The Crowned Fae Queen: A Sexy Fantasy Romance Series (The Cursed Kingdoms Series Book 3)

by A. K. Koonce

  On silent footsteps, the man sprints across the room, poised to land against my bed. Slick and wet, I rip the knife from her flesh, standing and stretching my arm in one swift movement to shred the material that canopies above me. Ripping it down from its decorative home, I throw myself forward, unapologetic as my foot lands and pushes off from the women’s leg.

  Light from the pile reflects off the metal that brushes by my face. A stinging cut forming along my cheekbone, shallow and already healing.

  With a grunt, I wrap the material around my assailant’s arm and point the blade of the stolen knife at his face. “If you promise not to scream, I’ll make this painless.” I hiss the mockery of the women’s words.

  The girl, her face hidden in the dark of the night, stands leaning heavily on her right leg. “I knew she wouldn’t be as easy as your guards.” She points to her friend. “You owe me my talkens.”

  “Are you stupid?” The question is hardly finished as pain radiates from my jaw and pounds inside my head. My brain throbs from the whiplash as my head snaps to the side. The pain tastes metallic.

  This is starting to feel personal. And personal it will get.

  Pulling the material tight, I manage not to stumble too far back from the momentum of the man’s fist. I yank the sword from his hand and plunge it in and up his diaphragm. He moans, his hands pressing into the edges of the blade as if he means to pull it out. I do him the honors.

  His body drops to the floor with a loud thud that covers the sound of the woman approaching me. She clings to my back, wrapping her legs around my waist and her forearm around my throat. Together, we fall backward. The tighter she flexes her arm and pulls, the harder it is to catch any breath, until I almost can’t breathe at all.

  With my left hand I’m fighting her free hand, knowing how this ends if she’s able to slip it behind my head. With my right hand, I reach for her face. I rake my nails across her forehead, skin curling under my fingernails. Eyelashes rip away from her eye, the soft bubble of the organ seemingly slithering back inside her skull from the pressure, while I do my best to shove my finger inside her head. She screams, letting go of her hold and letting me roll away.

  The door bursts open as Rigs and another guard bustle forward. They pull their swords. But I’m faster. I grip the sword that had fallen from our tussle and point it at the girl’s throat. She holds her eye.

  I can’t help but examine this person. A woman I clearly had never seen before. Hazel eyes, well, eye, and black, braided hair. She lifts her chin, welcoming the steel under her jaw. Her chest heaving while she speaks.

  “Get it over with. The king will have my head on a spike anyway.”

  “I told you not to scream,” I snarl, waving at Rigs and the other man to stand back.

  Boots shuffle into the doorway. “Syren!” Iri calls, maneuvering into the room. “Are you okay?”

  The snarl on my lips doesn’t change as I look him in the eye. Blood pools in my mouth, and I spit silver across the guard’s feet. “You’re late.”

  “I came to save you.” He laughs under his breath, crossing his arms. His gaze turns to the remainder of my room. Bedding shredded across the floor, blood staining the sheets, the man belly down in a puddle of his own blood. I wonder what I look like to him. A busted lip, blood dotting my cheek and sporadically soaking through my gown so that the material clings against my body. My breasts peaked from the cold under the thick blood of lowly murderers. “But I see you don’t need saving.”

  I press the sword into the assassin's toffee skin. She winces, still holding her eye.

  “I don’t want her head on a stick. I want her to burn.” I look out my window then back to my husband. He shakes his head at the notion, a plea to smother the burning rage that consumes me.

  “I want her to burn!” I shriek, throwing the sword behind me and grabbing the woman's collar. She hardly fights as she stumbles forward, a grimace souring her features. The guards follow behind us, swords still drawn, mouths parted in awe.

  “Syren, you're not thinking clearly.” Bear glares down at the woman, visions of all the choices he would make bouncing around like an untold story of horror. He would slit her wrists and watch her die in a bath of her own blood. He would torture her, peeling away her nails and layers of skin. He would unleash his magic upon her until her body became nothing but ash floating in the breeze.

  “You want to know what I think.” I jerk the woman forward. “I think this bitch and her pathetic boyfriend tried to kill me in my own fucking bed.”

  The hallways are still, my bellowing causing guards to shift from their position, to follow the unnatural noise. They turn away when they see the blood on my hands. A tangy copper taste still sticks to the creases of my lips.

  Quietly, the woman stumbles to gain traction and stand, though she doesn’t resist the direction. She doesn’t cry out like I expect her too, like I really want her to. One dark eye, red-rimmed and glassy, watches me. Blood trickles out from under her hand.

  Guards sprint to open the doors that lead out to the courtyard. Some guards hold their composure, others gape with open jaws.

  Starlight trickles across the frost-covered grass. An orange hue blankets the east corner. Not a soul is outside to witness the assassin’s death—no one but the few guards out on patrol. With King Iri at my side, they do nothing but stare down from their faraway perches.

  My feet stop as I feel the heat radiating off the flickering flames. Rotten and overwhelming, the scent of burning flesh fills my nose. Vomit waits in a lump at the base of my throat above the rolling nausea in my stomach.

  “Syren,” Iri sings, his eyes glazed over with boredom, his tone devoid of empathy. Despite his outward appearance for everyone else, I can sense his true concern. “Toss her onto the flame. She deserves to burn alive.”

  Don’t be that Queen. It’s my job to be hated for my swift cruelty. The look doesn’t suit you.

  I laugh, throwing the girl on her knees. The sheen of sweat on her forehead shines in the light of the blazing pile. “You think cruelty doesn’t suit me? That living through everything that I have doesn’t give me the right to be?”

  Don’t do this, Iri whispers. Look around you. Don’t rule through fear as I have.

  With a slight pucker, I sigh and squeeze my eyes shut. I’m so tired. I’m so tired of always having to fight for my life. I open my eyes.

  Rigs, his blade still pointing toward the girl, watches me. His lips are parted like he is prepared to speak but lost the words or the will to say them. His eyes reflect that of all the other guards. Surprise. But more than that, it’s fear. Fear that if the plague doesn’t take them, their king and queen will.

  Every single gaze rests upon my shoulders, waiting for me to set an example of what kind of Queen I will be. What kind of Queen I am.

  Who are you, Syren Hakan? You aren’t Syren Stormson anymore. You aren’t that girl who was unloved by her father and breaking rules to hurt his name. You aren’t that girl who lived deserted on that island anymore.

  You’re a water fae. No, you’re a fucking water witch.

  Above all, you are now a fucking queen.

  The only question is, how will you rule?

  9

  Just a Child

  Syren

  It would be the easy choice to add just one more body to the masses. Easier yet because she had been a threat to my life. Still is, if I’m not careful.

  Iri crouches low, embers burning at his back where his wings threaten to emerge and tear through the flowing white shirt. Sparks bounce off his fingertips and die at his feet in the snow. He curls his fingers into his palms, his magic calming.

  With a snarl tearing at his lips, he grabs the assassin’s face and drags her to him. “I will laugh as you cry out in pain. I’ll bring out my finest wines and raise my glass while you wither away to ash.”

  Suggest that we keep her for questioning, Iri urges me.

  His fingers sink into the strands of her braided ha
ir, and he pulls her nearer the fire. She drops her hand from her eye, shying away from the heat. Tears visibly fall down her cheeks in silence. A whimper escapes her as Iri leans her close enough to the fire that the heat scorches her cheek but doesn’t begin to engulf her.

  “What will your final thoughts be when the inferno takes you?” He glances slowly from the girl to me then back to the girl, all the while keeping his face trained with an evil grin.

  Go ahead, Syren. Make the call, Syren. Do as he says, Syren.

  “Should we test your arm first, assassin? See what kind of noises you make when you’re writhing in pain? Hmm?” With one hand, he yanks the girl's arm above her head.

  Syren, I’ll burn her alive now if you don’t say anything. Is that what you truly want?

  I run a trembling hand over my face. Shadows darken all of our features, making the fire look even more sinister.

  He lowers her arm toward the flame until it licks against her skin. Her pink lips part in an agonizing scream.

  For a split second, the noise sparks a joy within me. I really do want to see her burn. But not really.

  “Stop,” I whisper.

  “What was that?” My husband’s dark eyebrows lift.

  “Stop,” I say louder, though my voice still cracks.

  Rigs lets go of the breath he was holding, his shoulders falling away from his ears, the sword’s point tilting toward the ground.

  Iri pulls her arm back and lets her cradle it against her body. “You’re right. Why waste our time listening to her whine when we can get on with the real show?”

  “We should take her to the dungeons. See what information we can get from her. Find out who sent her,” I sigh. Though I have an inkling of an idea who may have sent her. Who would want me dead? Probably starts with an A and ends with fucking -isha.

  Wind tosses Iri’s dark strands across his face as he folds his arms over his chest. He narrows his eyes, letting his gaze pass between the assassin, Rigs, myself, and the other guard. Slowly, he blinks.

  “My princess is wise when I’m careless. This assassin may be good from something other than our entertainment yet.” Iri stands silent for a minute before his bellow makes us all jump. “Well, guards! Take her away before I change my mind and burn her to a crisp.”

  Both guards move into action, taking the girl in their arms and pulling her away. The assassin doesn’t say a word, but the relief is written all over her face. She thinks she’ll be able to get away. The thought alone makes me want to drag her back to the fire.

  Between the pile and the castle, I stand. Tickling along my calves, my nightgown moves with the evening breeze. Despite the warmth of the fire and the nearness of my husband, the wind chills the spots of blood against the material.

  A gentle hand brushes at the dried blood on my lip. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Iri stands blocking my face from the view of any other patrolling guards. “I could put her head on a stick, but you didn’t like it so much the last time I did that.”

  “You’re learning.” My lips twitch with the slightest trace of a smile.

  “I’m learning.” His eyes search my face, then my body, for any trace of injury I could be hiding.

  “Does that mean that I’m backsliding? Somehow changing into the Cruel Queen?”

  “Darling, you married the Cruel King. I think you’re stuck with the nickname no matter what you do. Wear the title with pride, and they can’t use it to hurt you.” He presses a tender kiss against my brow. “Call it a momentary lapse in judgment. A whoopsie, if you will.” Warmth grazes the backside of my hand as he interlocks his fingers in mine. Away from the roaring flames fueled by the never-ending dead, he leads me inside.

  “I think almost killing someone is more than just a whoopsie.”

  “Yeah, but technically they tried to kill you first, so really that’s a just cause. If you hadn’t made it so public, I would have willingly let you slit her throat on your bedroom floor.”

  I dip my head, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.

  “You looked so . . .” He swallows. “You looked ready to burn the entire world down. I was worried. The guards were too. It’s not me they are worried about. It’s you.”

  “I was just scared and angry,” I admit.

  Quietly, the latch behind us clicks. The large doors close, separating us from the roaring fire. How fast will the gossip of my rash actions make it through the castle? How far will the gossip go? Across the kingdom?

  “Thank you for giving me an out.” I press my lips to his cheek, his stubble rough against my lips.

  Iri hums, taking a moment to close his eyes and let our bodies align. “Don’t you just love that peace you have when we’re this close?”

  I know what he is talking about. Our hearts beat in tandem. Racing thoughts slow. The world appears brighter, sharper, and somehow smaller. An optical illusion of the mating bond. Even with the reassuring feeling of never being alone, my mind keeps circling around the assassins.

  “I’m not sure if my mind will ever be at peace.” Not with a bleeding, soon-to-be-rotting corpse still hot on my bedroom floor. Goddess above, I hope the maids can get the stone scrubbed clean. Surely, they are good at that, seeing as Iri lives here.

  Slipping his fingers through mine, Iri guides me through the twisting hallways. Red carpets shift to smooth stone behind a closed door. Traveling through the corridors is hardly a blip in the events of my evening.

  Soft paws and long nails patter against the ground. Thick, fluffy fur nuzzles into my hand, Jubilee’s wet snout pressing against my palm in comfort. I ruffle the hair on her head, and she moseys away toward the bed.

  “Do you want a bath?” Iri says. He watches his own windows as he nimbly undoes the buttons of my gown.

  “I’m too tired for a bath.”

  Soft cotton material grazes my skin along with the tender touch of Iri’s fingertips. He slips the gown over my head. Naked with the exception of my underwear, cold nibbles on my flesh, leaving behind trails of goosebumps.

  “A simple washcloth will have to do, then.” With his back turned, I can almost see his scars through the scorching holes where his wings threatened to burst through. I lose sight of them as he disappears into the bathroom before reappearing with a small wet cloth in his hands.

  He starts with my face. Blood flakes from under my lip, peeling away under each swipe of the rag. Clean skin, unmarred by the blows made by the assassins, starts to make me feel like I could be at peace for a moment.

  Iri draws a line down my neck between my breasts and swirls the cloth over my abdomen. My eyes flutter closed. Where sticky blood was plastered to my skin, the rag makes me feel fresh again.

  “There.” His voice is firm. “I’ll get you one of my night shirts.”

  “They came through my windows. What makes you think they can’t get through yours, too?” My eyes are still pressed closed. The darkness is a comfort. It’s a ‘if I can’t see them, they can’t see me’ mindset. But with my anxiety, it doesn’t actually work. So pretty much there isn’t a point to me keeping my eyes shut. I blink my eyes open.

  “You think whoever sent them would send more than two?” A white shirt dangles from his hands. He holds it out for me to take.

  “Clearly, it was Aisha.” I sigh. Is it not as blatantly obvious to him? Who else could want me dead?

  Two dark, normally broody eyebrows lift. “Two assassins are already more than normal royalty receives.”

  “What an honor.” I lay the sarcasm down thick. “It’s just . . . what if there are more? The guy said that he took down some of the guards.”

  “I know.” Iri places both hands on my shoulders and turns me toward the bed. “Mathis is already on top of it. The woman is also already being questioned as we speak.”

  He peels back the simple blue comforter and sits me on the edge of the bed. “Get in and scoot over.” Iri snaps his fingers at the wolf, who immediately makes room for us, following his direction to th
e foot of the bed.

  “And I’m supposed to just go to bed after all this?”

  “You’re the one who said you were tired.”

  Right. I am. Exhaustion makes my eyes ache. I can feel just how dry and red they already are.

  Pursing my lips, I swing my feet into the bed and shimmy myself over the mattress until there is enough space for Iri next to me. My weight leans with the bed as Iri clambers in next to me.

  “Your shirt.” I point out. Blood, sweat, and singed material cover his top half.

  “I go through so many fucking shirts.” He scowls, pulling the material over his head. “Of all the powers to be blessed with, it had to be this one. Uncontrollable fire wings. At least yours is useful. You can breathe underwater.”

  “You can fucking fly.”

  “Overrated.” He grunts. With one hand, he drops his shirt next to the bed and leans back down into the pillows.

  I lift my head, looking my mate over from head to toe. He lays his arm down and beckons me to draw near. The heat from his body makes me feel excessively cozy, especially underneath the blanket. It makes the heaviness of my eyelids more apparent.

  An unwelcome yawn passes my lips. Iri twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. “I think you should stay in my room from now on.”

  I crack an eye. “Isn’t that frowned upon? I’m sure the rumor mill has already been fed enough.”

  “You’re my wife. My mate.” His fingers still. “I’ve failed you as a husband time and time again. I won't let it happen anymore.”

  “You haven't—”

  “You think I would abandon you. Again. It’s your greatest fear. Is it not what the witch’s spell showed you? You’re afraid that the people you’ve grown to care for . . . me, Miranda, that we would forget about you. And you’re wrong about that. And I have done you wrong by letting you think that it could happen.” He bows his head, letting his eyes close for a moment before he begins again.