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

by J. Bree

His name is carved into my soul right next to the mate the Fates picked out for me, two facets of the same fate to end the war and save the fae folk from senseless death and violence.

A path laid out before me that is so terrifying, I ran from it the moment the Seer dismissed me from her temple.

Even when a trickle of warm blood rolls down my neck. I have no fear to give him. I know my fate.

You cannot defeat your enemies without your mate at your side. With your union, you shall end the war and take your throne.

I’ve long since suspected my own mate is a Seelie princess, and if she’s half as loyal, capable, and beautiful as the Outlands princess was, then the Fates will have blessed me beyond measure.

Years of longing for my croí have helped me develop a cold and impassive mask, hiding the maelstrom of frustration the Fates have cursed me to bear.

Even a single word from her has been denied to me because of her captivity, and the deaths I will deliver to those who took her from me loom, the wait finally drawing to a close.

He stays safely in Yris, untouched and suspiciously well-fed, while he lets the kingdom die to keep the power he holds.

Never have I let slip the details of the time and day of the arrival of my fate, but she’s here, finally within my reach, and with our union will come the end of this war and of the curse that has taken so much from us all.

Her voice is still clear in my mind, shyly speaking the name she gave me because I hadn’t told her my own. Every syllable and turn of phrase she used during those weeks that our mind had connected through our shared fate before she was ripped away from me echoes in my memory.

The Seer told me, time and again, that the Fates were teaching me patience, and no matter how hard I tried to find a way around it, they forc...

Supposedly, the Fates had decided that I needed to learn patience, and the best way to teach me that was to make me wait almost a thousand years for my mate. The person without whom I cannot become king.

I've been very careful about keeping the details of my fate a secret, never letting slip a single thing. Especially not the exact moment we are to meet, in case someone tried to dispose of my mate before I could make it to her.

My croí is already buried deep in my heart, and I’ll prove myself to her, whatever it takes.

I’ll save my kingdom, I‘ll heal my mate’s trauma from being kidnapped, and I’ll be the king my people need.

Every last second of this morning had been planned, and I’ll ensure that it goes off without delay. I will find the female chosen for me by the Fates to rule at my side. A high fae princess for whom I will accept nothing but the best.

My little croí, whom I have longed for, the soft, melodic tones of her voice in my mind so deeply missed but never forgotten. I reach out one last time to reassure her that I’m coming, that I won’t take no for an answer this time with the Fates backing me, but when I encounter the barrier in her mind one more time, I don’t feel the despair that usually takes hold.

I only wish that my reputation as the Savage Prince wasn't so prevalent throughout the lands.

If she’s been traumatized by her captors, then I'm sure the idea of a scarred brute for a husband will be hard for her to accept. Another failing that grates at me.

I worry sometimes that it was my fault she was kidnapped in the first place. There’s every chance that my uncle sent his guards or paid mercenaries to keep her from me and buy himself time to steal the throne from underneath me. Bloodlines be damned—if he’s responsible for her disappearance, I’ll kill him too.

The idea of learning her name—the real one and not just some pet name of affection—shoots a possessive streak of fire deep into my gut.

She's here, I can feel it. I can hear the Fates speaking to me, urging me to find her and be with her. I curl my hands into fists to control myself, my entire body filling with tension.

The Fates scream within me, demanding I kill the males touching her and all those who look on, gouge out their eyes for daring to look upon what is mine and for me alone.

My Unseelie nature kicks in, and my hand drops to the pommel of my sword, the sapphire there warm to the touch as the power of my ancestors lingers. Bloodlust blinds me for a moment before my senses finally return and, with them, the true horror of what stands before me.

Staring back at me, with contempt in her undeniably silver eyes, is my Fates-blessed mate. A witch. Every inch o...

My lip curls, a snarl bubbling out of the fiery pits of my gut, only for the wall in my mind that has separated us for two hundred excruciatingly long years to disappear and the voice I’ve dreamed of to finally echo inside my hea...

I know when my Fates-blessed mate arrives in the village. Like a bolt of lightning running through my blood, a tingling starts in the scar at my waist and works its way through my limbs until I feel as though my skin is going to slide right off my bones.

Each of them is tall and powerfully built, not the type of high fae to sit around and make decrees rather than join a fight themselves. I’m not surprised; I wasn’t expecting a pampered group.

There's no doubt which one is the Savage Prince. If the Fates singing to me the moment my gaze touches him isn’t enough, the scar is a dead giveaway, the angry slash marring an otherwise perfect face.

I tried to forget his name. I spent years shoving it out of my mind and losing myself in a war that was not my own, fighting for good people in a land as far from here as my brother and I could get.

The white slash that cuts through his beauty doesn’t detract from it at all, but only adds to the heartbreaking tension in my chest as my gaze traces over him. I couldn’t look away even if the Fates themselves commanded me to, though admittedly, I don’t try hard.

He physically recoils, the hand on his sword tightening as I imagine he fights the urge to kill me and be done with the chaotic mess we’re trapped in together.

The Savage Prince and I are the spectacle of Port Asmyr and its pathetically paltry marketplace.

The mercenary fumbles over his words, but as he holds up the other end of the chains, I turn to look at him and raise an eyebrow. I'm well aware that they were not bringing me to the guards.

The Savage Prince continues to stare me down with a look of pure loathing, but with a quick glance in his direction, one of the other Unseelie princes steps forward to speak. I’d guess he’s the Savage Prince’s second-in-command and has realized that his superior has been struck dumb at the sight of me.

I might have had some sympathy for this male, but I'm well aware he doesn't have a family. During the entire journey here, he lamented loudly that they were running on a tight schedule and so he couldn’t stop to have his own fun with me on the way. He joked constantly about the things he could do to me, even offering to make a spectacle of it for his friends, and the way they laughed and joked along with him made it clear it wouldn’t have been the first time.

I’m of the opinion that he should starve so he can’t do the same again to another less capable female.

I can feel the rage and disbelief rolling off him, but it takes another moment before he jolts out of the stupor the reality of his fate struck him into.

“Then it walks. I’m not touching it, and neither are any of you.”

Everything we pass is dead or dying, no signs of life in the charred remains of the fields. Witches are supposed to be the caretakers of the earth, protecting nature and the seasons by pouring our magic into the land and letting it replenish us in return. But it’s clear that none of the rituals that keep the lands flourishing have been undertaken for a long time.

I could open my mind to speak directly to the Savage Prince again, but I’ve put the wall back up between us, and it stands as strong as it did when I first created it at the Seer’s temple two hundred years ago. The disgust emanating from my mate still permeates the air around us, and no doubt he’d react poorly if I spoke to him that way again.

Back then, giving up the comfort of his presence was a great loss to me. Grieving as I already was for my family, it felt especially cruel to lose him too. Time didn’t heal the wound; with every snippet of news that came to the Seelie Court from the Southern Lands, the pain only intensified and burrowed deeper within me. No matter the tactics I tried, my memories of his voice and honeyed promises never faded.

The Fates are cruel and fickle, but I’ve had a long time to come...

The high fae ride in silence, though I sense it's more of a cautious thing. I'm sure none of them know what to say, and it makes me curious w...

Did he assume he was meeting the perfect female, some high-fae beauty, only to find his greatest enemy staring back at him? I should have sympathy for the male, but, staring at him, I find that I’m as cold and empty as ever. I feel as hollow now as I did standing on the Shepherd retur...

Kill them, Rooke. Kill them and be done with it. Return to the Northern Lands, to me, to our friends and family, to everyone who loves you. He never wanted me to leave the Northern Lands in the first place.

Prince Soren Celestial, heir to the throne of the Southern Lands. The name was imprinted on my heart at the tender age of eighteen, soaked with poison and wrapped in terror. He became my own personal ghoul, a demon who lived in my mind to torment me. He doesn't look so frightening now.

“The iron isn't burning her wrists. Are we sure that she’s a full-blooded witch? If she has magic, it should be roasting her by now.” Interesting. They clearly don’t understand the laws of magic, if that's what they believe.

So he is the one with the magic. His gaze never touches me, as if I might bewitch him in some fashion with one glance, but the Savage Prince does not share such concerns, throwing repulsed looks in my direction at every opportunity.

My head snaps up, catching their attention, and the Savage Prince sneers in my direction. “Take your eyes off us before you find yourself without them.”