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

by J. Bree

The high fae might ignore the earth, and the witches might have turned their backs on it at Kharl’s command, but I remember. The lessons my family taught me are burned into my mind, so even after centuries of fighting in a war, I can do what’s necessary and honor the land the way my kind always has.

They’re not following their prince’s order to stay silent around me. “Why would they bring a witch here? It's a danger to us all.” There’s a grunt as the other answers, “This one's different. There are no markings on its face. I wonder why that is.”

My fate is to save the kingdom with my marriage to the Savage Prince, and when I made up my mind to come back, I assumed the Fates were asking for my simple compliance. To meet him and submit to whatever horrors the Unseelie Court has in store for me.

The state of the kingdom is far worse than I imagined. Without magic and sacrifice, the damage will soon be irreparable. This is what I was brought back here to correct; I know it, even without the Fates chiming in.

I notice how much easier it is to breathe. The earth no longer suffocates; it welcomes me, cherishes me as it holds me.

It’s happy that I'm here, even if the high fae are not.

Centuries ago, I thought I could outsmart the Fates and find my mate sooner, her sweet voice filling my mind as she teased me and tempted me with nothing more than her presence there. I thought if I could just find her early, bending the fate I was given but not truly breaking it, I could save my people from the horrors of the war around us. I thought I knew better.

With hair as dark as the Seelie fae and skin as fair as Airlie’s, she looks nothing like the mindless, raving witches I’ve faced in the war.

They're already there, whispering and gossiping, though none of the gossip halts when I walk in. I don't expect it to.

“Her? I thought we were calling the witch an it,” Tauron mumbles. Roan shoots him a look, his brows tucked low. “The Fates have decided that she’s to be our future queen, whether you like it or not.”

He says it to Tauron, but there's no doubt his words are directed to me as well.

Roan has always been the voice of reason within our group, having been raised in a stable and loving household without the whispers of the Unseelie Court muddying his sense of self, t...

Roan doesn't have the same warped responses to things as the rest of us, none of the cutting humor and closed-off emotions to protect himself. He’s never had the need.

Since their marriage, Airlie has protected him with her wit and cunning the same way that he protects her with his sword and hands.

Do I marry the witch to take my throne, or do I declare all-out war with my uncle and take it by force? Only one of those options sounds appealing, but even if I had the support to do it, the Northern Lands were almost destroyed by a broken fate. Do I think myself stronger than the Sol King? Am I so arrogant that I believe I could succeed where he failed? No. But the other option makes me want to throw up, a sensation compounded by the headache still roiling in my skull.

he looks haunted. A cold sweat breaks out along my spine. “What's happened?” He shakes his head. “The forest was in my dreams last night. I feel as though it has sunk into my mind, and I can't get rid of it, even with the distance. It’s so angry at us all…so very angry.”

A careful display of siding with her husband, and one I was not expecting. When I sent Roan ahead of us yesterday, I expected Airlie to pack up and return to her ancestral lands to have the baby there, effectively tearing my family apart due to my ill-fated wedding and ascension.

She’s been so protective of her pregnancy, so careful, as if she did something wrong the first time around that caused the loss of her son. We all know that isn't true. The curse doesn't care how good of a parent someone would be. It takes every child. And here she is, siding with Roan and the enemy in the dungeon. I don't want to think about any of it.

We can’t just torture the witch into accepting you—the binding won’t work, and your union won’t hold without her full consent.”

I ignored grave warnings from Roan and Airlie and their mounting concerns for the complication being with her would bring to my life. Then I woke to the voice of my mate in my mind. After just one single, faltering interaction with the shyly joyous female, and I couldn’t bear the touch or sight of another.

I craved her like nothing I had felt before, her existence igniting a fire in my blood that fueled an intensive search of the kingdom as I raced against the Fates to find her. I forgot about the throne, my responsibilities, everything. None of it compared to the longing I felt for her.

There should be a bountiful harvest to come, but the devastation of the war continues to whittle away my kingdom.

There is no denying it. The land is dying.

As I continue to the outer wall, the few remaining villagers flinch and bow so as not to draw my attention or ire. Hundreds of years ago, even the whisper of my temper wouldn't have changed the villagers' perception of me, but with all of the refugees and survivors who now live here as well, even after providing them food and assistance for decades, they fear me. My uncle's sabotage is working.

If I take the throne. I curse viciously under my breath,

The time of the high fae is over. I have no choice but to marry the witch. Fates have mercy on my soul and my kingdom, but I’m going to have to do it.

The lack of food doesn’t concern me. My connection to the earth sustains me. I don't feel hunger or thirst, though I’m careful about drinking the water.

Maybe the Savage Prince will just keep me down here. Maybe he's found some way to marry me without my consent or participation, and maybe the Fates will be satisfied with that.

There's no way for me to answer her, thanks to the gag between my lips, so I simply stare back, unflinching and unafraid. I’m sure that my eyes are unnerving, because her temper flares to life, her lip curling and marring the beauty of her perfect face.

I say nothing and continue to stare back at her, unimpressed. I don't know what it is about this prince that they all think that I would want so desperately, considering the rumors about him and the harsh demeanor I've been subjected to. The cold-hearted prince who hunts witches for fun, relishes torture, and desires blood. The only whisper proven wrong so far is the one about his scarred face.

The scar does nothing to detract from his devastating beauty. It’s the loathing that burns within his Unseelie blue eyes when they meet mine that diminishes it.

I want anything but a throne.

Exhaustion nips at me, the type of tiredness that no amount of sleep can heal, and the magic in the air sickens me to the point that I want this female to leave and take this evil sensation with her.

Your curse. Her tone changed when that word left her mouth, her lip curling even further at the very sound of it. One of her hands drifts down to rest over her belly.

The magic that fills the space clings to her, clawing at her desperately as it seeks the life within her, and my stomach clenches violently as I realize it’s waiting for the baby, reaching toward her womb and biding its time.

I learned what it takes to curse someone, and I know exactly what it would take to curse an entire continent of high fae in such a way. Whatever other evil Kharl has wrought, none of it can compare to the blood sacrifice and power exchange of the curse.

How many Mothers and Maidens chose to follow him? How many did he abduct when their covens refused his call? Generations of power and bloodlines, all of them bled out and murdered to fuel this curse.

I understand the source of the loathing in this female’s eyes as she stares down at me, clutching her belly desperately, knowing that the child withi...

I look upon her with far more kindness than sh...

The moment she notices that softening in my gaze, her face twists into a snarl. “Your pity is despicable. I will carve those eyes right out of your head for daring to look upon me. Your k...

I’ll see to it that Soren fulfills his fate and then tortures you endlessly, exactly as you deserve, because you're nothing but a fil...

She's right. I do pity her. I pity them all.

I decide that the Savage Prince needs to work on his methods because, after centuries of my sleep being interrupted by Ureen attacks and the demands of being a healer, I finally feel well-rested once more.

My skin, though filthy with the dust and grime of the cell, glows with health, and even my cheeks have plumped out from the magic exchange, the skin no longer taut across my bones. I suspect that if I were to return to the Seelie Court right now, I would be unrecognizable to my friends.

This land needs me.

No matter how far I traveled or the traditions I honored in distant courts, this is where I belong.

Here I’m a natural conduit. If I gave myself over to the exchange, I could live forever in this suspended state. But it’s not my fate to do so, no matter how much the land calls for me.

None of it matters to me. I don’t need their trust or their approval to complete my fate. Instead, I continue in my meditative state.

I forget about everything happening around me and focus on the earth, letting magic take me over completely. This is the healthiest I've been since I left the forest; I’m in tune with nature, as I’m supposed to be as a witch. The Ravenswyrd witches were made from this earth, and I should never have forgotten that. And yet…I did.

He can take his throne and save his kingdom; I won’t kick up a fuss, no matter how much the arrogant male deserves it. I’ll do my own saving of the land from here without his meddling.