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

by J. Bree

I have never taken my position as the heir lightly, and if I wasn't so sure of my abilities, I would have been far more hesitant to throw myself into the fray.

“I don't want to hear it, Soren, don't tell me about the things that only you can do right now, because I will shove you out of that fucking saddle and beat you to death myself.” Any other male would die for speaking to me like that, and a look around at the soldiers says they know it too, none of them meeting my eyes as Tauron fights to calm himself down.

We won't be able to burn the dead until we’ve seen Sari safely across the bridge to her father, and it’s imperative we do that as quickly as possible.

I was arrogant. I was confident that, if nothing else, the iron would keep her contained.

Tyton told me that she’s been using her magic, but only in exchange with the earth. She never crossed the iron bars, that he could tell, not physically or with her magic.

I made every excuse, told myself that it was fine because the small patch of grass we’d found was worth the risk of the witch being unbound in the cell. She was guarded at all times, what could she do? I rationalized it until I believed it, I left the witch to rot in those cells, and now ...

The entire area is on lockdown because of the baby, a solemn vigil as they wait for the news. It feels the same as the last time Airlie gave birth, everything except for Roan’s absence.

I can't build a funeral pyre without him here. I can't send his child to Elysium if he’s never gotten to see the baby.

There's no chance of him arriving here in time to be with his wife, his Fates-blessed mate, to mourn their child. At best, he’ll see a small bundle of cloth on the funeral pyres, wrapped in the finest of linens by his mother as we send the baby to Elysium to join their first son.

This is going to break Airlie once and for all.

A sound rends through the air that must stop everyone in the castle dead in their tracks, a hush falling like a blanket over us all. A sound so familiar, so longed for, so foreign now for however many centuries it’s been since we last heard it, and yet there’s no denying what it is. A newborn baby screams. A high fae baby. Living and breathing.

Princess Airlie looks down at the baby in my hands, tears still running down her face, but the shock at seeing him alive and squirming seems to render her senseless, unable to do anything but stare.

The ways in which women come together to help each other during this sacred time…it’s as the Fates designed us, and though my presence was never requested, I still feel the weight of that honor on me.

The princess doesn't say another word, not to me or Firna. Her eyes stay fixed on her son. It’s as if she fears the simple act of blinking will make him disappear from her arms.

I don't know how the high fae of the Unseelie Court once went about the early hours of life and caring for infants—the cultural differences in each of the different fae folk are usually quite stark—but Airlie nods her head and opens up her gown again, unquestioning, as Firna unwraps the baby once more.

The cold air washes over him and he finds his voice again, letting out a squeal of discomfort that quickly strengthens into a beautiful, healthy scream. Airlie’s eyes water again, but a smile stretches across her lips.

“He's alive,” she says again, and I nod. “Alive and hungry. He’s doing beautifully, Princess.” With a reassuring smile, I move around the bed to assist her. She doesn’t question me or protest as I help get him settled and feeding at her breast. She doesn’t need much direction, just a few little adjustmen...

If either of them attempts to grab me right now, it could harm the baby or his mother, and neither of those possibilities are acceptable to me. “This is a birthing room. You will not draw a weapon in the presence of a mother and a baby, not while I breathe.”

Airlie’s eyes finally move away from her son, snapping up to meet my gaze. She doesn't look scared or worried at the command in my tone, or the way my silver eyes are now glowing with magic. Her resolve is steady as I resume gently directing her son to eat, moving him and adjusting him until the latch is good and he begins to suck greedily.

“He’s alive,” she says again, her words barely more than a breath. The wonder in her tone forms a lump in my throat. This isn’t her first baby, but it is the first one she’s been able to hold close to her heart with nothing but joy. “Cousin, what has happened here?” Tauron demands, and Airlie grins back at him. “My son was born alive.”

I sit on the bed and watch them both, my mind already moving through the necessary actions that come after a baby. Airlie needs to eat. There are herbs we need to find to help her milk supply come in strong. Clothing and blankets, and we need to warm up the bedroom, because the baby is so small and will struggle to stay warm.

I glance around, but there's no cradle for the baby, no sign in this bedroom that they were p...

the lump in my throat only grows bigger. They were so sure that this was a futile attempt, and yet they still tried, this li...

“Princess Airlie asked the witch to stay after she offered her help. She saw the baby here safely, and she broke the curse. I’ll do as she says, for the sake of the prince’s health.” It’s not a question, but she doesn't move from the spot until Soren finally gives her the tiniest of nods, a jerking of his head that I'm sure cost him dearly.

His pride must be in ruins.

One tiny, pointed ear is visible over her arm, and my heart clenches at the sight of it.

The curse was denied him, but how many other infants just like him were taken?

Airlie murmurs, “And if I get them to promise they're not going to draw their swords, you’ll remove your magic bindings from them?” I raise a brow at her. “I don't care what they do to me, princess, what words they have to say or what punishment they deem necessary for my actions today, but none of it will happen in this room. I’ll take the magic off them, but they’ll have to restrain themselves until ...

She may love them both and respect them, she might be loyal to the Savage Prince and his claim to the crown, but in a few short minutes, she’s transformed from Princess Airlie into a mother. It’s a fearsome sight to behold.

Right now, all that matters is my son, and neither of you will bring her harm in this room. Not unless she strikes first.”

“Is it supposed to hurt?” she asks quietly, almost shy. I shrug carefully. “A good latch doesn't hurt, but he's on the small side, so it might take some growing for him to learn how to do it properly. Everything is going to be fine.”

I glance up, and Prince Soren is staring at me as though it’s taking every ounce of restraint within him not to wrap his hands around my throat and squeeze until my last breath is finished. It's clear he's not going to answer her, so I do it for him.

“What were you thinking?” Soren murmurs. Airlie snaps her gaze to him, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I was thinking that it was worth a try, that I would do anything to give my son a chance to live.” Soren scowls at her. “And if she had killed you, Airlie? She was probably the one to bring the labor on in the first place.”

“Soren, by the time she came into this room, I had decided I'd rather die with him than burn another son on the funeral pyres.”

I didn't cast the curse, and I certainly had no part in this war, but I’m still the enemy in their eyes. In any other circumstance, it wouldn't bother me, but the loss of a child is something I would never take lightly. I have helped bring too many into this world and out, the Fates choosing our paths but never with mercy.

The soldier groans again and rises carefully to his hands and knees. I remember that the third high-fae prince downstairs will be doing the same and no doubt charging up here soon, ready to kill me. In the shock of finding Airlie and her son, they seem to have forgotten about the missing prince.

Airlie glances at Prince Soren. “She delivered the Seelie Court’s heir. She saw him safely into the world even after a long labor. Whatever she did in the Northern Lands, they trusted her with their queen.”

Prince Soren stares at me, his eyes cold and hard. Nothing about today has changed his opinion of me, but that wasn't my intention in the first place. Our fate will unfold whether he likes me or not.

Prince Soren turns to Tauron and says, “Go down and get Tyton. Make sure that he’s alive and unharmed.”

“Go back down to the barracks, Renly, and join the watch there.” His tone is cutting, as though the soldier did something wrong. He was always going to be outclassed by me. I could feel pity for him, but I don't have that much empathy left for these people.

“What's to say that the list of herbs she has for you aren't going to poison or curse you? We have no knowledge of these things, Airlie; she could do anything to you.” We're going to talk around and around in circles forever, and I don't have the patience within me for such things, not when there’s a baby’s life at stake. I curse under my breath and roll my eyes, but he ignores me, intent on dancing around this topic all the way to Elysium and the Fates themselves.

“You all kept asking why I was trying for a baby when the curse was on us…my fate was Roan, you all know that, but the rest of my fate was that my son would break the curse.” My eyebrows slowly inch up my forehead. I wasn't aware that the high fae often got a longer fate than just who they were meant to be with.

I felt the curse pressing down on me and reaching desperately for him. I felt the witch protect him, felt her magic hold him and ease him into the world untouched. I felt the moment the curse broke, a war fought over my body, and we won, Soren. Your fate is to marry her and win the war.

I do not doubt the Fates. I did for a moment in my grief, but they didn’t falter, and my trust in them has brought my son here. You need to let her out of the dungeon to help Firna. You need to let her care for me and my son and see us through these first few weeks, at the very least.”

She’s been sitting in that dirty, dark hole under the ground for weeks, pretending to be at our mercy, and all the while she was playing a game.

It took three attempts before Tyton believed that the baby was alive.

When the realization finally set in that he couldn't hear Airlie crying, that her labor had ended but no one was preparing a funeral pyre, he fled the room without waiting to be dismissed, eager to see with his...

Firna stands before me with a resigned look on her face as she bows her head, prepared to take whatever punishment I might deal her for the events that transpired. For any other, I might have more doubts or questions to be answered, but I know my keeper and her love for Airlie, I know how loyal she is to me and my household...

Her head snaps up, her gaze meeting mine, and she nods slightly. “I saw the dungeon. I'm aware of the danger she truly is, but she fought for that baby. She was willing to do anything to be in that room and help the princess. The Fates chose her for you for a reason.”

I'm getting quite tired of everyone telling me the same thing as though it’s as simple as agreeing and taking her to my bed.