Bonds: A Cursed Six novel (The Cursed Six Book 1)

by Clarrisa R. Smithe

  Which left the last man standing: Prince Tristian of Redthorn, a man born of the most irksomely pious of the three kingdoms—as well as the richest.

  "Marriage..." The word escaped Astrid's lips in a barely-there whisper as all previous joviality was removed from her face and replaced with a look of resignation and realisation.

  It was his job to discourage such an expression, to assure her this was for the best and would grant her unimaginable happiness. Instead he was pressed to fight back a triumphant smile, a small curve of the lips that said he was in fact immensely pleased that whoever this Prince Tristian was, would find nothing short of frigid ice when he searched for his sister's heart.

  "Yes, sister, marriage. Though it is no sure thing yet, which is why they've tasked us with the attendance to one of King Gregor's festivals, as I hear he holds one every other day. You are to catch the prince's eye—" Which could mean a world of things, though A'zur's mind instantly plummeted to debauchery. "And gain his favour before the visit is done. And I am to be your escort."

  "Stay with her. Ensure she doesn't manage to spoil it."

  A'zur brushed aside Father's words, he himself assuming a look of resignation.

  "With... Prince Tristian? That is King Gregor's son, yes? I've heard he's older than me by over ten years. What if he doesn't like me, or even look my way, or even know I exist, or...?" She trailed off, appearing to ignore the sniggers that escaped from their younger sister. "What if he's cruel or makes fun of me? Or thinks me too fat? Or too stupid?"

  She reached to clutch his forearm, shaking with desperation. "What if he's ugly?!"

  No foreigner to hysterics, A'zur calmly brought her body closer. Dutiful reassurance, nothing more. "Astrid, you have no worries. Is this not what we've prepared you for your entire life? Does it not make you happy such dedication will not go to waste?"

  While he was not above lying to her or anyone else, he found he couldn't bring himself to bear false promises then, that the prince would be handsome, kind, appreciative of her form and smitten by her intellect.

  "What if I forget everything?" A hand went to his chest and rested there as her eyes met his, wide and frenzied. "He might see through everything I am trying to do. There might be others, better than me, prettier than me, more courtly..."

  "Just show him your body," Eleanor said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, though Astrid ignored her.

  "I wish it was you!" It was then she stumbled forward and buried her face in his chest.

  Breath instantly fled his lungs, her arms encasing him, moulding her form to his own. Like this, he became not one of constant vigilance and cleverness, but a steady entropy into the pure, desirable softness that were her curves.

  He forced himself to swallow, but even that little forbidden motion probed him into painful awareness of her body shaking against him, the whispering feathers of her lips in the crevice of his neck, as though this all would halt her fate and bind her to him.

  A'zur's hands stalled inches from her back. He wanted to embrace her, he wanted to feel the tender fabrics of her dress, her heat infused beneath it as he clutched her tight.

  But he couldn't. Her fate had already been decided. Possibly since the day Eleanor was born, granting King Robert the pawns he needed.

  Long fingers combed through the lustrous waves of blonde, brushing it back from her image as he cupped her cheek, moving her to look to him. "But you know it cannot be me, Astrid." Even if he felt the same. "And while I do not wish to appear callous, I unfortunately must. The circumstance will not change; there's already been preparations for departure in four days. You must get ready. We must."

  In the background, Ethan made a gruff noise at the rather cloying display, apparently nonplussed with any of it, but not surprised either.

  "F-four days?" questioned Astrid as her pale orbs gazed into his.

  "Four days?" The question burst from Eleanor almost simultaneously. "That's so soon! Then we'll be parted forever."

  "No!" The thought appeared to renew Astrid's distress, though she offered not one brief glance towards her sister, her hold of him firming.

  "I mean, he will like you, of course. Not forever, just... We won't be together like this anymore."

  "Yes, who will help you snoop through my private journals," Ethan commented drily.

  A'zur only shook his head. "She is not going to stay. She is going to—" Ensnare. "Enthrall the prince. When the festival has drawn to its end, she is to return here at once, and should we hear word from Redthorn, that will decide the permanence of her absence."

  Ethan grinned. "Callous."

  A'zur glared. "Not permanence, just..."

  Now Ethan was laughing, having backed up to the ledge of his bed, which he jumped back on. Watching Astrid. "I have to say, you will not be missed by me, I promise."

  The admission did not appear to surprise Astrid as she finally turned to stare her other brother in the eye, slipping from his grasp and causing a tar to build in his chest. With an expression that was calmer than before, as though she had taken some sedative concoction to soothe her, she offered Ethan a gentle smile. "I will miss you, anyway."

  That alone erased the smile from his face, replaced by a scowl.

  A'zur knew the moment to be a delicate one. A moment to allow the siblings a time to allow the news to fully marinate through their thick, impossible skulls. His body said otherwise, as it would not behave itself in that moment. It insisted on warming and overheating and demanding he feel something. Demanding he do something to cast out the worry in Eleanor's eyes, to reverse the defencive mechanism of Ethan's scowl and ascertain onto Astrid that she would never leave his side no matter what.

  In the end, feeble, ineffective hands could only fall to his side and his eyes could only harden from iron to steel. As well as his pathetic, throbbing heart.

  He was prepared to pull Astrid from the fray of emotions and direct her to commence her packing, when the door pushed open farther.

  Edgar stood, his leather brown tunic wrinkled, breeches crusted with grass stains. His hair in disarray. His eyes were very blue this morning, refracting, as though they'd been washed mercilessly with tears of despair. Across his cheek was a streak of something brown. Mud.

  A'zur accepted the distraction with alacrity, injecting a little more of that cutting steel he had to spare, for apparently it existed in his voice as well. "Edgar. You were at the tower. Again."

  The boy shrank back at the harsh tone, the directness. His eyes flickered once to Astrid. It was only common for Edgar's gaze to seek out that who would best protect him in his time of trouble. A'zur had never meant for himself to be the bringer of such a fear.

  This caused his shoulders to loosen, the narrow of his eyes to relieve itself. He beckoned his brother forward with the crook of a finger, where the significantly smaller form cautiously slinked over, his eyes somehow wider.

  A'zur knew what this was about. Since the declaration of the sacrifice, their brother had been disappearing at odd hours throughout the day and night. A'zur had only recently discovered where to.

  When Edgar reached A'zur, his face contorting as though preparing for a stern lash, A'zur reached up... and wiped the dirt from the rough but young skin. With great effort, he smelted the hard metal of his voice to something more suitable for a child of eight. "Did I not forbid you from visiting Alan, Edgar?"

  Soft, chalcedony eyes lowered apologetically. Silence.

  "And if Father had caught you?"

  A bony shoulder lifted, then dropped.

  Which was a facade. His brother feared their father perhaps more than the rest of them. Whether it had anything to do with how Edgar resembled a much hated nephew of Robert's or something else entirely, A'zur could not say, but for all the vile cold their parents served the siblings, their father issued Edgar a malice far more severe; the boy often hid at first sign of the man.

  He sighed. There was no time to take care of
the boy's appearance before either parent took notice. With a gentle push on the shoulder, he directed his brother towards the bed and asked tiredly, "Ethan, would you please see to his appearance?" Before he could receive objection, he looked to Astrid. "And we need to begin to prepare you for the long journey."

  But, as though the room hadn't enough tension-filled bodies clogging its womb, there tugged another presence at the threshold of the door. This one caused the recently loosened composure of the prince to presume the former glacial rigidity.

  He didn't even turn to look at his mother.

  The steady and almost ominous click of her heels as she entered their company seemed to be the only sound that filled the room. He felt her eyes scrutinising each sibling, up and down, side to side, as if making brief assessments of their current states along with the situation which called them all together.

  Then, "Ethan neaten your hair. Eleanor do not slouch. Edgar," the Queen paused. "you're absolutely filthy. Astrid that dress adds inches. A'zur," she stopped and her attention was like searing needles, the undeniable disapproval poisoning the air around him. "Why are they in such a mess? You know better than to allow the standards your father and I trust you to uphold and enforce to slacken."

  Eyes of steel somehow became an emotionless, cold slate of indistinct grey. Still he did not look to her. Anywhere near her, rather he found the soothing, familiar curves of Astrid's visage. It was only as he drank in the blue crystals of her eyes that he found a broken, flawed and unstable iota of calm.

  "Ethan has just returned from hunting lessons. Eleanor is a helpless animal. Edgar," He stalled, frowning. "Joined Ethan on his hunts, and I hear the subtle tone of grey is Prince Tristian's preferred colour. This dress was the least stark of them all, and I thought it best to see her in the thing before she is to be presented before the male of interest."

  Ethan was fiddling with his hair, looking genuinely disconcerted at the idea of a misplaced golden thread.

  Edgar was peering behind their mother, doubtlessly listening for the sure heavy fall of King Robert's weighty footwear.

  Eleanor's mouth slackened as she appeared to elicit a greater reaction from her brother's explanation than to her mother's initial assessment. Astrid, meanwhile, had her eyes fixed downward and was pressing her delicate fingers against the material.

  "Interesting," Marianne commented before she made way to her second son. Her finger jabbed sharply against his chest twice. "If you were much of a hunter you would have dealt with this helpless animal the moment her decorum was out of place."

  If Ethan were much of a hunter, that would mean Marianne expected him to kill Eleanor. The values of thinking before speaking...

  "You are set to follow in your father's footsteps, and her my own," she continued. "The least you can do, if you are to mate with her, is to instruct her of how to be a proper lady."

  A gasp of disagreement seeped from Eleanor, yet Marianne had already held up a hand. "Do not say a single word." For once, Eleanor obeyed.

  Ethan appeared bewildered, not by the finger stabbing at his chest, but the fact that always had he been adamant and vocal in how he would turn his younger sister into a proper lady. So it was not for lack of effort.

  A'zur cleared his throat quietly, lest she assume he took attitude with her—even though he did. "Was there a reason for your being here, Mother? I was under the impression Astrid and I were to make haste on her preparations."

  "Well of course you are to make haste. Does a mother need permission to see her children?" The queen remained fairly quiet in volume, yet an increased acidity to her tone suggested she was mildly offended.

  "No, Mother," Astrid replied.

  "Perhaps I wished to inform you of the grave consequences if this venture fails. Astrid, you do realise that there is no other option for you? It is Prince Tristian or no one. Every other match has fallen through or there is simply no one else that will take you."

  His stomach turned. Bile mixed with a small bloom of hatred. He would take her. If everyone else were all fools, A'zur would take any facet of her and be glad he did. If only the iron bars of duty did not prohibit it.

  "I understand, Mother," her voice cracked as she spoke. Close to tears, yet again, it seemed.

  "Astrid will succeed," he told his mother, every bit as acerbic. He finally looked into her eyes. "For that is what she does. What we all do. You give her a task, she will commit to it."

  "And if she fails..." Marianne clasped her hands before her and came to eye her daughter. Disappointment was etched across her face as she beheld Astrid. Perhaps she suspected failure.

  " Alone you will be for all your days. No husband. No children." And then the girl cracked and sobbed, hiding her face behind shaking hands. "Do you expect your brothers to regard you with any sort of sympathy? Do you expect compassion from your sister? An old maid, withering away, until death takes you with no legacy left behind."

  "Stop it," Astrid muffled against her palms. The tears planted a dark seed in his chest, and he feared its unknown properties. What it could grow into.

  "Stop it? My dear daughter, I am trying to help you. To show you what life and lot you will have if you fail to secure Prince Tristian's hand. Your siblings cannot save you from this. You cannot expect to fall into the embrace of one of your brothers, A'zur or even Edgar if you are so desperate you will be prepared to wait for him to mature. Do you think they will take you?"

  A'zur deflected. His standing response was thus: "Lucky for us, we don't grow old."

  "If all goes well in the coming days, you may decide to consider that comment a mistake."

  Mistake. Couldn't say he was familiar with the word.

  Marianne turned her attention to all of the children as her eyes swooped to each in turn. "And perhaps you all may wish to consider your brother's sacrifice. So that you may live and see your hair turn grey and see your grandchildren grow. Failure in whatever task your father and I set you to would be an insult to young Alan's memory."

  A pained shriek replaced Astrid's formerly gentle sobs and Marianne shook her head in disapproval. "Pathetic. I will have you sent to a convent before you make the trip to Redthorn if such a display continues."

  A'zur refrained from scoffing and dismissing the lie for what it was: just that, a lie. Robert would never risk this sudden opportunity. He believed Alan's sacrifice would be a success, Astrid's union a success—everything a success, merely because he was Robert and the world dared not defy his beliefs.

  What more, he refrained from pulling his sister against him, promising the protection of his arms while banishing the nonsense of their mother's words. He'd always known what they were, he and his sister, what they would become, and it surely wasn't cherished pieces on a board game, but those easily disposable.

  Nothing could be said to change the course.

  He needed to divert the conversation, as Mother may have loved going after Astrid just as much as Father after Edgar. That meant he was required to swallow that iron spite and appeal to her kinder side. The side that relished obedient children scrubbed of their unique selves. "Mother, we do apologise for any inflicted doubt. Perhaps the nerves have gotten the best of Astrid, but please trust that all will be resolved according to plan. Isn't that right, Astrid?"

  The princess turned to eye her brother through a watery gaze before she gave a timid nod. "Y-yes. Everything will go as it should."

  "At least you appear to understand the severity of the matter. Unlike others." It was then that Marianne slid her gaze over to the children destined to inherit Robert's and her legacy. "If all goes to plan then this time next year Astrid could be wed and labouring in her childbed. Then we will know the venture has been a success. Then we may turn our eyes to your match, A'zur. Until then, I expect you to be a suitable guardian for your sister while you are in Redthorn."

  "He will be, Mother. A'zur always looks after me."

  "Yes, perhaps a little too much," Marianne sighed as she met A'zur's gaze. The
ir closeness was no secret here. "Be more brother to her, A'zur, than you are doting husband or whatever it is you attempt to be to her here. Understood?"

  Attempt to be.

  His expression went unchanging, mouth evening into a vague line. Talk of his future was a time away, and seeing as A'zur was certain his father would meet his death at thirty-five no matter what preventive (or sacrificial) measures were taken, the "grieving" period would extend the timetable beyond even that.

  On matters of him and Astrid? It was business of none in the bedchamber but him and Astrid.

  "Such as you are more cousin to our father?" he murmured, same lack of inflection to his tone as he leveled her gaze boredly.

  Her lips formed in a pursed line, unwavering and composed, even when the hand swung to hit his smooth cheek. Astrid gasped, as did their younger sister.

  "Brat," Marianne hissed. "Know your place, and your duty. Think more of your own future rather than fantasising about taking your own sister as bedfellow."

  From his periphery, he saw Ethan and Edgar both put their hand to their cheek as though the pain somehow transcended into them. But A'zur hardly flinched, the white heat on his cheek dissolving into a burning liquid that joined the sea of hatred he gradually filled towards both Robert and Marianne.

  Even so...even so he managed to feel the throngs of jealousy slither through him, probing and stabbing and mocking.

  Ethan was allowed Eleanor.

  Marianne was allowed Father.

  He was allowed the uncertain dispatch into uncertain land at an uncertain time, none of which included Astrid.

  "When the time comes, I will not need to think of my future, for clearly that is all you and Father do in your spare breaths." And he meant that not to offend, but a mere statement of fact. "I know my place well, but knowledge does not supersede the spoken word."