so much a kiss as a test to my own stubborn will. A battle I feel as though I’m quickly losing. Maybe I should let him kiss me. Maybe I should kiss him. What harm could it bring when we are so close to being bound together in marriage anyway?

  Every ounce of pent-up anger and bickering jabs made between us wants to trade itself for rough touches and claiming kisses. I want to trade it all, too.

  “I promise to make you late to your own party for good reason,” he rasps against my lips.

  Bear is a liar, and he’s the rugged jagged pieces of a king this land needed. I can’t forget all the times he’s challenged me to listen to his commands or the burning sensation of his forceful palms bending my knees to bow, but as I press my mouth to his, it feels undeniably better than anything else ever has.

  My resolve fractures and busts into pieces, and I’m unable to put it back together as he kisses me back. Hot and hungry, we kiss with clashing teeth and flicking tongues. Every single touch is ravenous, as though he’s wanted me since the first moment this arrogant asshole laid eyes on me on my island.

  His hands fumble around the small buttons on the lace behind my neck. Fabric tears as he forcefully pulls the lace from the dress, leaving being fraying threads. Shameless and thorough, he kisses and bites at my bottom lip until I’m arching into him and sliding my hands underneath his shirt.

  “Say it, Syren,” he growls as he pulls away. “Say you want me.”

  I stumble over the idea in my mind. There’s an intense desire to please and refuse him all at once. Raging and wicked, just like the king before me, I tear off a button from his blue shirt. I grip the edges of the material harder and yank him back to me.

  “Give me everything,” I whisper, a tease and a challenge all at the same time, words that ring true but meet his newest demand.

  His kisses turn from hungry and needy to calm and caressing, like he’s thought out everything he’s planned to do to me, and now he’s finally going to be able to act it all out. Silk catches on my thighs when he tries to lift. Bear pauses, staring impatiently down at the curve of my hips. His rough hands tear through the fabric until it hangs from my body.

  Every touch is excessively scorching in the best possible way. At last, his hands wind up into my skirt, cupping my ass. His eyes are a sinful black as he pulls the material up and lifts me. With the strength I’ve been waiting for, he tosses me against the pink frill of the sheets and crawls over me, desire apparent as the large bulge in his slacks grinds against me.

  In a tangle of tongues, possessive longing, and guilty lust, we collide together. Hands brush over heated skin in messy tugs of clothing. Luxurious creamy silk fabric and fine rich velvet lands in heaps beside us as we become a tangle of bare skin and pleasure. Bear drinks all of it in with every rough touch of his feverish lips against mine.

  His hands no longer fight off the fabric that’s kept us separated for too long but weave underneath my back, caging me in beneath him. The smoothness of his cock teases my sex but he never fully lowers his hips. His thickness slides against my folds and across my clit, over and over and over again, until my lips part with panting desire.

  His beard scrapes down my neck and over my breasts with hot breaths and slow kisses. His teeth rake against my nipple hard, and I gasp with an arch of my back, and then he slams into me.

  My toes curl, and I dig my fingers into the hard muscles of his back as every move he makes brings me closer and closer to my blissful undoing. I’d never known sex could be so fiery, passionate, and completely, unexpectedly perfect with someone who frustrates me as much as he does.

  This is nothing like the teasing touches in the spring-drawn fountain or the careful undoing of hair in the steaming bathhouse. This fleeting moment is wild, urgent, raw, and utterly nefarious. It fills with all the terrible tension that often flows between us, making every impulsive thrust and buck of hips a torrent of release.

  The growing pleasure that tightens in my core leaves me in a growling moan as I bite into his bottom lip. Bear only kisses me more in possessive nips that travel down the side of my neck and scat
ter across my exposed collarbone. There are more flicks of his tongue and tickles of his fingers brushing over my skin as he curls into me further and pushes me into a cascade of overwhelming emotion and euphoria.

  His fingers bite into my thighs, and he angles me up for the full punishment of his pounding hips. Our bodies push and pull against each other in perfect unison. It becomes a frantic pace that hits me deeper and deeper with every slide of his shaft along my walls. My head tips back, I bend beneath him, I reach for everything he gives me, and it all rises, higher and higher and higher.

  My release trembles violently through me like the chaotic swirling stars that enchant this castle. The sound of my whimpering screams echo along the walls, mingling with the growls of his pleasure.

  He slams in harder once more, his nails biting into my skin just before he stills above me.

  His panting breaths kiss my damp skin, and he stares down at me with sated eyes. My fingers tremble along his messy dark hair as I brush my thumb against his swollen lips. My lips burn from his kiss, his skin still glowing with scorching magic.

  He slowly slips from me and my stomach sinks slightly, hating the cool air that slides between our bodies.

  Fabric snags against my skin and a hiss escapes me. Small bright red marks cover my shoulders, chest, and back. Burning marks of every kiss and press of his large hands against my skin are perfectly apparent.

  Bear steps into his pants before picking up my dress to examine it. It’s still a dress, though the lace that once made it more modest no longer covers the neckline, and there’s now a very extravagant slit up the side of it. Tiny threads like varying blue pieces of fringe are the only evidence that it ever existed at all.

  The dress settles in a pile next to me on the bed as he tosses it, then shrugs into his remaining clothes. His shirt remains with a few less buttons, and he makes no move to bother, leaving the hard lines of his torso exposed. Seeing him slightly undone like this gives me the urge to touch him all over again. This time more slowly, to get to know the sculpted lines of him.