Cursed: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 2)

by Jessica Aspen

  “Your mother will hunt you down. She’ll chase you, and hound you.” Spit drooled down her chin and she rolled from side to side in her net. “You’ll never be free.”

  “She’ll not find me until I’m ready, and then I will be coming for her.” He leaned in close, speaking low and clear. “I will take over the court and my mother will find out what it means to have treated me, and mine, like pawns for the taking.”

  “You don’t belong at the Black Court, you never did. You don’t deserve to be prince. She wanted me as a daughter, not you, you whining, pathetic man! She gave you to me so I could be a princess. She hates you. Hates your father and everything he’s ever done to her.”

  “My father?” Shock held him still. “No one speaks of my father in the Black Court, no one dares. What do you know of my father?” Outside he hoped he looked controlled, but inside his heart beat a wild tattoo. “Since his death, it is forbidden to discuss him.”

  “She’d like you to believe he’s dead, but it’s not true.” Her nostrils flared. “As much as the queen wishes your father was dead, he’s not.”

  Her eyes were as wild and desperate as he felt. “You’re making this up,” he said, crouching next to her. “A final desperate play for power you’ll never have.” He searched her clothing.

  He pulled the black diamond from her pocket, and her laughter rose. Saliva dripped out the corner of her mouth, wetting her cheek and rolling over the crisscross of black netting cutting into her face. “You’ll never be King of the Black Court, Kian. Your mother, the queen, will see to it. I’ll see to it. You’ll die a bastard son of the court when I tell everyone of your true heritage.”

  Kian emptied Agrona’s clothes onto the floor and stored the stone and wand in her satchel. Standing, he turned to Bryanna. “Let’s go.”

  Spots of bright pink flared on her otherwise ashen face, and she shrank from his proffered paw.

  He let it fall to his side. Even after all they’d shared she still saw only the beast.

  He scooped up one of the guard’s short-swords and held it out to her. “Let’s go,” he said again, this time his words sounding dark and bitter.

  But she stood transfixed, staring at him. “Your mother is the Faery Queen of the Black Court? The one who did this to you. The one who killed my tribe, my family, and my cousin?”

  His throat muscles seized. He tried to speak. But nothing came out.

  There was nothing to say. Nothing he could say to the woman who stared at him, the last of her trust disappearing as she truly saw him as a monster.

  He dropped the sword and turned away from the betrayal in her brimming, green eyes. “We need to go, before they wake up,” he ground out of his constricted throat, and headed for the doors. “Beezel!”

  The gnome curled over, his body shivered and shook. “She’ll kill me,” he hissed, backing away. Kian reached out to him, but he turned and fled into the deep, unmapped corridors of the palace.

  Kian’s paw dropped. There was nothing he could do about the gnome now. He shook his head and crossed to the exit, wondering if Bryanna would even follow. He pushed the wide front doors of Cairngloss open, and for the first time in fifteen years, stepped outside. Blinking at the bright sunlight he smelled pines and winter on the cold burst of damp, fresh air. And tasted only the flat burn of the ashes of freedom in his mouth.

  Bryanna helped Kian push the massive doors of Cairngloss closed. She handed him the bag of clothes she’d packed for him, picked up the bag of supplies and swung it to her shoulder.

  He tried to take it from her. “Here, I’ll carry it.”

  “No,” she said, moving away from the pain in his eyes. “I’ve got it.” How dare he be upset. She was the one with the right to be upset.

  “Bryanna, I’m...sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

  “Save it.” She stared up at the frost covered mountain that hid the ancient warren they’d just emerged from. She was out. The winter air smelled clean and damp with the scent of oncoming snow and, after being trapped in the underground palace, it should’ve all been fresh and wonderful but as she turned and faced the brief stretch of open field and dense pine trees beyond, all she felt was numb.

  She walked on the overgrown road stretching toward the shadows of the forest. “We need to get moving. Those nets won’t hold forever.” The frosted grass crunched under her fur-lined slippers like the bones of her frozen feelings crunching inside her chest.

  “Wait, I can explain.” Kian’s paw came down on her shoulder, the sharp points of his claws catching in the collar of her cloak.

  She didn’t even break her stride as she dipped her shoulder and shrugged him off, leaving him standing in the grass.

  “Why would you have anything to explain, Your Highness? It seems pretty simple. You used me, lied to me, and used me again. My family and I...we’re not people to you. We’re humans, and witches...nothing but pawns in some elaborate chess game you are playing with your mother, the Faery Queen.”

  The sound of his paws shuffling through the grass started up, and her back warmed with the heat of his presence. She walked faster.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.” His stiff and cold voice was too close, and his breath caressed her neck. “Once we stop tonight, and you cure me, I’ll do my best to help you find your family. I swear.”

  Rage burst out of the choking paralysis confining her heart. Her fists curled, her nails dug into the flesh of her palms. The dark maw of the pine forest loomed before her, and Kian’s ferocious, tusked form hovered behind. She whirled around, her cloak flying out into a circle. The heavy bag fell off her shoulder, spinning and hitting her legs with a solid thump.

  “You don’t get it!” She advanced toward him, dragging the heavy bag from an elbow, her finger jabbing at his chest with each savage word. “You still think you deserve to be helped. Think I care if you become yourself, and get your big elven voodoo back.”

  His strange violet eyes went wide, and his lashes twitched as she stabbed her finger into the rough hair covering his over-muscled chest. “I don’t want to help you get your powers back, Your Highness. Goddess only knows what you would do to me and mine once you are the great and powerful wizard again. You’re the queen’s son. The evil bitch who has killed a thousand of my people. She stole my childhood, killed my father, and ripped my mother and sister away from me.” She glared at him, willing all her hatred and anger and loss into her eyes. “And now you...you think I’m going to help you? You think I trust you?”

  She backed away, her voice dropping low. “Think again, Your Highness.”

  Head high, she picked up her bag and stalked off, ignoring the crunching of his steps behind her. Tears blurred her eyes, and she made her way more by feel than by sight into the shadowy pine forest.

  He’d betrayed her. He’d used her and lied to her. And he’d do it again. If she let him. Well, she was done giving him the benefit of the doubt.

  He’d played the victim, but he was no victim. He was the queen’s son. And for all Bryanna knew, he had the same strange vendetta against the MacElvys that his mother had. Cure his curse? Even if she could, she wouldn’t do it now.

  Under her cloak, the warm reassuring lump of the locket lay hidden deep between her breasts. She’d find her mother and Cassie on her own. She didn’t need him. She reached into a small bag tied to her belt and pulled out a fist-full of the sleeping dust she’d spent all night creating just so she could free him and help him escape. She whirled around and blew it into Kian’s face.

  He coughed and choked, his purple eyes widening in shock, and before his large hairy form dropped to the ground, he wheezed out, “Why?”

  The cold wind blew, ruffling his cloak over his unconscious body, and her lips hardened into a thin line.

  “Because I trusted you,” she whispered and scooping up the bag with the wand and the black diamond, she walked away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  HADDON LEANED AGAINST the wall, folded his arms toget
her, and pretended to check his manicure for imperfections. Across the small bedroom a loud crack sounded, and he jumped, nearly losing his footing and feeling like an idiot. He glanced at the queen’s mirror, crumpled in the straight back chair in the center of the room, and wondered what the hell was still holding the old man up.

  Wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, Owen straightened as far as his arthritic body would go. He rubbed at the red hand print on his cheek that was already fading to pink.

  “I will try again, Your Majesty.” His tea-stained aura wavered, almost sputtering, as he again tried to get his weakening Gift to work. “I see......” But the old man’s gaze remained focused, and it was obvious he only saw the queen’s hand as it struck him again. Owen’s head snapped sideways, and he toppled off of the chair.

  “Get up, you lazy fool!” The queen hissed, her whirling purple eyes vortexes of frustration. Owen managed to climb back into the chair, and Haddon wondered how long all of this could go on.

  The queen had been stuck in her Morrigan aspect for days now, and the empty court echoed with her rage. Anyone who could leave had fled the ire of the former battle goddess, but Haddon knew the Morrigan was preferable to the queen becoming the crone.

  A deep shudder crawled up his spine, lifting the hairs at the nape one-by-one.

  He clamped his jaws together and refrained from rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Can’t you see anything?” The queen kicked the old man in the shin. “Useless old fool. I should just have you killed.” Her red hair, black as blood, coiled and uncoiled, looking like it should hiss with her rage.

  Owen bent double in his chair and groaned.

  “I sent Agrona to Cairngloss days ago. The wretched girl should have contacted me by now.” The queen paced three strides across the room, her wide, black bat wings tucked tight to her back, the winking skulls dangling from the chain around her neck swinging from side to side.

  “Your Majesty, may I suggest you refrain from hurting him? He doesn’t do his best work under pain,” Haddon said. They needed Owen. At least until a new mirror could be found to replace the worn out psychic.

  The queen backed up, her purple eyes whirling in agitation. The leathery sails of her wings shot out, knocking a small frame off of a dresser. Owen ducked, and Haddon tensed, ready to flee should she become any worse.

  “He’s my mirror, not yours.” She balled her hands into fists, and the black veins in her white skin pulsed. “He’s supposed to keep me informed of anything I need to know, and if I need to hurt him to get him to work, I will.”

  “My Queen, I’ve been trying to see,” Owen said, his voice quavering. “But the spell you put over Cairngloss is strong. It holds true. My visions cannot pierce its walls.”

  “Try harder.” She kicked the chair. The leg snapped and the old man and the chair crumpled to the ground. Owen curled up into a pathetic heap and lay there, uttering smothered soft moans of pain.

  Haddon sighed. The old man wasn’t going to get up this time by himself. Just like everything else, this was up to him to manage. He left his post by the door and helped the old man up and over to the bed. Ever since the queen’s last fit, when she’d thrown Owen against the wall and he’d broken his hip, the pathetic sod had grown weaker. He walked with a cane—when he walked at all. His skin had grown waxy, and his cheeks had sunk in.

  Haddon wasn’t sure he was eating. Wasn’t sure if he should care.

  “Perhaps we could try this afternoon.” He left the mirror on the bed, crossed to the door and opened it, waiting for the queen to take the hint and leave the failing psychic alone. While the queen losing control was a sign his plan to drive her insane was working, it made his job very difficult.

  “But I want to know,” she whined.

  He stared at her.

  He hated her. Hated her expectations of everyone jumping to her word. Hated her abuse of what could have been a useful tool, and now was something broken and bent. Hated that she was still sane enough that he couldn’t take over. She stood in his way, and some days the yellow-acid of hatred ate into his gut until he thought he would spew out bile all over her greedy spoiled face.

  He gathered his patience, grateful for the years of her abuse that ensured he would never lose his calm facade in her presence. “Then wait...just a moment...and let him center. He’s an old man, Your Majesty, and we have no other psychics. You need to make him last until we find a replacement.” Haddon didn’t think the old man would last the month.

  The queen drifted toward the door, her lips drawn down. Haddon rummaged through his mental list of courtier’s secrets to find one he wanted to let the queen know. It would distract her and keep her busy for the afternoon so he could attend to other matters. More pressing matters. Like greasing more palms or planting more rumors.

  “Wait, Your Majesty, wait!” the old man’s rheumy eyes brightened. “I can see something.”

  The queen dug her fingers into Haddon’s arm and dragged him back over to Owen’s side.

  Shit.

  “My Queen, I see him! I see a monstrous beast with huge tusks and covered with hair.”

  “That sniveling gnome lied,” the queen snarled. “The prince is still under the spell.” Her wings quivered. “Go on, go on!” The queen plucked at the old man’s sleeve. “Is he in chains? Do you see my niece? Has he decided to give in after all this time?”

  “I don’t see Agrona, Your Majesty. The prince appears to be alone.” The old man swayed, his eyes unfocused, and his brow furrowed. “I do see the gnome. He lurks behind the prince, in the bushes.”

  “What’s that weaselly little creature doing now?”

  “Oh dear.” Owen’s head shook slowly from side-to-side. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”

  Haddon couldn’t believe the queen didn’t hit the whiny old man. He had trouble not hitting him himself. But she held back, hanging on his every word as if magic dribbled from those soft, withered lips.

  “Tell me!”

  “Agrona has exited Cairngloss and she is far behind the prince. She’s angry, so angry.” He shook his head and his watery eyes refocused. “I fear, My Queen, that the prince has escaped both Cairngloss and your niece.”

  “Aaaah!” The queen’s hair went wild. Her wings shot out, flapping hard. The air in the small room swirled into a whirlwind. It lifted and spun pieces of the broken wood through the air, crashing them into the walls. Haddon ducked flying splinters and grabbed a bed post. The old man cowered on the bed, his bony fingers clawing at the blankets for anchorage as he slipped further and further from safety.

  A carved oak dresser lifted up, flying across the room. Haddon ducked and the heavy piece of furniture flew past him, hitting the old man in the head. The wall next to Haddon’s face splattered with gore.

  He licked a drop of blood off of his lip and gathered his Gift.

  Using his magic he worked his way to the door, making a wide circle around the queen as she screamed her rage and seized the broken body of the old man. She slammed it up and down, banging it on the floor. Blood flew and bones cracked, the corpse’s long arms and legs flailing.

  “Look what he made me do?” she wailed. Black tears streaked down her face and her lips sagged. “I need a new mirror!”

  Haddon reached the door. He grabbed the frame and pulled himself through. Hanging on, he looked back into the room.

  Spittle frothed at the corners of the queen’s mouth. Her wings spasmed, contracting into her body as the purple mist of her magic rose and covered her up. Haddon shoved his body out and slammed the door shut. He ran down the hall, faster than he’d run in years, his entire body shaking in fear. He ran, leaving the crumpled figure of the only psychic they had lying forgotten in the corner. He ran for his life, while the queen metamorphosed into the one being he knew could destroy everything he’d worked so hard to build. The crone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  IT WAS DARK AND COLD and something watched him. Something malevolent and suspicious and f
ull of hunger. Kian eased his sticky eyes open a crack and stared into the darkness. For one panicked moment, he didn’t know where he was. And he wasn’t sure what he was.

  A breath blew out a few feet away.

  He reached for his sword, but his fingers touched nothing. Despite his better instincts, his eyes flew open, and he stared into the hungry, yellow gaze of a timber wolf.

  “Shit.”

  This was the third night of the full moon. He’d shifted back to his elvatian form and it was damn cold with nothing but his cloak to cover him. He lay in a pool of moonlight on the snow covered ground, and he didn’t even have time for the sinking realization that Bryanna had left him.

  A second wolf joined the first, its breath heating his toes. He called. And his sword Falin’s Rage answered. The blade appeared, falling from the sky. He lunged, and caught it. Bringing the point up, he stabbed. And managed to miss both wolves. Two sets of predatory eyes split apart, circling his position. He attacked. This time the blade connected, glancing off the fur of one of the snarling wolves.

  The bright light of the moon reflected on the snow, reflecting the hunger of the winter-thin wolves. He rose and crouched on his bare feet, turning his head from wolf to circling wolf.

  “Get back,” he said. His shoulder ached, the inflamed joints protesting every movement. The wolves snarled, their muscles bunched under thin, grey fur. He curled his lip and growled, letting the beast out from where it lurked inside. He wasn’t free, and tonight it was a good thing. They responded to his threat, edging out of sight into the underbrush. He waited until he was sure they were gone before pulling his clothes out of the satchel and getting dressed. At least she’d left him clothes.

  Dressed in real clothes, boots on, Rage strapped to his hip—for the first time in over a decade, he felt like a true man. But he also felt more alone than he had the last fifteen years stuck in the warren with only Beezel and the low-brained goblins for company.