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

by J. Bree

Of course, the problem of the curse begins to eat away at the back of my mind.

My fate says that I'm here to save the kingdom from the war and that my marriage to the Savage Prince will set off a chain of events to end the bloodshed, but I know far more about the Fates than I did when I fled the Southern Lands. I understand that it's n...

No matter how much I want to sit back in this cell and retreat from the evils of this ...

Dozens, hundreds, maybe even thousands of babies have been taken from the loving arms of their mothers, strengthening the power of the curse with their sacrificed lives and building its evil and potency.

The longer I examine it, the more I learn. It might be an old and powerful form of magic but it’s also a weary curse, long overdue for a sacrifice to be poured back into it after so many long years without any high fae even attempting to fall pregnant. I might not be able to loosen its ties over the kingdom, but if I can manipulate it close enough to where it lingers over the princess before it takes the baby as a sacrifice, I might be able to break it.

I don’t stand a chance of the high-fae princes letting me use magic around the pregnant female. In their ignorance and...

it’s the one with magic. Tyton. The one my forest speaks to. That makes me want to trust him, the echo of the forest in his voice still ringing in my mind. If the trees have deemed him worthy, who am I to argue?

His voice is soft, sweet, like honey in a trap, but there’s no doubt he’d kill me just as swiftly as the others would. I don’t need the accusation in his words to know it—the sharp edge in his tone makes it clear enough.

He’s dressed in fine clothing, more casual than his armor but more formal than the clothing worn by the other princes so far. He’s put this outfit together for…something. Certainly not to come down here and speak with the likes of me.

I stare him down, and then my hand rises, and I loosen the bindings and tug the gag from my mouth. My lips are cracked, and I taste blood when I try to wet them, my tongue swollen and sore. My body might be in go...

Are you trying to goad me into crossing the iron bars so that you can kill me?” I don't need to cross the iron bars to kill this man I don't need to cross the iron bars to kill any of them.

A smirk stretches over his lips. It’s simple enough for me to read how confident he is in his abilities against me. I’m happy to use that confidence against him, and so I ask him the question I truly want an answer to.

Bluntness delivered from the face of an ethereal creature. I’m glad I’m well versed in the games of the high fae, because I’d be tripping over my answers if I wasn’t.

I rest my head against the cold stone of my cell and answer, my tone clear and sure. “I’m here to fulfill my fate. Whether you believe me or not doesn’t change a thing.

I shake my head back at him, a mocking display of disappointment, as though I really had assumed he’d speak to me. I know he won’t, that none of them will give me anything. We’re quickly reaching a stalemate that will end only with me being stuck down here forever, but I suppose telling him this truth won't hurt anything.

Around in circles we go.

It’s a sore point for them all, a wound I can poke and prod whenever I want to gall them into a tantrum. It's strange to me that Prince Soren’s nickname is what upset him, but Tyton turns and leaves without fulfilling his part of the bargain. I'm not surprised or upset by it. I’ve learned a good way to dig under the skin of my Fates-blessed mate and his friends, should I need to.

I’m living proof that not all witches want this conflict and many have been caught in the crossfire, the tales of thousands of those deaths still spoken of widely in the Northern Lands by those who had fled there.

I hate the soldier on principle.

A frown settles on the brow of the other soldier, and his eyes turn toward the stairs. “If you get caught down here it'll be both our lives. They're taking her very seriously. Whatever she knows, it’s big.”

His eyes are icy blue and frenetic as they linger on me as though I'm nothing more than a piece of meat. A manic energy emanates from him. He’s practically salivating, the prospect of violence exciting him into a frenzy, and I’m sickened by it.

I know what it’s like to be stuck in the middle of a war and to loathe your enemy for every last one of the atrocities you’ve been forced to live through, to see, and to bear with no end in sight. I know what it’s like to hate so blindly that you feel as though you will never know any other emotion.

I also know that males who take advantage of an enemy in the way this male is suggesting are using revenge as an excuse to hide their true nature. There's a darkness within their hearts, an evil that can't be explained away because, no matter how violent the battles became, the male soldiers I fought alongside—those I counte...

Lysen says, feebly, “Her hands aren't bound and there's no gag in her mouth.” Merrick shrugs. “Prince Tauron has spoken with her. She can’t have any talent with magic, so there’s no danger. Do you think some witch bitch is going to be able to overpower me? Maybe we're not truly friends if you think so, Lysen.”

He’s got nothing but cold arrogance in his face, complete assurance that he's stepping into a room with his next victim and not about to be caged with a monster.

I may not be what they all expect, but I'm also not defenseless. Whatever assumptions he’s made, they’re wrong.

I told Luren and Oslo that I was coming down. Both of them said they'd try her out as well, just as soon as their shifts end. We’ll have her to ourselves for long enough to get the fun started.”

He does nothing more to stop his so-called friend.

it’s clear to me he’s not going to hesitate. I idly wonder how I'm going to explain this to my Fates-cursed mate.

I decide to stop this before I lose the only outfit I have in my own style. There's a small flash of light as my dagger appears in my hand, and the surprised look on his face when he sees it is the same look he wears in death, my hand moving too fast for him to avoid.

I slide the dagger into his gut as easy as butter, angling upwards and pushing my magic through the blade itself and into his body to magnify the damage. It’s easy magic, small and undetectable to the untrained observer but devastating to the body, no matter which race it’s used against.

Less powerful witches need their voices to cast spells, but as the Mother of the Ravenswyrd Coven and with the strength the earth has been cycling into me for weeks pouring into my magic res...

He’s dead before I yank the dagger out of his gut, his blood splattering the ground and pouring onto the dirt like a sacrifice, the earth greedily drinking it in. Something wakes beneath us, something old and tired and angry, and it calls to me with a chant from the deepest ...

I press a hand against Merrick’s chest and shove his body away. It falls backwards and hits the ground with a cracking sound from his skull. Lysen, who had only a view of his friend’s back, yelps and startles toward the body. His instinct to help Merrick is instant, and he draws his sword as he moves, but realization of what’s actually happened takes a mo...

When he spots the blood pouring from Merrick’s gut, he looks at me with a snarl and lifts his sword, and that’s enough intent for me. I move faster than he does, fast enough that he’s caught by surprise as I spin and slash my dagger across his throat with ease, a quick and practiced swipe. His sword swings downwards, narrowly missing me before it clatters to the ground, his hands ...

My eyes stay trained on him as he flails for a moment, choking and gasping, before I step past them both and pull the door of the cell shut. I reach through the bars and pull the key from the lock as well, then throw it across the room out of my reach so that it looks as though I had no choice but to stay in here.

The earth sighs beneath me, happy for the extra blood it's been given. I don't feel an inch of guilt for killing either of them. Not the would-be rapist nor the friend too gutless to say no and mean it.

I feel nothing as I let my eyes slip shut and sleep take me over, the bodies that are readily cooling only steps away from me already forgotten. It's not my first time sleeping next to the dead, and as I savor the thrum of the Fates dancing underneath the scars of my back and my belly in their joy at my actions, I'm sure it won’t be my last.

“Why were two soldiers down there in the first place?” I snap, and he grimaces, the fury from his tone bleeding over his features until he’s practically vibrating with rage. “That was the first question I asked as well, and after some investigation, I have theories—none of them good. I’ll let you take a look in the cell before I say anything else.”

It's as if both of them stood there and allowed themselves to be killed. There isn't a single mark on the witch, her eyes icy and cold as she stares back at us across the cell.

Unease pools in my gut, and my mouth tightens to mask it. She’s been sitting down here without a word of protest, no reactions to the squalor or the scraps she’s been fed, no requests to clean herself or even a chair to relieve the discomfort of the stone cell. She’s been a model prisoner, and now two males are dead at her feet, locked inside the cell with her. Whatever I was expecting her first move against us to be, it wasn’t this.

Magic. I don't even have to say it before Tauron responds. “She's in a cell in the depths of a cavern, deep underground, surrounded by iron bars, and has been fed the bare minimum. There’s no way she could have used magic to kill them.”

Roan shakes his head at us all as though we're ignorant. “It's a status within covens, you idiot. It means there are people out there who belong to her and follow her. It means she has power.” I look at the witch, but she's no longer staring at me. Instead, she's fixed her attention on Tyton as though he’s some great puzzle she needs to figure out. I don't like it and, from the look on his face, Tauron loathes it.

Tauron steps behind him with one hand on the grip of his sword, protective and ready to swing at a moment's notice, but the witch doesn't move. She shows no interest as they remove the bodies from the cell.

I look down and see the open button on Merrick’s trousers, a glaring declaration of intent. Rage numbs my senses for a moment, bile churning in my gut as I bite back a slew of curses at the son of pixie-whore stupid enough to think of touching her.

The Fates might’ve made a serious misstep by commanding us to be together, but my body hasn’t fully accepted just how wrong this witch is for me.

Any soldiers who don't follow my orders are no better than the regent’s guards, and are better off dead.”

Roan is training with the soldiers at the barracks, and Tauron has taken a shift watching the witch, his spite for her fueling his surveillance. The witch’s nose won’t twitch without his assessment.

She holds herself like a soldier. She killed two high fae with a dagger and no struggle. She hasn’t cowered or flinched at the rough treatment she’s received, and she walked behind the horses like the journey was nothing more than a casual stroll. She hasn’t tried to fight back, though, clearly outmatched, and I doubt that she was much more than a foot soldier or a sentry, nothing worth concerning myself with when the lives of my people hang in the balance.

The entire Unseelie Court will arrive by nightfall to absolve you of the rumor that has reached Yris—that your mate has been found, and she is a witch. His Majesty, in his mercy, had proclaimed he will execute anyone speaking such treasonous lies about his beloved nephew. He is concerned about such slander against your reputation.”