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

by J. Bree

“I returned because my fate required me to. You should be grateful. That Savage Prince you’re so loyal to can’t ascend to the throne without me, can he? It seems as though I'm doing you all a favor by sitting here peacefully in this cell, and in typical Unseelie high-fae fashion, you have nothing for me in return, no gratitude or welcome. Nothing but selfish taunts and hollow threats of death. Pathetic, the lot of you.”

The Fates have clearly chosen the wrong male for me, because I feel no jealousy or sorrow at their fawning over him, nothing but derision and the itch of frustration—and poorly woven cloth—across my shoulders.

Something he said on the long walk here from Port Asmyr drifts into my mind, and I raise an eyebrow at him. “Have you finally learned some patience?”

“The goblins never stopped speaking to the trees. The Ravenswyrd has missed you for a very long time, and the sorrowful melody it sang for you reached far across the kingdom. I hope you return to the trees again soon, they have mourned your loss.”

didn't forget. I returned here and lost myself for a moment in the despair of the land, but I'm walking toward my fate now.”

“Your people will wither and die, all while you're busy pouting about your fate. When you realize your mistake, you’ll have to beg me for my help, and still, I'll refuse to give it, because you're nothing but a useless, arrogant male. The regent might be drinking and dancing his way to ruin, but you're right alongside him, riding a horse with a sword into the very depths of darkness and taking your whole kingdom with you.”

I won’t leave them behind.

“You missed me.”

Alone and with no regard for her own safety, the witch fights for Yregar.

“You heard what she said to Kharl. There's no denying her loyalties now. I told you the forest said she would save us all—the forest promised me she was honest and true and like nothing else in the Southern Lands. The last Ravenswyrd Mother cannot be overlooked or disrespected.”

All of these females are one and the same, each a facet of the same witch, driven out of the Southern Lands long ago by a war and a fate that terrified a child of the forest who’d known only peace and neutrality. My Fates-blessed mate.

“That doesn't look like begging to me. I'd rather walk until my feet bleed.”