The Cruel Fae King: A Sexy Fantasy Romance Series (The Cursed Kingdoms Series Book 1) Read online

  Water ripples around her in tiny waves as she turns to slither through the sea much like the snakes I’ve seen on the island. Both their dark green heads submerge, only for Agatha to appear once more seconds later.

  “Boat,” she says hoarsely before diving under and disappearing.

  Boat.

  I’m not alone.

  Fear and joy and memory of heartbreak tangle with my racing pulse. My heartbeat becomes a pounding drum as I leap up from the rocks and sprint to the beach. The forest slaps at my skin in unpleasant lashes that tug on my fraying dress until I break free of the timber and brush.

  Butterflies sink in my stomach like a boulder falling into the ocean. Banked on the sand is a small empty boat. Behind it, floating in the water, a much larger ship looms.

  The slashing insignia of the Northern Kingdom is burned into the smooth wood.

  Someone is on the island.

  For the first time in thirty days, I am not alone.

  Two

  When Strangers Meet

  Syren

  “Hello there, love.” The voice is deep and gravelly. Most of all, it’s startling.

  As if in response to my adrenaline, the wind picks up, tossing my hair across my face and the skirts of my dress to the side. A man stands there—tall, with broad shoulders, and a shadow of a dark beard. His hair is long and brown, but as he turns in the sun, I can see red glinting in the stubble along his sharp jaw.

  He's heart-poundingly attractive in that I Can Build You A Shack And You And All Your Crazy Chickens Can Live Happily Ever After sort of way.

  He’s clearly fae. His skin is smooth and the tips of his ears show just slightly beneath his messy hair. He seems lower fae though. Not of high breeding with his plain clothes but possibly not a commoner either with his confident posture.

  It’s hard to tell where he stands in his kingdom.

  “Can I help you?” I lift my chin, no longer the banished princess with a crown of twigs on her forehead, but apparently the welcoming committee to this lost land.

  His assessing gaze drags over my exposed stomach and the remains of the pale skirt and top that cling to my golden skin. The look blazes across my flesh, but I refuse to fidget beneath his attention.

  “Are you Princess Syren?” Dark amber eyes sparkle like the tropical sun overhead. The stranger is built tall and strong, the wind shifting the thin material of his shirt along his hard chest. The black billowing top with three buttons left undone tuck into black pants. His clothes are made from fine materials.

  I wonder what I look like to him. No dress was more festive than the one I had worn to meet the king, though now it looks like it would have better use as dish rag. The light purple bodice still cinches nicely at my chest, although half of the gems that lined the neckline are missing. The skirts once gave the illusion of hips much wider than what my natural body offers. The material droops now. Fraying fabric hits my knees, and trails longer behind me due to my frustration with it snagging on everything. It only took a couple days on this island before I ripped half the beautiful skirt away. I cried very frustrated tears that day.

  After a month on the island, you’d think I’d have opted for something other than my ratty dress. But I can’t give up the few fine things I have left. Plus, how could I sew myself a pair of trousers without bleeding out from stabbing my fingers too much?

  Speechless, I imagine that this stranger has come to either save me or drag me to the gallows. I take a casual step away from him. He stands with lazy assurance between me and the rest of my island.

  “I’ve come to take you back to the Northern Kingdom. Your banishment has been lifted.” He sweeps his hands out at his side in a grand gesture with added smugness. “Congratulations. You get to be a princess again.”

  Oh, how fucking kind of him. How kind of someone to remember I fucking exist out here alone.

  “No, thank you,” I finally say, trying to breeze my way through the conversation with dash of pose.

  His brilliant smile falters, then falls, his hands dropping helplessly to his sides next to a long sword that hangs on his hip. “No, thank you?”

  Aw, he's cute when he's confused. I bet he's cute a lot.

  I nod slightly before pointing to direct his attention behind him. “This is my home now, and I like it.”

  “This place is . . . dirty and smells like fish.”

  “When it rains, it gets this strange musty scent, too. It’s oddly refreshing.”

  We stand there, trying to figure each other out. Calculating our next moves and the other person’s motives. His eyes narrow on me—the apparently suspicious woman who doesn't want to be a royal. His mouth drops with surprise, and he purses his lips. The tight set of his jaw loosens, and he opens his mouth as if to speak. So sad that I have to speak over his muddled thoughts.

  “Well, best be on your way.” I wave at him before trotting across the hot sand and entering the thick grasses a yard away.

  “You don’t understand. I’m not leaving without you," he says with a heavy rasp.

  “That does put us in a pickle.” Slipping behind the nearest tree, I miss whatever sour look must be on his face when he disappears from my vision. I push through the forest. Sweat beads on my forehead and dampens the back of my dress, not from the heat, but because he said the words I’d imagined in my head so many times before. This was not how I imagined them, though.

  It’s supposed to be said by a prince from a faraway land I’ve never heard of. Someone who had heard my story and is rightfully angered and wants to sweep me away to a better life.

  Not some yes-man of the king who didn’t want me to begin with.

  Fumbling footsteps follow behind me. It doesn’t take long before I put distance between us. His curses grow quieter. I slow, expecting to hear him stumbling behind me, but his footsteps have gone silent.

  Looking around, I catch the faintest sound as he pushes off of a nearby tree and lunges at me. It's like a dance between us. A harsh, thrashing dance. He lunges again. Knowingly, I take a large step backwards, avoiding the vine that’s draped on the ground.

  He stops just short of me, grabbing my shoulders for a split second before his feet are whisked out from under him. He dangles upside down, strung in the air before me. Small ragged pieces of what was left of my draping sleeve remain in his hand. His breath whooshes out of him in a large umph.

  He swings back and forth, his messy hair hanging along his perfect jawline now. The navy-blue shirt covering his torso slides up, revealing rows of hard muscles. My eyes only linger there for a minute. Just a minute.

  Or two.

  I smile at his growing scowl. With a thunk, the large sword on his belt falls to the ground. He groans. The thin scrapes along his cheek heal in the blink of an eye.

  Surface wounds are nothing for fae to heal from. What he and I are playing at isn’t life or death. But it is enough to piss him off.

  “Rabbit trap.” I point it out, though it’s hardly necessary.

  “Get me down.” He hisses, his perfect white teeth sticking out from under his curling lip.

  “You didn’t ask very nicely.” Playfully, I kick at a small pebble until it bounces off a nearby tree and pings him lightly in his broody brow.

  “Princess Syren, I swear to Goddess Celeste.”

  “Uh-uh.” I wag my finger in his reddening face. “Choose your words wisely, my friend.”

  But we are not friends, and it’s even more apparent as the man snarls. His ferocious growling only makes me laugh. Even if it’s only to cover my feelings of unease.

  “I can’t believe King Iri sent you here to fetch me. Talk about mood swings. First, he wants me, then he doesn’t want me, now he wants me again. Goddess above.”

  He stills, his brows scrunching as I continue to talk.

  “Who are you anyway? Probably some random guard he picked out of a line-up. Poor dear. Doubtful he knew what sort of trouble you’d have coming to get me. I don’t take kindly to being rejec
ted.”

  “You are to be queen, and this is a foolish game you are playing right now.”

  “It’s a foolish game your king is trying to play with me.” I jab my finger into his firm chest. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being someone else's pawn.” Lowering my face to his, I give him my best fake smile. “It’s my game now.”

  He rolls his deep brown eyes at me. The action reminds me of every time my father rolled his eyes at something I said. Believe me to be an ignorant little girl, and it makes my anger go from simmering to a full-on boil.

  “Get me down, please, Princess Syren," he says with false pleasantry.

  My heart flutters stupidly. Yes, he's sexy when he begs, but I'm not that easily won over.

  “I think I’ll just let you swing.”

  “Oh, my goddess, you are just as difficult as I’ve been told.” He bends at the waist with a grunt until his hands are working the knot around his ankles.

  “I’m not difficult. I’m headstrong, which isn’t a bad quality.” I shuffle forward, grabbing his sword and weighing it in my hands. It’s a lot longer than anything I’ve ever practiced with, and much heavier, too. Very high-quality metal.

  He snorts at my comment. “Who told you that? Your mother? Headstrong women are reckless, not cute."

  I try not to make a face. It wasn’t my mother who told me that, but one of the wet nurses who helped bring me up. That’s not any of his business. Plus, was she wrong? No, I don’t think so.

  "I never said I was cute." I plant my palms firmly on my hips.

  He pauses his groaning work on the knotted vine to peer down at me, his gaze lingering on the curves of my breasts that are nearly at eye level to him right now when he looks my way.

  I shift, and he clears his throat before struggling awkwardly with his vine again.

  With an umph, he lands with both feet on the ground. He appears unharmed, but he looks rather bothered as he dusts off his pants and shirt. He pats along his belt, forgetting he no longer wears his weapon.

  “Give me that back.” One long finger points to the sword in my hand.

  “I rather like it. I think I’ll keep it.” I wink.

  “That’s a family heirloom. I’d rather you not tarnish my good name by losing it.”

  “Wow, that was a really rude thing to say. I can’t believe you wouldn’t trust me—an outcast and dishonored princess.” I feign offence, one hand fluttering to my chest.

  Both hands shove against his lean hips, his shirt still ruffled from his ride on the rabbit trap. I make a mental note to re-set the trap.

  Clear and clever brown eyes scan the forest around us. Is he looking for more traps? Is he planning his next move? I’m curious to know what exactly he thinks of my new home. It’s a lot different than what I’ve heard of the Northern Kingdom. A lot fewer toilets, less working plumbing, and it has a lot more wildlife, too.

  “You’ve taken care of yourself pretty well here?” It’s a question, kind of. Mostly it sounds like an observation as he gestures toward the vine hanging above him.

  “Well, when your choices are learning how to hunt or starve to death, you find some motivation to adapt to your surroundings.” It took me many attempts to figure out how to tie the trap just right. Many more to figure out how to catch those damn chickens. I stick the blade of the sword into the dirt. He grimaces, so I lean into it, letting the blade dig in just a little deeper.

  “Oh, come on, you’re royalty. ‘Banishment’ doesn’t mean the same thing for you. I’m sure your dad has dropped off a few care packages or brought along one of his fancy boats with all of your favorite people to visit.”

  It was my turn to laugh. Tilting my head, I let out a loud, annoying cackle. “You clearly have never met my father.”

  He would never go out of his way for me. Not the way he would my brother. My father and my brother both are probably thrilled I’m no longer causing trouble or making them furious every single day of their life.

  “Tall man, oddly lavender eyes, indigo hair— much like yours, ridiculously charming, wants everyone to call him Caspian instead of King?”

  "That’s the one.” He’s the most charming man in the four kingdoms. Unless you’re me.

  “I’ll add that he often smells like sandalwood, like the coasts of your tropical kingdom.”

  My jaw tightens, and I’m incredibly tired of hearing about my father and how well he deceives everyone around him.

  “Hmm,” I hum, plucking the sword up from the earth. “You must be high up in the court to know those details. To think King Iri sent someone who might actually be someone to come get me instead of a nameless grunt.”

  The mocking man bows low, his hair falling over his shoulders.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “My friends call me Bear.”

  “How rugged.” I look closely at his sword and the twisted metal of the handle lined with cardinal-red jewels. It is very pretty. A little plain, but pretty.

  “Now, I’ll need that back.” His words barely reach my pointed ears before he is standing behind me, his strong grasp prying the blade from my hand.

  Damn it. I’m out of practice.

  Along my back, I feel the prickle of heat where his chest presses against me. It’s solid, unmoving. Bear’s breath fans against my neck, his mouth practically touching my ear.

  My body halts, breath catching. It's been a long time since anyone's held me like this. Even if it is to steal a sword back.

  “Now, princess, if you don’t mind, we’ll head back now," he rasps against the shell of my ear.

  I spin, leaning away from his overwhelming warmth. “I told you, I’m not leaving!”

  Gritting his teeth, he picks up his belt, buckling it back on his lean hips before he sheathes his sword. Bear keeps his hand clasped to the hilt, knuckles white from his grip.

  “Look, you’ve been forgiven,” he says with a heavy sigh like it pains him to even say those three little words.

  Goddess, this man can’t take a hint.

  “Good for you.”

  “Good for me? I’ve come here granting you freedom, giving you your title back, and presenting you with the title of queen. That’s all you have to say? This island is a hellhole. Most women would beg to be in your position.”

  “Then maybe he should pick one of those begging women. Eh?” I nudge him with my elbow. “That’s a kind offer, but I’ll pass. I have a lot of Ocean Breeze Marmalades that I’ve made, and they're not going to drink themselves. It’s was ni—, um, no, that's a lie. Thanks for coming out though.”

  Narrowing his gaze, Bear watches me. He’s either balancing the odds in his head, making a plan of action, or deciding that leaving his only real option. I fold my arms over my chest, unwavering under his scrutiny. It will take more than a handsome man giving me cranky eye to change my mind.

  If he wants to have a staring contest, fuck it, I’ll clear my ridiculously busy schedule and square off. Unfortunately, it doesn’t come to that. After a couple minutes of uncomfortable silence, he walks toward me, ducking down quickly as if he plans to throw me over his shoulder like a bag of grain. With both hands, I push his face down to the ground. I step around him as he stumbles away.

  Triumph soars through me. It's been so long since I fought with anyone. It's exhilarating. Addicting.

  A low rumble of exasperation escapes him as he charges back at me. Again, I’m waiting. In a long upward arc, I thrust my open palm into his perfect nose. Blood pours down over his mouth, staining the stubble on his face.

  “You little bitch.” Yelling, he snaps his nose so roughly back into place that even I'm impressed. “Enough is enough. I was trying not to hurt you.”

  This time, the dangerous look in his eye is enough to strike fear into me. Something about him becomes predator-like, and I’m the fucking prey.

  Yay me.

  This would be a lot funnier if all of this was strictly innuendo or bedroom play, and not an actual race away from my own
doomed fate.

  That King and his fucking kingdom. I don't want it. Who would? Who would want someone who rejected them without even bothering to meet them?

  And I’m not waiting around to find out exactly why this guy’s friends call him Bear. No, I dart through the dense forest, unsure what my next move will be. Vines snap at my flesh but I don’t feel the stinging pain.

  This island is too small to hide.

  Well, this is shit.

  Then inspiration hits me.

  Momentum carries me as I abruptly turn left. I’m familiar with the terrain. He's not. His unsure footsteps flounder continuously. That is, until I make the small jump over the shallow hole—and he does not.

  The noise he makes as he slips, falling on his ass, can only be described as the most entertaining and mortifying noise someone could possibly make. It’s like he learned to yodel all of a sudden.

  And not well.

  “For fuck’s sake, is this feces?” Bear pushes himself upright. Brown clinging to his arms and legs as he examines what exactly he fell into.

  “I’ve acclimated and endured rather well.” I give him an exasperated look. “You think I’m so uncivilized out here that I didn’t make myself a latrine?”

  “You mean to tell me this is your shit?” Bear’s eyes grow wide, his jaw ticking.

  “I asked you to leave. You’re the one chasing me around like a murderous psychopath.”

  Blotches of red seep over his face, his neck, and the small bit of exposed skin on his chest. The only next possible thing would be for steam to pour out of his ears. His fists are visibly shaking.

  I gulp. My mouth goes dry. If looks could kill, this would be his deadly blow, and I would be dead five times over.

  Standing above the hole, Bear thrusts both palms down against his pant legs, sending dark specks splattering to the green forest floor.

  “I’m done playing your little games, water witch.”

  Internally, I cringe at the sound of the slur. Outwardly, though, I turn to saunter off. Smug pleasure rolls off of me as I confidently take a step away. He is done. He has officially decided that I am more work than I am worth.