by Alexia Purdy
The Cursed
(A Dark Faerie Tale Series Companion #3)
A Short Story Companion to
A Dark Faerie Tale Series
By
Alexia Purdy
The Cursed
(A Dark Faerie Tale Series Companion #3)
Text Copyright © March 2013 by Alexia Purdy
Cover Art Design © 2019 by AV Fantasy Book Covers
All rights reserved
www.alexiapurdybooks.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.
For Josh
Table of Contents
Chapter One: Awakening
Chapter Two: Forever to Sleep
Chapter Three: Return to Darkness
Chapter Four: Blood of Blood
Chapter Five: Shades of Vengeance
Chapter Six: The Fall of Faerie
About the Author
More books by Alexia Purdy
Chapter One: Awakening
A ragged breath and the world tumbled, rushing back into his mind until darkness surrounded the entirety of the world as he blinked. Arthas scanned the nothing around him, letting his eyes roam in the darkness, hoping he wasn’t dreaming. Flexing his fingers, he reached up, knocking them into a hardened surface surrounding him. A quick feel of the shell he now laid in sent a memory of the ones who had done this to him.
Chains clinked as he shifted. They wound around his wrists and squeezed his torso. He wondered just how long he had been sleeping. His body ached and the chains had dug into his back deeply enough that he was sure they had left bruises. Closing his eyes, which made no difference in the blackness of the sarcophagus he’d found himself in, he smirked. Asleep, this had held him prisoner. Awake, this was nothing less than a nuance.
Sucking in a breath, he pulled together his magic, feeling it tingle out of his chest and down to his fingertips and toes. It felt good, like stretching a cramped muscle. He paused as he gathered it into a massive energy ball before he let it blast the top of the sarcophagus, sending it flying across the room and shattering into a thousand shards of stone against the surrounding walls. Sitting up, he did the same to the chains digging into his flesh. Imbedded with trace iron, the chains burned, charring his skin where it touched past his clothes. It was a cruel and constant reminder of the intentions of his wardens. They melted apart and clattered all around him as he stretched his limbs.
He was indestructible, didn’t they know this? Kilara, Corb and Rowan should’ve known better than to leave him alive, though in deep oblivious slumber. How they had dared to imprison him for all of time made his anger boil under his skin and sent his thoughts towards vengeance.
He slipped out of the coffin-like prison he’d been sealed in and glanced around the darkened room. Eyeing another sarcophagus, he made his way toward it, noting the other two empty vesicles standing in a circle in the wide rectangular room. Streams of light made their way through slits of the roof, made of the floor of a vast, hidden forest. The magic of the land reached down and touched the boundaries of his, exploring him like tiny tentacles, curious and also cautious as it learned of his darkness.
He was the Unseelie Ancient, King of all dark things in the Land of Faerie and leader of the Sluagh armies of the underworld. He pushed away the wisps of magic that probed at him like a science experiment. Instead, he shoved the top of the occupied sarcophagus.
Rowan.
She was in the deepest of slumbers, her soft, long blonde curls fanned around her porcelain face, like a halo. Her breathing was soft and shallow, a spell held her to sleep for an eternity until awoken by another Ancient of Faerie or a descendant of her blood.
He knew well enough that she had no descendants. She was a virgin faery, never having taken a lover in all her centuries. Her only duty was to her sister, Kilara. Doing whatever that wretched Seelie Queen needed of her.
But what had it earned her? Eternal slumber, forgotten in a prison of their making. Why was Rowan still here? Would she have not ruled about this time in Faerie? Arthas suspected something had gone awry since his imprisonment, but decided it would be discovered all in good time. Replacing the top of her sarcophagus, he turned and made his way to the surrounding wall. Placing his palms against the cool, mossy stones, he whispered, “Land of Faerie, allow me exit to the open air and forest above.”
Immediately, the earth rumbled, shaking dirt loose from the dangling roots above. An opening with dirt steps leading up into a brilliant illumination filled the room. Arthas took to the steps, out of the oubliette and into a grassy clearing in the middle of a vast, thick forest. As he stepped out of the hole in the ground, the earth shook and trembled once more, sealing the entrance of the oubliette, as though it had never been there. He watched the ground heal itself and made sure to burn it into his memory. Rowan was safely imprisoned for now. He’d save his punishment for her later. He was out for blood from Kilara and Corb first for this treachery.
Making his way through the tall, rough grasses of the clearing and entering the darkness of the forest, he felt more and more himself as his magic and darkness rushed back toward him in a violent tumult. It was a jolt he relished, relieved to be free of his grave. Alone, he headed toward his home, The Withering Palace. It was the Unseelie Kingdom where blood of his blood called to him across the earth, the same blood which had awoken him from his slumber. His descendant awaited, and he was eager to meet this long lost relative of his.
Grinning, he was ready to face the world and whatever awaited him in this unknown century.
Chapter Two: Forever to Sleep
“Fade.”
“What did you say?”
Kilara turned toward Corb and pushed a loose strand of white, long hair from his face. He’d it down today, the way she liked it. His pale irises reflected the evening candlelight, which turned them slightly yellow orange, like fire. The reflection in his mother of pearl colored eyes, like two moons shining back at her, made her sad somewhat. She smiled at his confused face but didn’t kiss him. She didn’t want him too close, afraid he would sense the lie behind the words that would slip from her mouth.
“Fade, my love? I don’t want to fade. This plan will work. It will save us from inevitable demise.” She sank into the soft, upholstered chair near the crackling fireplace. Her long, golden brown hair slid over her shoulders in a myriad of waves. The fire reflected off her tanned skin in flickers of yellow. She had convinced her sister Rowan of her plan to take turns ruling and slumbering, but Corb would be difficult about it. He wouldn’t easily agree to rule alone without her, this she knew before she’d even asked it of him.
“We won’t fade. Why say such things?” He bent down to the floor sweeping up her hands in his ever cold ones. He was the Winter Ice King, the Seelie ruler of the northern realm. No matter how scorching his kisses once were, they felt like pure frostbite to her now. She closed her eyes, hoping to find a way to tell him what she wanted and get him to cooperate.
“Because, Corb, it can happen. I see it happen every day to many others.”
“Others, Kilara. Others who aren’t anywhere as powerful as you and I.” Corb stared at her while love seeped from his eyes, making her guilt that more searing.
“Look, we’ll take turns rulin
g. It won’t be hard. We’d rest, and not have to think of eternity in terms of forever. What happens when a faery is alive too long? We succumb to insanity. We turn on our own! I don’t want to risk that.” She sighed, looking exhausted from the emotions surging through her. She had to make him understand, she had to.
Corb pulled away and leaned back on his arm, now sitting on the floor before her. Sadness hung on his furrowed face as he pensively took in her words. He didn’t want to hear it. He knew what she had proposed would probably work, but the price was too high to pay. It meant he and Kilara would be separated, forever.
“I can’t do it. I can’t rule alone. Not without you,” he whispered. His face was still, hard with worry but ageless and smooth. His cold was muted by her warmth, they had been lovers for a millennium, but it was over now, though Corb didn’t accept it. The shifts in rule would allow her to be free of him in a way he never would if he was not subdued. Eternity was a long time to be with someone who loathed you. His kiss was no longer hot fire and ice. It was cold, dull and empty to her. She wanted to slumber forever if she could, but the fate of the land of Faerie was her only concern. She had to put it above her own wants. Therefore, this slumber would be the only solution. But first, Corb had to do it, voluntarily.
“I know, my love. I won’t make you do that. Look, how about I take the first two hundred years while you rest, then we can rule together for another three hundred, then we both slumber while Rowan rules.” Kilara kept her face still, holding the betrayal on the tip of her tongue.
“Well, maybe.” Corb snapped head back toward her, furrowing his brow, making his mother of pearl eyes flash. “What of the Unseelie king? Arthas will never agree to this.”
Kilara had thought of that already. “No, he won’t.” She slid down to the floor, letting Corb lean back into her as she ran her fingers through his long, colorless mane. “Therefore, we must bind him. All three of us can do it.” She whispered the last words into his ear, sending shivers down his neck at her proposal. “Bind him with a curse, he will never escape, the world will be truly Seelie then.” She kissed his neck, relishing the shudder he projected from her touch.
The fire danced in his shining eyes, the heat feeling suddenly overbearing and stifling in the small cabin room. Hidden deep in the woods, the cabin was made of a large ancient oak tree, its roots supporting the walls where clay and crystals mortared the foundation for their hidden sanctuary.
“He’ll fight us, he’s very powerful. It would take too much power to subdue him.”
“Yes, but the three of us can overtake him. I’ll lure him in myself.” Kilara took a soft bristled brush from the small wooden table next to them and ran it through his locks. She loved his hair, knowing she would miss it terribly, but it would be worth it in the end.
Corb relaxed, letting the intoxicating feel of her grooming lull him in. “Alright, Kilara, my love. I will do what you ask. But promise me we shall not be apart forever; we can rule side by side too.”
She continued to run her fingers and the brush through his silken locks, taking a deep breath in as she answered back. “Of course, my love.”
Chapter Three: Return to Darkness
Squeezing his eyes tightly together, Arthas attempted to strangle the memories from behind his eyes. No. He was not going to let the flood of them drown him in their overwhelming currents, making his rage boil back up to break his calm surface. He would not let them win. Never again would they win. He would not be so easily tricked a second time. The Withering Palace filled his veins with dark magic, making him even more impatient for vengeance.
“The Queen has summoned you, my Lord.” The Captain of the Guard bowed before him, disturbing his thoughts. Arthas could see him tremble as a sheen of sweat hung on his skin, dotting his clothes with rancid wet patches. This made the Ancient Faerie King smirk. He was used to others cowering at his feet. Even the Unseelie Queen’s guards shuddered at his presence. Pure evil reeked from his pores and made the temperature drop a slew of degrees in his vicinity. No one was brave enough to look him in the eye. Not even the current Unseelie Queen, Aveta.
“I will be there, when I please.” He waved the guard away, noticing the slight relief the man displayed as he scampered away. Punishment for disturbing the Ancient was not unheard of, even on a messenger of the Queen.
Arthas rubbed his temples in frustration, his unruly, dark hair framed his face and his dark eyelashes hooded his eyes well. The castle was suffocating him. It was overrun with filthy sluagh and other unworldly beings. His army was not pristine as he’d like, now controlled by that wench of a queen who had incompetently controlled his throne in his absence. Returning here had surprised her to say the least. There was a satisfaction in watching her pallor grow even sicklier at the sight of him when he’d waltz into her midst not a month before. No one had seen or heard from him in centuries. Not since the other three Seelie Ancient rulers had cursed and chained him in a sarcophagus for all of time. He had not agreed to their terms of ruling the land of Faerie. They were foolish in thinking their plan to subdue him would work forever. He had been foolish to underestimate them too. Not a mistake he would ever repeat.
Arthas was the only Unseelie Ancient of the four Ancients of Faerie. It didn’t mean he was the only ruler in Faerie considered to be evil and malicious. His Seelie counterparts were not always on the right side of the light. Faeries were tricky. Arthas thrived on this treachery, but his dark power was more obvious than their treacheries and tricks. For now, his vengeance on the other three Ancients would have to wait. Fortunately none of them knew of his return yet. He’d assumed a cloak once he’d left the enchanted forest of his imprisonment to hide his presence from the other three. He would take them by surprise, and he couldn’t wait to enjoy their shock when they discovered that he was free and unbound, wreaking havoc on the balance of the Land of Faerie.
A noise brought his attention back to the doorway. The guard had returned and was on his knees with head bowed once more. He trembled even more pronounced this time and his short, ragged breathing betrayed his rush to run right back here from wherever he had come from. Arthas smirked, amused at the guard’s fear, smelling it in the air and taking a slight pleasure from it.
“My Lord, I apologize for this subsequent interruption. Queen Aveta must see you now, it is of the utmost urgency, she…she said…” His voice was snuffed as Arthas grabbed him by the throat, slamming him into a wall with a sickening thud.
“I will see your Queen, as you call that pathetic woman, momentarily. But remember, I’m the King of this court, the only ruler fit to have sovereignty here. Your ‘Queen’ is nothing but a pawn in my game.” He let go of the guard, watching him drop on his feet, gasping for air.
Arthas turned down the hall, his eyes glowed a dark blood red when he was angered. His temper was short, and Aveta was pushing it. He would have to make certain that she knew her place and he looked forward to reminding her of the insolence she dared to play on him. Blinking away the crimson color swirling in his eyes as his power ripped through him, they slowly resumed their natural amber tone. He pulled his magic back into himself, tightly curling it within to use at a later time.
Aveta was lucky he hadn’t slaughtered her and her faithful guards on sight when he had returned to his kingdom. Besides, she was his great granddaughter−one of his descendants−and she would be of some use soon, but not before he made it clear that her demands would not be answered. No matter what she thought she could do, he would do the demanding around here from now on.
Chapter Four: Blood of Blood
“The girl, Shade, we’ve found her, my Lord.” Aveta cowered as he entered the throne room. The scores of sluagh that filled the space had hushed and moved to let him through easily. He narrowed his eyes at them, letting his power flow out in a crashing wave. They were filthy, and their dark, rough skins made the room reek of their dark powers. They pushed at each other, scared and desperate to get away from the stinging, cold power he em
itted. It made their blood run colder, causing a panic to surge through the ranks. It made him laugh at their insignificance. They were but pawns for him to toss about as he pleased.
“Where is she?” Arthas stopped before the dais, waiting as she stepped down to bow before him. Her long black hair swayed as she leaned forward, acknowledging his superiority. His hands remained clenched, awaiting her response as she trembled and peeked up toward him, her dark eyes like a night sky. She appeared more fragile as time went by−unaware that he was draining her essence slowly. The longer he remained in the Unseelie kingdom; the rightful ruler always withered the weaker contender, even if she was his heir. He was her undoing, and she was none the wiser.
Aveta would never guess such a treachery from him. He wasn’t by any means scary looking. In fact, he would be considered very handsome in the modern world. His olive complexion was smooth, even with the shadow of facial hair along his chin. A slender build with lean muscle built for speed and agility was evidence of hard training for battle. It had sculpted his body, making his strength unsurpassed as a lethal weapon. But it was his status and power as Unseelie King that made him what he was: an epitome of power, ancient and unrelenting.
“She’s at the Scorching Scren Palace in the south.” She seemed to visibly suck her breath in as she continued with the obviously unpleasing news. “Whoever betrayed us has ensured that she lives and is now far, far away from here.” Aveta paused to observe his reaction, hoping his rage would remain calm and not be unleashed unto her. He was frightening, even to her−the cruelest ruler in all of Faerie. She’d hated that he had trampled into her castle, not really reclaiming his throne, but watching her every move nonetheless. It made her fume inside. She had enjoyed the Unseelie power alone for far too long and hadn’t relished sharing it, even if she had been the one to summon him. “I will find this traitor and peel his skin from his body.” She hissed the last few words, her own hatred toward losing Shade made her insides seethe.
