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

Astrid was taken aback. She paused, then her eyes widened and all serenity poured away, revealing a blank slate with the chill of a high Winter's frost. Truly, she was a terrible person. She reveled in her brother's attention while their littlest sibling sat oblivious in a tower chamber, awaiting his imminent death. They were going to sacrifice him for the sake of their own longevity, with the slim chance that something would change—anything.

  "Of course I will mourn. He is our brother. He is dying for our sake." Never would she vocalise such a thought, but any death would be worth it to see A'zur thrive and prosper. "You and I will mourn together, big brother. I see you, how tall you are, how strong you are, how clever, and my heart breaks when I think that little Alan will never reach such heights. Knowing that Alan is soon to die also reminds me that one day, I may lose you."

  "I am not priority," he told her then, and Astrid resisted the urge to argue, for she believed quite the opposite. "Repeal me from whatever high throne you've sat me upon and for once, Astrid, think solely for yourself. I will not always be here, you know this. Soon we will both land who knows where on the map and your insistent notion of "together" will consist of you—and you alone."

  In one regard, Astrid determined that A'zur was being rather cruel. For years they had been close, inseparable, as he raised her with a greater degree of care and affection than either of their parents did. The children were left to their own devices and he had saved her from becoming an uncivilised creature like their sister.

  She remained silent, believing that if she was to start a string of protest she would be unable to desist. The passion scorched her innards, penetrating her chest with a relentless surge.

  He does not know everything. He does not know what he does to me.

  He retracted his hand from her hold, sending it through his hair and ruining the foundation. There was apology in his voice. "Just...do not compare me to what will never be. Please."

  "I can daydream." She sighed, defeated, but he could not keep her from her girlish trails of thought. The distractions she made for herself, for them both. A marriage, little ones he would guide and she would nurture. It would be a privilege to bear his children, but that joy was afforded to some other woman already, whoever and wherever she may be. Just the same, some unknown claimant would possess her and would attempt to mold her into his perfect little wife. She would strive to be as perfect as one could be but perfection could not be wholly achieved when she did not belong entirely to her brother.

  "You would discourage that, big brother. You were always the sensible one. Even when you are away in some land and I in another, you will always be my big brother. You were from the moment I was born and you will remain so forever." They did not have the liberty to imagine themselves elderly, two grey figures whose bones creaked as much as worn furniture. Lines would not erase their beauty, neither would they experience the steady decline of their bodies. As far as Astrid was aware, that would come quickly.

  A breath redolent of exasperation fell past his lips. For a moment, in the way his brows came together, his eyes glistening the slightest, his youth shone through his carefully forged mask. It was a face of bewilderment, one he would adorn himself in time and again when they were younger, when she would say things he later explained to be bizarre in some respects.

  And like old times, he shushed her with a simple shh, three fingers pressed against her lips.

  She made no attempt to speak, but rather parted her lips slightly to press the lightest of kisses against his silencing fingers. In her doing so, she felt the smallest caress, his prints learning the curve of her lips before his hand fell away.

  "Sit." He notched his head the direction of her bed, a mahogany piece, its four posts cornering an expanse too generous for a single occupant, though made no move to join.

  She perched at the edge of the mattress, the plush cream furs and teal silks sinking against her weight. It was regretful that he did not sit beside her though she imagined he wished to advise her and she would listen. After all, he was a wise oracle of a young man.

  His attention migrated towards the bay window, its seating a heap of furs the colour of oxblood. The dying sun filtered in thinly through the veil and as he took residence upon the ledge, it turned bronze locks copper and grey eyes a shimmering hazel.

  It was a sight to behold, the light in which A'zur appeared the loveliest. She would be defying him if she was to stand and embrace him, her big brother, a title no one could take away from him, but she did not wish to displease him by being disrespectful.

  Instead an airy sigh left her lips and she offered him a petite smile. "You look so thoughtful, big brother. You must be sad."

  He didn't look away, his gaze locked to the divisive day and night of the setting sun. Snow had just begun to fall. Below there were no thriving vineyards or immaculate verdure sculpted to emphasis wealth and preference of decorum. Thellemere was not a kingdom fond of greenery. There existed but three seasons, none of which ever entirely discarded the white sheets of snow seen off in the distance. A'zur sighed now, slumping back against the seal's frame. "Contemplative, dear sister. Contemplative and sad, for I cannot, nor could I ever, preserve the innocence of any of my siblings."

  It was only natural that A'zur was contemplative, for he was always thinking of something, planning and plotting. He was fiercely clever, much more so than she. But sad? No, she did not like him sad. Her shoulders crushed under the weight of the upset that her brother was unhappy.

  Now he faced her, and all the sunlight his eyes had captured, collapsed into a haunting darkness. "But I believe it's best to stay practical. To live in the present and accept the truth: We are allowing our youngest blood to burn for our own gain. An uncertain gain." His smile was small. "Though I must say, I admire your ability to ruminate over the future—your future, rather than be as I. Sitting and contemplating just what it feels like to have your skin flayed to a crisp with no means for escape."

  He described what was to happen to Alan and it was then that Astrid felt something snap within her. A string of her heart. Their brother was only a little boy and he would not understand. Not until the heat licked at his skin, at first an uncomfortable tingle which would eventually grow into an unbearable state, though soon past his comprehension. These thoughts were plaguing her dear brother's mind and conscience, and that perhaps hurt more than anything.

  "No!" Astrid cried through a voice that broke as she came to her feet. She threw herself at her brother, arms in a grip around his upper body that seemed to dare him to try to push her off. The flesh of her cheek smoothed against his chest and she breathed in his scent, which to Astrid was how all men ought to smell. He was the absolute ideal, her dearest heart, and he was occupying his thoughts with such dark imaginations. "Please do not think of such details, big brother!" Her eyes met his from her position beneath him. "Please!"

  He startled in surprise, a shift of his gaze bringing out an awkward way in him. "I..." He stared down at her, the look not quite flustered, more lost. Though at last, his arms embraced her warmly, his words everything but. "You cannot live in a bubble of oblivion forever, Astrid. That is an excellent way to get yourself killed. And I don't know what I would do if I were to lose another of my siblings."

  The warmth and security provided by his arms closing around her was like the raising of the castle bridge prior to the onslaught of an opposing force. He would protect her and naturally he was being realistic with the advice he provided. "I will try my very best not to get killed. I would hate to break your heart." Astrid shuffled into a more comfortable seating position, a place where her lips convened to her brother's cheek. The peck was delicate, nothing more than a feathery touch. She permitted the kiss to linger and broke it with a light nudge of her nose against his own.

  "Big brother, you have my heart. Now you must promise never to break it."

  His eyes were as serious as his words, despite the childish brushing of their noses. "Astrid, I would never."

 
~ KING ROBERT ~

  Through the looking glass, a great window peering over the southern region of Thellemere's castle sat with a flurry of white hushing beyond its pane. Cold winds swept into the king's corridor, the fireplace dead without a trace of ever having been lit.

  It was as though the king wished not to lay eyes on excessive fire until the day his youngest child stood within it. Soon, Thellemere would smell of smoke and warm the flesh of all who had lay witness to the event.

  The room was donned to an immaculate flare of luxury. A bed the size for five, doubled in plush duvets the colour of black nightmares, feather-soft pillows mounted towards the headboards. Settled on both sides of the bed's post were the ferocious mounted heads of snow leopards, the Lymerean symbol, the dark spots on white fur redolent of the skins spread throughout the room. Along the wall, where murals of horsemen dying amidst aimless battle spiraled in somber shades, were the scones of black and white candles, burning calmly.

  Heavy hands splayed out on the vanity's surface, where between the leather-clad arms, Queen Marianne sat upon the ivory chair, entrapped. The King standing tall behind her, lowered his face slowly to the crown of her hair, where he took but one leisure inhale.

  "Tell your king he is making the right decision."

  Light cast from the candles. The fire from which the queen's teal eyes bore into through the mirror turned bronze tendrils neatly arranged in a braid over her shoulder into an appealing antique gold here and there. Rich and still of a beautiful shade. No flinch nor shifting of her gaze suggested she had heard her husband's request, though the small hum of recognition was enough.

  "You are doing what you must. Our ancestors never had the courage to see such a display complete. I will pray it reaps success."

  His chest enlarged with pleasure at having heard the words. He took her at once by her chin, tilting her head back so that the grey slate of his eyes might bear down into hers. "My queen knows me too well."

  It may well have been an understatement, for the sure way they complimented one another like a knight to his sword or shadow to a flame, King Robert and Queen Marianne were one in the same.

  And this had little, if anything, to do with the blood they shared, but more the chilling texture of their exterior. Similar glances that made a man's blood run cold, or perhaps even the way one spoke the other's mind.

  "My mother told me when I was preparing to marry Cousin Robert that I ought to know what my husband wishes to hear before he wishes to hear it. He will always ask my counsel for that is what husbands do. I have provided you with what you want to hear, but I am unsure. Chances of success are small and the price to pay is large, but if it keeps my constant with me for but a little while longer and we can save our house, then is it not worth the sacrifice of a child?"

  The firm grasp of her chin gentled, fingers spreading and wrapping gently around the hollow of her throat. The room, blue and grey with spring frost, left his hands icy, but her neck was warm to the touch, the blood hasting readily through her veins. "Our remaining children will not think the same."

  Immediately, he thought of his eldest son, A'zur. The boy had inherited his gaze of steel, and not only in the sense of colour. Since the declaration of his youngest brother's sacrifice, he hadn't looked at his father or mother the same.

  Well, it was not to say the child ever retained any warmth in his eyes in regards to his parents, but lately, the life was blown out of them when in their company.

  The boy would get over it.

  It was his eldest daughter that gave him the most concern.

  Robert leaned down further and kissed the corner of Marianne's mouth, the rasp of his beard coaxing roughly over the supple skin. "I do not want Astrid present when the deed is done."

  The girl was more fragile than glass, though a thousand times denser. He would not have her witnessing her brother in flames, her ears subjected to the piercing screech of his screams; he would not have her mind scarred and broken, thus frightening away any prospects of a sustainable, wealthy husband.

  "She should occupy her thoughts with her upcoming marriage, whoever the man may be. She thrives with a sense of focus. A productive distraction." Marianne settled into his touch and through her reflection slid her gaze to her husband. "Have you any thoughts on who he may be?"

  His eyes did not leave hers as his fingers traveled the lush curve of her breast through the rich chiffon, finding its black lace and beginning the slow task of unlacing. "I cannot say.. It cannot be a man who possesses little riches but an avaricious heart. Even less, I cannot have her wed a man whose tool can barely spurt his piss correctly, let alone a child."

  Only when the lace had unraveled in its entirety, stopping just below her rib line, did he rise. "Stand."

  With the understanding to comply immediately, for she was a wife who had been well trained in the art of obedience for nigh on two decades, Marianne came to her feet. The height difference was stark and Robert towered a head over her. When she turned towards him, the gown slid from the smoothness of her shoulders until it pooled at her hips, the curvaceous area providing a barrier to her naked form.

  Behind his breeches, the King's member stiffened.

  "Have him be older than her then. Not a boy, but a man." Slender digits pressed against Robert's chest as the Queen advised, one of her most crucial duties. "Foreign born males do not spout the same vigour as our men. What virility a man displays at fifteen here may not yet be matched by a man at twenty elsewhere. The sooner she can have the seed of a prince within her, the sooner we can allow our roots to spread to lands beyond our borders."

  Yes, Robert Misseldon knew well how fertile the Misseldon bloodline to be.

  Just then, he took the length of her braid and coiled it around his hand as one might a whip. He tugged her head back, her lips exposed and there for him to do as he pleased. His kiss was brutal, but such was the way of him. Fiery and chasten. Cold and demanding.

  His tongue was intrusive, yet gentle. Stroking hers into submission. Soft. Tender. He needed her like this, for when he returned her to the sheets and her body appeared as delicate and sensitive as the duvets themselves, it would make his invasion that much sweeter.

  Though the King was patient. He took hold of her wrist and carefully guided her fingers down the solid ridge of his chest, straight for the strain of his breeches.

  A soft grunt passed her lips as she pawed at the swelled destination. She paused, as if to tease, before she began unlacing as she had done countless times before.

  The ties were easily undone and she hastened to cup him in her hands, her grip firm at first, whispering to that dark desire of his, before gentling. Marianne trailed her fingers over his length routinely as if to provide quick examination before she began to stroke him with greater passion. She tugged, kneaded, forever eager to please her kingly husband.

  As she handled him and his breaths grew shortened, so too did his words, their structure falling apart beneath the extent of his arousal. "This foreigner... he must be as potent as your king." A low sound eased from him as the tip of her finger glided over his sensitive head. "And Astrid," The hand which did not endeavor in the woven braid took hold of her waist side before roaming to the gentle protrusion of her belly. "I've complete faith in her ability to bear many children, as she takes greatly after her mother."

  Perhaps not where brains were concerned, but she would make for an excellent breeding mare, if nothing else.

  As for him, a king the age of thirty-four, so near the age where the curse would surely claim his life forever—he could but hope the sacrifice would be enough.

  Burying such a thought, he lifted his wife and carried her towards the bed, determined to bury something more urgent in the moment.

  2

  ~PRINCE EDGAR~

  The next day...

  Standing before the great blackboard in the king's study, instructed to present this season's learnings to the king himself and the small audience that surrounded him, Edgar l
istened to King Robert as he ignored his presentation entirely and instead spoke in his angry way to the other men at the study chamber's table.

  "The contention at Thellemere's border is my first and foremost concern. If the Regiments see the Pyracean's unrest as a rising problem, then is it not my own prerogative to get involved?" his father demanded.

  "The Four Winter Regiments have offered to send cargo ships across the two kingdom's shared sea," said Regional Chief Navre of the Thelle Garrison, a man his father especially hated. "The constituents of the Garrison have chosen to refrain from a conflicting opposition and are willing to turn eyes from this transport over the borders in respect to the peace it offers. We implore you to do the same."

  Edgar pretended to be absorbed in his presentation that none of the five men paid mind to. Outside Thelle Castle, the sun was bright, but the grounds were white from the prior night's light snowfall. His siblings were all off attending their lessons.

  A'zur, old enough and wise enough at eighteen years to sit amongst the council, was likely to be off speaking on the same matter Father was currently. Though, often times, it was his eldest brother who taught the council rather than they him. Ethan, at fourteen years, was set to be out hunting as he always was with his personal instructor, Sir Thomas. Astrid, who was fifteen, and Eleanor, who was twelve, they were both off attending their own studies with Master Beecham. Where Astrid was sure to be paying absolute attention while Eleanor was likely attempting to coerce her down a separate path.

  Then Alan, at six years, sat alone in the northern tower.

  Edgar pushed the threat of emotion down his throat and studied the king covertly through his lashes.

  Father, the large man that he was, dressed in his regalia seemingly always, stared out of the window as his mouth turned down in malcontent. "Cargo sent to the Pyraceans, across a sea they vow as their own—went so far as to name it after their glum kingdom, when the rulers before us have in written evidence a shared right to it... And what might this cargo consist of, Regional?"