The Crown of Oaths and Curses (The Mortal Fates #1)

by J. Bree

If I can travel to the Northern Lands, become a soldier there and fight the Ureen for centuries of heartache, if I can take the little girl from the forest and form her into the female that I am now, I can protect this small babe.

I’m sick of watching everyone around me die.

I sat in that cell because I chose to, not because I had to. I stayed there as a form of penance, one these people would never understand, not even with their own experiences of war.

Millennia ago, the high fae had healers of their own, but they stopped teaching such things and their magic was lost. They didn't care about using it, they simply hired witches and provided good homes for them within their castles,

“A wraith is formed when a witch dies a wrongful death, a curse on their lips as they cast a terrible magic at their most desperate hour.

He snarls back savagely, “I agreed to nothing, and you have no right to speak of my fate when yours is a happy life ahead! A husband and a son, a future laid out before you, when ash and blood and heartache are all I’ll ever know.”

No matter what the high fae choose to do in this war, Kharl the Betrayer's death is mine alone.”

There were many accounts of what happened to Fyrla, but the only thing anyone can agree on is that she bore a child of high-fae blood and died during the birth, unaided and with no family to build her funeral pyre.

That child now works in Princess Sari’s employ, a confession all of its own.

“Your people will wither and die, all while you're busy pouting about your fate. When you realize your mistake, you’ll have to beg me for my help, and still, I'll refuse to give it, because you're nothing but a useless, arrogant male. The regent might be drinking and dancing his way to ruin, but you're right alongside him, riding a horse with a sword into the very depths of darkness and taking your whole kingdom with you.”

The Fates were clear of my path and my union to the prince, in his tradition and mine. My sacrifice is still to come, after I join my soul to his in the old way.

“That doesn't look like begging to me. I'd rather walk until my feet bleed.”