by A. K. Koonce
Nearly emptying half of the bottle, I stop. A violent burp threatens to rip through me and embarrass me.
Shifting my gaze from the drink to my companion, I find him standing with his mouth agape. As he makes eye contact with me, he clamps his mouth shut.
“So, you do like it?”
“Goddess, no. It’s bad. Worse than bad.” I laugh, setting it back on the shelf in no particular order.
Green glass bottles, auburn bottles, and midnight blue bottles all wait for their chance to be pried open and chugged, ever-so-ladylike, by me. I’m curious why he keeps so much. This couldn’t just liven up a party, it could get the whole country drunk for centuries.
“Okay, let me take you to the good stuff then,” he says.
“You gave me the bad stuff first?”
What kind of gentleman is he?
He smirks at me as he scans the rows. We keep walking, passing more barrels that have the strong scent of oak infusing in the air. It’s an aroma I’m quite enjoying.
Large shelves line the room, every level filled with bottles. Bear grabs ahold of the edge of the shelf and pulls himself up until he easily reaches the top. Dust coats the surprisingly small bottle, only half the size of the bottle of the wine I just tried.
“Wanna give it a blow?” He holds the bottle toward my mouth.
I smirk, letting my eyes drift down his body and my thoughts tangle with perversion.
My heart pounds as I hold his stare, clasp my fingers around his, bring my lips together, and slowly exhale. Bear tries and fails to contain the smirk tilting his perfect lips. Small particles of dust disperse between us.
My hand slips away, and I pull back from him.
“What is it?” I ask, looking at the faded tan label.
“Honestly?” He struggles with the lid, twisting with visible strain. “I’m not even sure. But I know it will mess you up.”
“It’s gonna mess you up, too. I’m not getting drunk alone. We are in this together, remember? Just think of it as marriage training.”
The lid twists off, flying out of Bear’s hand and landing somewhere behind one of the many shelves. We hear it clatter down the levels, then hit the floor and roll to a stop.
Musky and strong, the aroma surrounds us. My nose burns from the heavy scent. Clearly, he wasn’t kidding about the strength of the drink.
“What was it like on that island?” he asks, his gaze skimming across my features.
I think back. I have to go back before my easy days of sunning on rocks and gossiping with mermaids.
“It was scary at first. I know you thought my father would take care of me even in my banishment, but my father doesn’t know how to love. I mean, I’m a princess. I don’t know how to survive off the wild.” Flashes of my first few days on the island bombard my mind. “I know how to handle a sword only because I like to piss off my father. So that was helpful. But learning how to catch an animal to eat.” My gaze drifts between us. “I thought I was going to die on that island for many days.”
He takes a slow drink and winces.
“What changed? How did you make it through? I mean, not only did you survive, you thrived.”
“Nothing changed.” I smirk. “I’m just too stubborn to die.” I study him for a moment. “Your turn. Tell me about your past. I don’t want the good. Tell me about the bad times. From what I’ve gathered, there are many.” I pause. “Maybe, just maybe, that’s why you go a little crazy sometimes.”
“I don’t go crazy, Syren.” He scoffs at me.
“Bullshit. Sometimes you get angry, and something inside you just clicks, and it’s like bam, my friend Bear—the witty but kind of grumpy, handsome man—disappears and is replaced with King Iri the Cursed King. I don’t like King Iri. But Bear . . . I like him.”
“Did you just say I’m handsome?”
Is that literally all he hears? Ever.
“You’re skirting around the question.” I point out.
“Hmm, am I?” He tries, offering me the small container of alcohol.
Outwardly, I remain straight-faced, but inwardly I’m cringing from the intense smell of the drink. Without thought, I bring the ice-cold liquid up to my lips. Before the liquid hits my stomach, every cell in my body lights up. Not in the burning rage you would associate with fire, but it spreads like one leaving behind tingling trails of pleasure. I gulp down the drink, then gulp down some more until Bear pulls it away from my lips.
“That’s enough. Trust me.” He takes a sip, watching me cautiously.
“Hardly. I’m fine.” I start but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I’m not fine. The floor moves under my feet, and every color showing under the dim candlelight blooms into a more vibrant shade.
Blues mingle and meld with pinks. Reds crawl over yellows. Gray fades out entirely, and only a collage of a rainbow remains.
I open my mouth to speak again to say that I lied, that I’m not fine, and that I think that I can see sound now, but Bear already seems to know. A sly smirk twists his lips as he reaches out and steadies me by the waist.
His big hand is warm against me. I feel the touch of his hand through the layers of my clothes, and all I want is to feel his touch everywhere.
“Should we make camp here?” he asks, but I don’t say any words. Not really. All I can see is the light reflecting off of his skin, making him look like glass. If I touch him, will he shatter? I jab a finger into his forearm. Nothing breaks, and the glistening light only bends under my finger.
“Everything is so beautiful, “I murmur on a shuddering, sympathetic voice. “Why has the world never looked like this before now?”
Bear smiles. The sound of approaching footsteps makes me weary. In my mind, I'm whispering, but Bear flinches like I’m screaming at him when I stop to say, “Oh no! We’ve been found. Hurry, let’s run away.”
Gentle and warm, he grabs both my hands and holds them in front of me. “Trust me, you have no business running right now. Likely you couldn’t even if you tried. Though it would be fun to watch the attempt. It’s just staff bringing down some food I requested.”
“Oh,” I laugh at my overreaction. Then proceed to giggle as a young troll sets a tray of food down between us on the brick floor. He leaves as quickly as he came. Bear helps lower me to the ground, even helping to place my skirt around me so it covers any potentially exposed skin. Jubilee curls into me, sniffing the tray of food.
“You should eat. You shouldn’t have gulped that down so fast. It’s not like normal drinks.” He lifts the large plate of food to me.
I narrow my eyes at the tray, wondering why it’s floating and spinning.
When the food finally stops dancing, it’s clear what it is. Slices and cubes of different types of cheeses arranged in neat little stacks. On a normal day I love cheese, but now, after drinking too much of that too-strong liquid. I. LOVE. CHEESE.
“I love cheese,” I repeat like there’s a long echo between my brain and my mouth.
My fingers reach for a slice, narrowly missing on my first attempt. Then again on the second. Bear blatantly laughs at me. With a smug smile, he picks a piece up, and I can’t help but think he’s so sweet to help me. He’s so kind. And then he pops it into his mouth, humming as he chews.
Bastard.
“You know I don’t know that much about you,” I say, continuing my attempt to get a tiny cube of food. “I feel like I should know more about my future husband. Other than the fact that you like cheese.”
“I’m actually not a cheese lover. My mate is.” His gaze lingers on me, and my lips slowly part, and I have to think it through to get them back together. “What do you want to know?”
He sighs, picking up a couple of pieces and placing them in my hand.
“Everything.” I toss some cheese in my mouth, chewing it blissfully. “Tell me about your parents. Tell me about how you got on the throne.”
“You don’t want to hear that story.” Bear lifts the container again and takes a long swig. He’s stil
l holding the bottle in front of him while he regains his composure and sets the glass down carefully.
I shift uncomfortably against the stone, my ankles cold even while the rest of me feels like a thousand degrees. “I’ll start. My mother was a nobody. Some fling of my father’s to get him an heir. She had me, clearly a girl, and he tossed her to the side, and I never heard from her again. All I ever knew was her name. Who knows if she is even alive?
Then you’ve met my dad. He is a charmer, unless you’re me. The other kings and queens love him, but his people see him for what he is. He doesn’t take care of them.”
“But they love you,” he whispers, his attention heating my face.
“I fight for them. I had to fight my father tooth and nail when we had a drought to have some of our excessive provisions of water given to the citizens one year. You can’t claim a throne and ignore the people who built it.” My teeth clamp down hard, and I have to force myself to stop rambling. “Now, go on, your turn.”
“My mother,” he begins, his voice quaking, “was more of a king than my father ever was. She, much like you, took good care of her people. Where my father was harsh, she was gentle. The witch claimed the Goddess sent us this curse because we were not faithful. We thought it was a bad joke. But then my mother got sick.” He pauses, shifting his gaze from the floor to my face then back down. “She was the first to die from this curse, and it spread from there. Her death sent my father out of control.”
Absently, he touches the scars that run up to his shoulders. “He became so angry at the world. I stayed out late with Miranda one night just trying to blow off some steam. When I came back, my father was waiting. He had me whipped with an iron tip so the wounds wouldn’t heal quickly.”
My heart hurts for something I have no power to ever fix.
I can’t fix this man’s past.
But I can fix his future.
My throat feels dry as I swallow hard. Question after question storms my mind, but I force myself to settle on one.
“How did you take the throne?” I whisper, and my words drag across every brick of this room as they echo around us
“I killed him.” His voice doesn’t quiver anymore as he speaks. “He wanted to set fire to his own kingdom to rid it of death. He wanted to be done with it all, and murder millions in the process. He was a madman in his last days.”
The side of me greedy for information wants to know, needs to know, how he did it. What kind of murderer is my husband-to-be?
“How?”
Bear’s cheeks flush, his lips pursing into a tight line before he finally speaks. “I took his face in my hands and burned my hate into his skin. And then after the pain blistered, I slit his throat to quiet his screams.”
Silence drops heavily between us until the only sound is the pounding of my thundering heart.
I’m not sure why I needed to know, because now that I do, my stomach does flip-flops, making me queasy. His father was a madman who needed to be put down for the sake of his kingdom. Death within royalty isn’t a new concept. So why does it feel so terrifying now? Because Bear could get rid of anyone just as easily.
I swallow the lump of cheese in my mouth, trying to swallow my doubts with it. Bear watches me carefully, over-examining every move I make.
I smile so hard, my teeth grind.
“Wow, we really put a damper on this conversation quickly, didn’t we?” I finally say.
His laugh is a low rumbling tone. His warm palm skims over my thigh. I freeze as my body reacts to his touch, my heart beating too fast for its own good. Bear’s laugh stops abruptly, as he notices the innocent touch and the way I flush.
Slowly, he removes his hand.
The spot, now vacant of his touch, feels cold instantly. He takes a languid drink from the container, his throat bobbing hard. Jubilee props her innocent snout just where Bear’s hand was, as if to make up for the loss.
My heartbeat still can’t catch its rhythm as I stare at him, and he stares at the floor.
His lips part as if he’ll say more, but I beat him to it.
“Close your eyes.” The words are a breath of a sound. It’s such a quiet thing, it seems to set him on edge, his entire body stiffening before his dark eyes look up beneath thick lashes.
“Why?” he responds on an equally low tone, like we’re telling secrets the alcohol shouldn’t know.
But honestly, I blame the alcohol entirely for what I’m about to do.
“When your queen asks you to do something, you should do it, Bear,” I say with a taunting smile.
His lips quirk with amusement before he finally straightens his posture, and closes his eyes.
Without his intense gaze fixed on me, it’s easier. I pull the jar from his hand and take one more long drink. It’s like tasting lust. Vivid blue-and-pink blooming lust.
I lick my lips and clatter the glass against the hard ground.
And then I rise to my knees. My hands slide slowly over his muscular thighs. The sharp angle of his Adam’s apple works against his throat, as I literally crawl up his body. My thick skirt lifts, and my thighs rub over his as my hands balance me against his chest.
Those dancing colors drift behind his handsome face. The hard edge of his jaw tips up to me, though his eyelids remained closed. Big warm palms gently hover over my hips, until I settle fully against him. Then his hands spark with gold and crimson before he seems to calm the magic inside himself, and he grips my waist with a hot fiery touch that I feel everywhere.
“What are you doing, Syren?” His voice comes out on a rasp that sounds so sexy, my thighs shift against his lean hips.
“I’ll never wash away the fires of your past,” I whisper, leaning into him inch by inch until his chest is brushing against mine. “But I can make you forget. For a little while.” My words shake, and my lips press gently over each of his eyes. First his left, and then his right.
And then my mouth keeps traveling. The roughness of his beard is a brand against my lips. His breath is heavy against my chest. His throat angles for me as I press a slow kiss there before lifting my chin and skimming my mouth ever-so-lightly against his.
Just as he speaks. “You know I won’t have sex with you while you’re drunk, right?”
My head bobs back as I blink through those absurd words.
What?
What!?
“I am not drunk,” I tell him as an enormous smile spreads across his lips.
His fingers splay wide, and his hands slide lower down on my body until he’s cupping me fully against him.
My body comes to life beneath his touch.
He leans in close, his eyes lifting to meet mine, his lips so near, I can taste his words before he whispers them. “All drunks say that, Syren.”
My fingers toy with his beard as I hold his head in my hands. He leans into my touch, and we just stare at one another with quiet amusement.
And pressing desire lines every inch of our bodies. There are always so many sparks between us that I’m just waiting for the tension to snap and burn this whole fucking place to the dust.
“Then kiss me,” I say, holding his gaze and waiting with more energy thrumming through me than magic.
Magic doesn’t exist in me in this moment.
Only lust does.
Only love does.
His heated stare never leaves mine as he leans in ever so slowly. A spark of gold and red kisses my tongue with a zap. Then the air between us ignites the moment his lips press to mine.
His mouth is firm against mine. I can feel how much he’s holding back by every ticking muscle that’s wound tight beneath my roaming hands. He’s trying too damn hard to be good.
But I want to be bad.
My tongue parts his lips, and he meets my kiss with a hungry push and pull of his body against mine. His fingers dig into my curves, and he takes over the kiss entirely. His tongue strokes along mine, tasting me deeply, kissing me harder until I can’t breathe or even think.
And then he pulls back.
Our breaths clash together between us. Less than half an inch presses for space between our hovering lips.
My head comes forward just a bit more, and I rest my temple against his. His hands lift until they’re platonically placed against my lower back. In return, I remove my hands from where they somehow found themselves clamped around his belt . . . I slide them up and wrap my arms slowly around him. We lean into one another.
It feels good. He feels good.
This is the life I want to be living. With him.
I’ll let him simply hold me for the rest of the night.
Then I’ll pray that I remember it all when I’m not drunk.
Thirteen
Card of Death
Syren
“What a lovely day for a ride,” Miranda says with a cheery grin. Today, eyeliner is heavy on his eyelids, his outfit almost feminine, with bright bursts of fuchsia flowers blooming over his navy suit.
He looks too dressy for a casual ride through the city, I had told him. He looks like he is going to stand out in a crowd, is what I had thought. But he had insisted on joining for yet another “adventure” to “get to know this kingdom.”
It isn’t a total lie. I do want to get to know this kingdom. That just doesn’t happen to be the main reason why I wander out. I just need to stay away from too-good-to-be true merchants. Shouldn’t be that hard, right?
Today the streets actually have fae milling around or perusing a few shops that have popped open to welcome a new crowd. As the wedding approaches, citizens from all over the Northern Kingdom seem to be traveling to celebrate and to witness the breaking of this terrible curse.
I glare up at the sky that’s muted with dozens of black clouds. Rain hasn’t fallen yet, but it’s bound to fall soon by the looks of it. Today is not a lovely day for a ride.
Today feels like a hangover of poisonous flowers and too much wine. And that’s exactly what I scribbled in the journal on my desk this morning. I’ll keep little notes of my health here and there but mostly I want to keep tabs on Aisha’s findings. It isn’t the poison I want to document but the possible cures. Not that Aisha had anything for me this morning.
