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

by J. Bree

He’ll stay overnight and leave at my uncle’s command, but if he thinks to lash out at any of my household with that demeanor of his, he’s going to find himself sitting in the dungeon beside the witch.

I can’t bear to go down there and lay eyes on the witch again myself, the tug of the Fates in my chest and my body reacting to her nearness a torture I won’t suffer needlessly.

My cousins have taken to learning what they can from her instead, and Tyton was the one to discover she can touch the iron implements we've been using against her without lasting damage, if any occurs at all.

The cell contains her because of the lock and the guard, not the iron, and she isn’t buckling under the torturous conditions becaus...

It’s clear she isn’t just a witch. Whoever she is, wherever she's come from, she's far stronger than any of h...

The lack of witch markings should have been our first indicator, and I’m determined not to miss any f...

My ill-fated mate never leaves my mind, the silver of her eyes the first thing I think of when I wake and the last thing I imagine before I slip into a begrudging slumber.

I’ve been receiving updates of her quiet compliance within the cell but I haven't been able to bring myself to face the reality of my mate. Until now, when I have no choice.

I’ve become adept at reading the condition of those living in squalor, and she’s flourishing.

Her hair is in need of a good wash, and her hands are blackened from the grime of the cell, but there’s still a quiet, serene sort of beauty to her.

I catch myself leaning toward her, that thread pulling at me until I have to take a step back to regain control, muttering a curse at myself.

It’s a betrayal to my people to even notice such a thing, and shame curls in my gut until every i...

I want to cru...

I want to destroy her.

“If you want me dead so badly, Savage Prince, then maybe you should just kill me.”

Her voice is too melodic. The way that it wraps around me and embraces me so wholly is like a dark seduction, a siren’s call. It’s different from the voice that haunted m...

She’s not just more mature—the hesitance is now gone, the way that she once responded with wonder to my every encouragement. Long ago, through the connection of our shared fate, I could feel her drawing closer to me just as I reached for her, but there’s no sign of her fighting the pull of the Fate...

The leather of my gloves creak as my hands fi...

Her eyes finally open and focus on them, then shift up to my face. She’s expressionless, seeming unaffected by me even as she wrecks every last wall I’ve built around myself, ruining the façade of a...

When I look at her, I am the Sa...

Roan tried to convince me to clean her up before I take her to face the entire Unseelie Court, but the thought of showing her any sort of kindness fills me with rage...

She stares at me as though I haven't spoken. Her gaze is unwavering, those magnetic eyes taking in every inch of me and finding me wanting. There's nothing inherently disrespectful about her expression, nothing terrorizing or combative, and yet it feels like another war that I am losing, as though my throne is slipping from my fingers the longer that she stares.

“You’ll have to wear the gag again. It doesn't matter how much we teach the Unseelie Court about the dangers of witches, they only truly feel safe as long as you can't speak.” One perfectly shaped eyebrow slowly rises, and finally some emotion creeps onto her face as a smirk slowly tugs at the corner of her mouth. “They think I need words to be able to cast against them? My, how far the mighty Unseelie high fae have fallen from the way of the world.”

My temper flares. I’ve had control of my anger and rage for centuries, and yet she has torn it down with nothing more than a few words spoken in her barbed-honey tone. “You would do well not to speak like...

“I don't need a case to stay alive. I have the Fates on my side. If you want your kingdom to survive, you'll do as they ask.”

Tauron shows no hesitation as he drags her up the stairs behind us, but Tyton is acting strangely, glancing back at her every so often. Unease settles deeply into my bones but I push it out of my mind, just as I fight to push her out as well. Now is not the time to question my cousin about it.

Memories flood back to me…the playful tone of her voice, the soft moans she sent to me through our mind link, her willing submission to every last one of my demands as she pleasured herself while she bathed. My blood heats…and rage incinerates any remnants of the lust that once lingered.

I don't want to offer her any kindness or pleasantries. I want her to suffer in the worst way, and as the Fates have said I cannot simply kill her and end my own torture, this will have to do.

He never touches her belly now that it is once again round with child, not the way he did before. It’s as if he’s detached himself entirely from what’s to come to save his own sanity.

I still have no idea how Airlie convinced him to try again.

I'm aware of what’s at stake if I get this wrong.

While Roan has never quite understood the complexities of the Unseelie Court, thanks to growing up far away from it, he does have an intense loyalty to the crown and to me. He’s never faltered, not even before he and Airlie found each other and were blessed in marriage, thanks to the Fates.

I have always listened to the advice of my oldest and most trusted friend, but for this, I can't even attempt it. The witch is ruining everything.

My temper begins to wake down deep in my gut, like the slow smolder of a fire. It’s not yet raging, but for the first time in a very long while, there’s something there.

I miss my brother and my friends.

The high fae covet their wealth and their beauty, their thrones and their bloodlines, all while the land has turned to dust. Kharl’s rhetoric would’ve never gained popularity with the covens if the high fae had remembered and honored their traditions.

Kharl might have been the one to shove the witches over the edge of madness, but the high fae led them to that edge.

The Savage Prince stayed firm in his decision not to let me clean myself up, and I find the numbness that washed over me the moment I decided to journey back to the Southern Lands thawing out. Shame curls in my chest until every breath shreds my lungs like broken glass.

The filth covering me might not be my fault, but my cheeks flush regardless, bile churning in my gut. The Savage Prince’s loathing and ire is one thing, but parading me around in this condition might be his best attempt at torturing me so far.

Fates be damned—I faced Ureen and survived the end of the world just to be forced to endure this? My magic tingles at the end of my fingers, my mind filling with the voices of all those I love who would gut th...

It’s a futile fantasy to hold. Pemba, Hanede, Stone, Cerson, a hundred others—I left them all behind to fulfill my fate, and this is what I’ve been dealt. There are two options left to me, but I ...

This isn’t my doing. Someday, the Savage Prince will have to explain his actions to his ancestors and mine when he’s carried to Elysium on the smoke of the funeral pyres.

I’d rather be cursed to walk the Fates alone for all time and never feel the peace of Elysium than bring such shame to my mother and father, and in this, my heart is clear.

I might be forced to walk through the castle on display as a dirty witch, but I hold my head high and unrepentant, ne...

There are many things that go wrong when a society becomes insulated like this, and the starving villagers outside the castle walls are proof of that. I think I'm about to get a vicious example of just what can go wrong.

It’s the first sign of intelligence I’ve seen at the Unseelie Court. I don't suspect we’ll see much more today. A competent ruler would not have let his kingdom fall into this state.

They’re shallow and thoughtless royals, cruel and selfish high fae, as most tend to be, but there’s more under the surface. I don’t want to see it.

I don’t want to be dragged into the light of day, to learn about the complexities of these people, to have any empathy in my heart.

they’ve done nothing to deserve that empathy from me. I just want to be left alone.

He treats her tenderly, but it’s glaringly obvious to me that he is purposefully avoiding the babe within her womb, a detachment that comes from a specific form of grief. This is not the first baby they have lost.