Curse of the Dark Kingdom: Collection One: Curse of the Dark Kingdom Collections, #1

By Amberlyn Holland

At the moment tyrannical King Aegron the Cruel was assassinated, each of his children was struck by a different dark curse. 
Five years later, the Dark Kingdom is struggling to survive.

 

Five royal siblings. Five devastating curses.

 

Can they find Happily-Ever-After in time to save a kingdom on the brink of destruction?

 

Get the first three books in the Curse of the Dark Kingdom series, collected in one edition.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amberlyn Holland
• Release date: May 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224365746

Amberlyn Holland

Amberlyn writes epic fantasy romance and re-imagined fairy tales featuring dragon-shifters, fierce princesses, magic, and happily-ever-afters. She grew up reading her older sister’s SFF collection and her mother’s category romances so it’s only natural her storytelling leans toward magic, romance and adventure. Amberlyn currently lives in Northern New York where her writing schedule, and life, revolve around the whims of her dog. When not catering to a demanding terrier or getting lost in books, she enjoys crafting, watching football and hockey, and hanging out with her husband. If you want to keep up to date on new releases and special events, as well as receive exclusive content like a free digital copy of Kiss the Dragon, sign up for her newsletter at http://www.amberlynholland.com/newsletter/   

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Other Series by Amberlyn Holland

DRAGON EVER AFTER

WOLVES EVER AFTER

TALES EVER AFTER

CURSE OF THE DARK KINGDOM

THE LOST SHRINES

Find more at: https://www.amberlynholland.com/bookshelf

To find out about upcoming books, exclusive stories, and other exciting quests, sign up for Amberlyn's Adventures newsletter at https://www.amberlynholland.com/newsletter/

Contents

Princess of Thorns

Prince of Frogs

Soldier of Fire

Princess of Thorns

Amberlyn Holland

Copyright © 2022 by Amberlyn Holland

Cover design by Jacqueline Sweet

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Amberlyn Holland

[e-mail]

www.amberlynholland.com

Contents

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Chapter Sixteen

17. Epilogue

Chapter One

Before she was cursed, Princess Islyne never imagined following a strange cat through a magic forest of thorns would become a normal part of her day.

But then again, there were quite a few things she would never have considered doing before the curse. Sometimes, it felt like the life she'd lived before belonged to someone else.

With a huff of impatience, Cat turned to stare at Islyne with her startlingly violet eyes. The black and white feline paused on the trail with an air of exasperation at how far she'd fallen back while contemplating.

I'm coming, Islyne assured her and picked up the pace in response to Cat's frustrated whisker twitch.

With a flick of her tail, Cat stalked ahead, making it clear that she expected Islyne to keep up. Somehow, the inability to speak was not an obstacle when Cat wanted to get her point across.

That skill, combined with the unusual eye color, often made Islyne wonder if Cat was someone's familiar.

It was said that the most powerful witches in history had violet eyes.

Maybe the trait also appeared in the animals who helped them in their magic.

Considering how Cat came and went, sometimes even appearing when Islyne called for her, the involvement of someone, or something, magical wasn't so far-fetched.

Islyne was never quite sure how she felt about the possibility that some unknown witch was responsible for the way Cat wandered in and out of her life.

On the one hand, it was almost certainly a witch who'd cast the curse at the moment Islyne's father was assassinated by an enemy soldier. A curse that afflicted every one of King Aegron's children in different ways, and left the kingdom of Darkhar in a state of chaos.

On the other hand, the curse offered Islyne the first taste of freedom she'd ever experienced.

Five years ago, Islyne would have been too timid and afraid to risk the thorns, darkness, and magic dangers lurking along the forest's shadowed paths.

But five years ago her body had been Trapped in cursed sleep while her spirit traversed the treacherous trails through the maze of thorns.

For three generations, the Winter Palace had been all but forgotten by Islyne's family. Rarely used, only a handful of staff remained to maintain the royal retreat that once hosted lavish seasonal celebrations.

And so, a sparse forest had grown up around the once manicured grounds.

Even after Aegron the Cruel sent his only daughter to reside there with nothing more than a nanny and handful of extra staff, no one had bothered to do much about the overgrowth.

But the dark, ominous forest Islyne passed through now was nothing like the rambling groves she'd been able to see from her bedroom window.

In the hours after Islyne fell to the powerful curse, the gentle woodland changed drastically.

When she'd collapsed in the Grand Foyer the trees had just begun to grow unnaturally. They hadn't yet cast long shadows over the palace, twisting into dark, threatening silhouettes.

Nor had the delicate vines that once clung to the palace walls thickened and slithered out to meet the growing chaos. Climbing over and through the menacing trees to become netted structures that gave the thick bramble bushes something to climb as they sprang up between the looming trunks.

She hadn't seen the handful of retainers who served the Winter Palace flee the castle as it became clear the forest was going to continue to spread.

Leaving their afflicted princess to slumber, alone and abandoned, in her tower bedroom.

Hadn't watched dawn break the over the cursed, impenetrable forest of thorns that had grown high enough to eclipse the Winter Palace and wide enough to stretch for miles in all directions.

But that was the world Islyne had woken to.

Well.

Perhaps woke wasn't precisely the word.

When she opened her eyes, Islyne stood in the luxurious and lonely bedroom where she'd slept nearly every night from the time she was five.

And where she still slept.

Because, while Islyne was awake and standing, her body was stretched out on the bed where the servants had left her before they'd run away.

Her long golden braid lay over her shoulder and her eyes were closed. Her face was pale and expressionless, and someone had neatly folded her hands over her stomach.

For a long, terrifying moment, Islyne had believed she'd died. That she was a specter hovering over the corporeal body she'd departed. Doomed to haunt the empty palace for eternity.

But the faintest rise and fall of her chest showed Islyne her body still breathed. Whatever she'd become, she wasn't a ghost.

Still, it was unnerving to find her ethereal body wore the same lavender day dress and matching slippers that adorned the motionless version of herself stretched out on the bed.

When curiosity eventually overcame the paralyzing fear, Islyne dared to tentatively touch the sleeping princess. Her outstretched finger passed right through, leaving nothing but a cold, uncomfortable sting in its wake.

Islyne flexed her fingers and lifted her hand. It still looked solid and substantial to her eyes. But when she reached out to press against the nearest twisted bramble of spikes, thorns slid through her, leaving only the icy prickle.

She'd gotten used to the strange sensation that had replaced touch, but Islyne would never get past the reminder that she wasn't real. That she was little more than a ghost Trapped in the unnatural forest with nothing to do but haunt its trails.

And yet, Islyne couldn't truly regret it, either.

Five years ago, she would not have been allowed to venture beyond the walls of the Winter Palace.

She'd felt like a prisoner. But that was giving herself too much importance in her father's estimation. She was a pawn. An object of some indeterminate value that might one day be traded for something more advantageous.

Aegron the Cruel had valued sons. Strong, loyal warriors who followed orders.

Islyne, his youngest child and only daughter, was simply another commodity to Aegron. Useful only as bait for some arranged marriage to further an alliance or political agenda.

Islyne had still been a few months shy of marriageable age when her father finally found a use for her and negotiated a betrothal that enriched his current ambition.

She'd spoken to her betrothed exactly once. Then she'd been returned to the isolation of the Winter Palace. Where she'd quietly dreaded the moment she came of age in order to begin her life sentence.

The curse that swept through the royal family only a few weeks shy of her birthday had, ironically, been Islyne's salvation.

One that changed them and confined them within arbitrary boundaries surrounding the strongholds they'd inhabited at the time of the curse.

For Islyne, that meant remaining Trapped within the perimeter of the thorn forest.

Mostly.

Neither her spirit nor her body could exit the wall of thorns that hemmed her in. But her insubstantial self could be transported by magic to random corners of the kingdom through mysterious fairy circles hidden within the thorn forest's twisting paths.

Since discovering the possibility, Islyne had traversed more of the world than she'd ever been allowed to visit when her body was awake and her father controlled her every breath.

It was exciting and terrifying. Islyne found herself uplifted by some of the things she'd seen. Others brought her to tears.

She'd had an unprecedented chance to watch the brothers she'd barely known. To see them without the cold, cruel, arrogant façades they'd been compelled to wear in their father's presence.

And had ached that they could not know her in return.

When she traveled through the circles, Islyne was a silent witness only. No one knew she was there. No one saw her. Or spoke to her. Or touched her.

Not that physical contact was even possible. The fickle magic of the curse made it impossible for Islyne to interact with anyone or anything.

Except for chairs.

For some reason, she was able to sit without sinking through things.

It felt like some kind of cruel cosmic joke.

No matter how many people she saw and heard, she remained alone and lonely. But she could have a seat whenever she wanted to. Even though her strange spirit form never seemed the slightest bit tired.

Islyne stumbled over Cat, who'd stopped abruptly in her path. A flick of the black tail and a disgruntled yowl made her displeasure known.

Sorry, Islyne offered with a wince of guilt. I wasn't paying attention.

A huff of breath was clearly an agreement and a rebuke as Cat pointedly looked to the small, clear space among the thorns beside her.

A perfectly symmetrical ring of colorful mushrooms four feet across glowed merrily in stark contrast to the ominous gloom that permeated the rest of the forest.

Where are we? Islyne frowned, taking in their surroundings. Usually, they stuck to the circles closer to the palace. This one, however, lay almost at the edge of the forest.

Cat meowed and her thin shoulders lifted in what could be a sigh of exasperation or a shrug of dismissal.

Dozens of the strange circles were scattered throughout the forest, and every time Islyne stepped inside one, her spirit was swept away to some other location. Someplace where she could listen and watch and try to piece together what was going on. With the curse. With her brothers. With the kingdom.

As much as Islyne wanted to spend all her time watching her family, the magic circles seemed to have a plan of their own.

Each event and conversation and moment she'd been privy to, no matter how seemingly random or mundane, was the piece of a larger puzzle.

She knew there was growing unrest among the populace of Darkhar. That more and more disasters, both big and small, were befalling the kingdom. And that the blame was being laid at the feet of her brothers.

Specifically, Kyllean. The eldest, he'd become de facto king when Aegron fell.

Islyne watched helplessly as his increasing desperation led to more erratic orders and proclamations in response to the rising problems. It was clear to her that Kyllean's futile attempts to maintain control while Trapped in the icy north only exacerbated the difficulties and unrest. And there was nothing she could do about it.

But her broad view also made it obvious that the capricious decisions her brothers made were reactions to the issues constantly plaguing their territories. They were not the cause of the problems assailing Darkhar.

They were a symptom.

Something bigger and more sinister was at play behind the scenes.

Unfortunately, Islyne had not been able to piece together what, or who, was truly responsible.

Cat mewled again, staring pointedly at Islyne before transferring the glare to the circle with deliberate intent.

What's the hurry? Islyne asked, letting a bittersweet chuckle escape her lips. The circles aren't going anywhere. And neither am I.

Rolling her vivid violet eyes, Cat settled onto her haunches and began cleaning one paw as if she didn't have a care in the world.

If there was one thing Islyne had learned, however, it was that when Cat appeared and herded her toward a circle, it was with a purpose. There was something important she needed to see or hear.

In the first year of her cursed existence, Islyne explored every inch of the empty castle. It surprised her at first to find the hearths and candles eternally lit. But as days passed into weeks that stretched into months, there was no dust, no decay, no change in the palace at all. It was as if time and the normal order of things ceased to have meaning within the castle walls.

She'd ventured outside once or twice, but the darkness and the ominous threat of the thorns had deterred her.

Fear had overruled her natural curiosity and boredom.

Until Cat appeared one day.

As Islyne had contemplated the forest from the safety of her bedroom window one morning, she'd spotted the black and white cat. It had been caught in a tight place between a thick vine and a grasping thorn bush and was struggling to get out. Compassion and concern had shoved aside her ever-present fear, and she'd rushed out of the palace.

Only to remember that she could do nothing to help free the tiny ball of fur from its predicament.

But, as soon as Cat spotted Islyne, she'd wriggled herself clear of the thorns.

Then proceeded to haughtily badger Islyne into exploring the surrounding forest. Every few days, she'd appear somewhere in or near the palace and lead the way down a new trail to a new adventure.

Eventually, Cat led her to the fairy ring nearest the castle and bullied her into stepping inside the glowing circle.

A disorienting, dizzying moment later, Islyne found herself face to face with Kyllean, who was shouting impatient orders at someone just beyond her ability to see. She'd been momentarily disheartened to realize her brother could not see or hear her.

Until she realized Kyllean was demanding the unseen man find some way to discover what happened to Islyne. The fear and raw concern that underlay his usual autocratic disposition was the first hint she'd ever had that anyone in her family might care about her welfare.

Might consider her more than just a means to an end. Or an obligation to be remembered from time to time.

All too soon, however, the world had spun around Islyne again, and she'd found herself dumped back into the circle.

And that established the pattern of their unconventional friendship.

Most days, Cat was content to let her explore on her own. Sometimes accompanying her. Sometimes not appearing for weeks at a time.

And, occasionally, appearing unexpectedly, to nudge her insistently toward a particular circle.

Like today.

Despite the nonchalant way Cat licked at her paws, an air of impatience simmered through the whole forest.

As if the world held its breath, waiting for Islyne to enter the circle.

Islyne could be contrary and linger on the edge, but that wasn't really her nature.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped into the center of the ring and braced herself for the swirling sensation she never quite got used to.

Darkness swept her up in the unsettling twirl of nothingness as she Blinked between the cursed forest and her unknown destination.

***

The forest of thorns was a towering, unrelieved wall of tightly woven brambles, vines, and unnaturally gnarled trees.

Conall, Duke of Lakentre, squinted and twisted his head one way then another, trying to get a better look at the minuscule break in the foliage.

Are you sure this is a way in, Unwir?

There was no time for any more false leads and Conall made no effort to hide the skepticism he felt.

He wanted to believe. Finding a way to pierce the barrier of thorns was necessary to his plan.

But Conall was not convinced the faint break in the tight weave of brambles could stretch enough to allow a toddler to pass through, let alone a full-grown man.

I'm sure, Your Grace, the informant assured him with a vigorous nod. My cousin slipped in on a dare. I watched him go in myself. I was certain I'd never see him again when the vines swallowed him up…

Unwir let his words drop into an exaggerated whisper, playing out the drama for all it was worth as he drew his dark green cloak more tightly around him.

At the same time, Conall recognized real fear cloaked beneath the more obvious greed.

But then, there he was, singed and rambling. Looking as if he climbed the gates of hell to drag himself back to my aunt's house a full two weeks after he disappeared into the thorns.

Did he find the Winter Palace?

Unwir shook his head, looking forlorn. Though whether it was for his cousin's misadventure or the lack of treasure, Conall could not be sure.

He swears the forest is alive and moves at a whim. He spent days wandering aimlessly through a maze of trees. The only thing he encountered were the cursed traps hidden among the thorns.

What kind of traps?

Unwir shuddered, and this time Conall was certain the reaction was real.

There were stretches of trails where geysers of fire erupted wherever he stepped. There was a pit of darkness he was inches from stumbling into. There were places where the voices of the dead roared their anger in his head. He even swore he saw the ghost of a woman who disappeared when he called out.

The moment of honest disquiet slipped from Unwir, however. Then sly, greedy curiosity took over, though he quickly hid it behind a mask of faux concern. Someone'd have to be reckless, like my cousin, or desperate to find something significant to risk going into that cursed place. Whatever's in there must be of great importance to you?

For a second, the question hung in the air. As much as Conall wanted to ignore it, he knew he couldn't.

My betrothed. Conall ground out the short, succinct answer through clenched teeth, determined to head off any new rumors of treasure. The last thing the kingdom of Darkhar needed was treasure hunters swarming the cursed forest.

Ah. Unwir nodded in understanding, though his disappointment was poorly hidden. True love, is it?

Conall pinched his lip and kept his gaze steady, answering quietly, Something like that.

Chapter Two

When the vertigo disappeared and bright sunshine chased away the spiral blankness, Islyne stood on a balcony high above the shimmering blue waters of the Laerthar Sea. Her heart pounded a terrified rhythm against her ribs as she looked down at what felt like miles of empty air between her and the wharf below.

Tearing her eyes away, Islyne rubbed her hand over her chest as she tried to calm herself. Not for the first time, Islyne couldn't help wondering at the oddity of feeling the rapid pulse of fear in her veins or the uneasy flutter of nerves in her stomach when her body wasn't even real. She was a spirit passing unseen and unheard through the world. But most of the time, she felt substantial and solid and exactly like she had before the curse.

Of course, it was not the strangest thing about her cursed magical existence. She could walk on floors and sit on chairs, but the rest of the time, she passed right through anything she tried to touch.

Those moments when she inadvertently walked through a wall were unnerving reminders of what she'd become.

Islyne peeked over the railing one more time, but the dizzying view of the half-filled harbor hadn't changed. Hurriedly, she backed away from the edge wondering how she'd ended up at nearly the very top of the Lighthouse.

It wasn't the first time one of her trips through the circles brought her to the ancient structure. Usually, though, she arrived somewhere below, in the fortress that had sprung up around the base of the tower.

Once, the Lighthouse had been simply one among many such beacons warning of unseen hazards in the sea.

But in the time of legends, a cataclysm had rocked the continent of Morroinn. The land and sea had been reshaped by floods, quakes, tornadoes, and storms of fire. When it was over, the five kingdoms had been all but cut off from one another. Only a handful of accessible safe passages allowed travel across Morroinn.

All of them leading through Darkhar.

Somehow, the once dangerous waters the Lighthouse had warned of became the only safe harbor on the western coastline.

Now, the brilliant flame glowed blue-green in the night to distinguish it from the warning yellow of others of its kind.

The Lighthouse was one of four such watch posts that guarded the valuable trade routes through Darkhar.

Most of Islyne's ancestors had understood the value of keeping trade flowing freely throughout the continent and were generous in the trade agreements they made with their neighbors.

Only a generation ago, the Lighthouse Harbor was continuously filled to the brim with ships traveling to and from the island kingdom of Laerthar. Islyne had read dozens of stories about the carnival-like atmosphere and giant marketplace that had sprung up around the wharf.

Unfortunately, her father had been more shortsighted. Aegron the Cruel had been greedy, imprudent, and hungry for control. He'd raised tariffs and bullied his neighbors with threats of war and deprivation. His tactics had brought him short-term gains in prosperity and power. But those had already been waning before Aegron's death. Which was, no doubt, the reason he'd turned his attention toward bullying the northern kingdom of Thuaidar.

His policies had slowly eroded the once-bustling trade and his diplomacy by swords and threats had left Darkhar with no allies. When the curse devastated Darkhar's royal family and sent the kingdom spiraling into chaos and confusion, traders and travelers were further deterred from braving the kingdom's borders.

The crack of wood smacking on wood from inside the lantern room startled Islyne into turning. A door in the floor had been flung open and a man emerged from the staircase below. With his back to Islyne, all she could tell about him was that he wore the livery of a high-ranking officer in Darkhar's army.

Once clear of the opening, however, the soldier called down to someone behind him. Can you make it all the way to the top on your own, or should I come back down for you?

If there was an answer, Islyne was too focused on the man in front of her to hear it. Even before he turned to look out at the sea, she knew who it was.

There was no mistaking that voice.

Alaistar. Prince of Darkhar. Second son of Aegron. And the only member of Islyne's family who always remembered her birthday.

Islyne rushed to the window, eager to see her brother despite the ache of knowing he had no idea she was even there. And bracing herself for the changes the curse wrought in him.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with the kind of grace and strength one would expect from one of the most feared duelists on the entire continent.

Combined with his curling dark hair and piercing emerald eyes, he'd also once been considered one of the most handsome men in all the kingdoms of Morroinn.

But the curse had changed all that.

He'd adopted the uniform of the Royal Guard, allowing its high collar, long sleeves, and leather gloves to conceal the green cast of his skin. The band of fabric that fastened tightly around his neck also discreetly obscured the gills that Alaistar now possessed.

But nothing could conceal the strange, disfiguring mask that veiled his face. Polished silver covered him from forehead to chin and ear to ear. The sculpted metalwork looked as if it had been painstakingly carved by a master craftsman into squat, distorted, demon-like features. The most disturbing part of the change was how the silver moved with his emotions.

If Alaistar smiled, the lips curved in a cruel parody of a grin. If he frowned, the resulting expression terrified even the most seasoned soldiers.

No matter what had been tried, nothing and no one could remove the metal from his skin.

To add insult to it all, the mask's design, coupled with the other changes wrought by the curse, gave rise to a new whispered nickname.

Frog Prince of Darkhar.

Though no one was brave enough to call him that to his face.

I'm not a young man anymore, the second person rasped breathlessly as his head emerged from the trapdoor. Is meeting all the way up here really necessary?

Yes, Alaistar answered unequivocally, reaching down to help the older man up the last few steps. Something strange is going on in Darkhar, and I don't know who is trustworthy. No one will overhear us up here.

The man went still, and he hesitated for a moment, uncertainty tensing his posture.

I'm not sure what you mean, Your Highness? What strangeness is happening in the kingdom?

Her brother's companion stood nearly a head shorter than Alaistar, with close-cropped gray hair and a regal bearing. Despite how limited her time at court had been, Islyne recognized him as Lord Brathe. A member of the Royal Council. And one of the few men who'd been able to talk her father out of his more excessive plans. He was widely respected as a mediator, both within Darkhar and throughout the five kingdoms. Even the dukes and lords who'd opposed Aegron trusted in Brathe's integrity.

I don't know, Alaistar growled and began to pace around the perimeter of the strange blue-green glow of the lantern. But Kyllean is more obsessed than ever with finding the witch responsible for the curse. He's not even pretending to care about anything else now. I have no idea what is going on in the south, but rumors make it sound like Raneir is on the verge of starting a war with the Daesar Empire. And Darian has practically cut himself off from all of us. No one's heard a word from him in over a month.

Alaistar clasped his hands behind his neck, pausing to breathe against the anger and frustration welling up inside him. Islyne ached as she watched, impossible tears collecting along her lashes.

Before the curse, she'd barely known her brothers. But over the past five years, she'd caught glimpses of them in their most unguarded moments.

They were no longer distant figures leading exciting, perfect existences. They were real to Islyne now. Living, breathing people as flawed and lost and hurt as she was.

Even before they were cursed, Aegron had left his dark mark on each of them.

Islyne, sheltered and controlled, had been too afraid to make even the smallest of decisions.

Kyllean, the eldest son and heir, bore the weight of their father's impossible expectations. Darian, the youngest of the late king's legitimate sons, constantly forced to prove his worth or risk being forgotten. Alaistar, stuck between them, used ruthlessly by Aegron for his skill with sword and his infallible grasp of strategy.

And Raneir, the child of an affair that Aegron never acknowledged yet still held to unattainable standards.

Beyond the mess my own family is making, the lords of the middle counties are on the verge of open rebellion, Alaistar snarled with disbelief, his temper unabated by his attempts to breathe through the anger. It can't be a coincidence that all of this is coming to a head at once. Someone is fomenting chaos in Darkhar and there must be a reason.

Somehow the lines of frustration took on a fearsome, otherworldly shadow when they marred Alaistar's silver mask and Islyne shivered a little at the diabolical expression. But on its heels came an easing of tension that had been coiling tighter in her gut for months. Every trip through the circle had shown her that something was afoot. A dark, shadowy figure who seemed to be pulling strings and trying to unravel the fabric of her family, at the very least. And possibly the entirety of Darkhar, as well.

There had been no one she could tell about it. Nothing she could do to stop it.

Knowing that she was no longer alone in her suspicions eased an impossible weight from Islyne's shoulders.

This infernal curse keeps me Trapped within two miles of the Lighthouse. I need you to find out who's behind it and why, so we can put an end to it.

Of course, Your Highness, Brathe agreed immediately, although there was another breath of hesitation. Time to gauge Alaistar's mood before he continued.

However, your father drove the kingdom to the brink with his… policies. The curse has only served to further the unrest. This may all be just a natural culmination of years of turmoil.

Islyne wanted to protest. Though, if she could be heard, she knew in her heart she'd still have kept silent. Her intuition told her that it was coordinated. That someone was moving pieces like it was a game to them. But she had no proof.

Alaistar, however, had studied strategy and tactics from the time he was a boy. And his expression was set in a dark glare of determination and certainty. Trust me. There is a plan behind it all. I can't quite see it clearly yet. But I will.

The bravest of men would quiver beneath the heavy visage of Alaistar's mask, and Brathe was no different. He swallowed hard and nodded in exaggerated agreement.

Taking pity on the adviser, Alaistar turned his gaze away, staring inland. After a moment of contemplation, he quietly asked, Any word at all from the Winter Palace?

Islyne's heart clenched at the soft pain in her brother's voice. She wanted to jump up and down, wanted to wave and shout and tell him she was here. She was safe.

That, in some ways, she was better than ever.

She'd never been close to any member of her family. She hadn't been allowed to be. None of them had.

But, despite her father's clear feelings on the subject of sentiment, Alaistar had visited her on her birthday when he was able. And he knew her well enough to always bring a book as a gift.

No change, I'm afraid.

Brathe's gentle regret still hung in the air as the dizziness swirled around Islyne and darkness swept over her vision.

It was always disorienting when the magic decided she'd seen enough and swept her back to where she started.

Steadying herself, Islyne stepped out of the circle, unsurprised to discover Cat had wandered off while she'd been away.

Despite not visiting this section of the forest very often, Islyne was fairly certain she'd be able to find her way back home with only one or two wrong turns.

And, if worse came to worst, she could always Blink herself right into her bedroom.

She'd learned early on all she needed to do was close her eyes and think hard about her room. In a matter of seconds, she'd be whisked through the swirling nothingness and find herself standing next to the bed where her body rested.

But it was a nice day, and she had nothing better to do than meander through the dark paths of the forest.

As Islyne turned to make her way back to the palace, however, the sound of voices drew her attention. From time to time, bandits and thieves found a way to slip inside the thorn barrier, hoping to score treasure from the abandoned palace.

Usually, the grim atmosphere and dangerous magic traps of the thorn forest quickly drove them out again.

The first time she'd stumbled on one of the treasure seekers who occasionally tried their luck within the forest, she'd been shocked to find that he could see her ephemeral form. That it was the magic circle that kept her invisible during her trips into the kingdom at large.

Whenever one caught sight of her, Islyne would Blink out to play up the forest's reputation as a haunted place.

Normally, though, Islyne preferred to avoid such intruders. Caution was too deeply ingrained in her for her to willingly take any unnecessary risks. Who knew what would happen if anyone recognized her as the sleeping princess?

But there was something familiar in the voice that drew her closer. Moving to the edge of the wall of thorns, Islyne shamelessly listened in on the conversation.

Chapter Three

Conall ignored the way Unwir watched him expectantly. The guide was an information mercenary, collecting gossip to sell and hoarding stories to share for the price of a tankard at the local tavern.

He was clearly hoping Conall would expand on his undying devotion to the cursed princess. That the Duke of Lakentre would spill details of his romantic quest to rescue his true love.

Unwir's hope for a juicy new tale to spread was going to be disappointed.

Because Conall had no such story to share.

It was love that moved him. Love of the people of Lakentre who were his responsibility. Love of the middle counties where he'd grown up. And especially the love he felt for the whole of Darkhar.

He hardly knew the woman he was betrothed to. He'd met Princess Islyne face to face only once. And he'd been so focused on trying not to take his anger with her father out on her, he'd barely paid attention to Islyne. A lifetime of polite charm had taken over his tongue as he'd plotted the ways he would make Aegron the Cruel pay for his crimes.

He vaguely recalled a sheltered princess whose elaborately styled hair and starched day dress had been a decade out of fashion. A mousy girl who'd never raised her voice above a whisper and never lifted her gaze from the vicinity of their feet.

He'd felt sorry for her, of course. Living under the thumb of a man like Aegron the Cruel would have been enough to make any sane person jump at shadows. There was a kindness and a gentleness about her that drew him to her, though. Moreso than he'd expected.

But Conall had always imagined a marriage like his parents had built. Partners in all things. He'd planned to choose a wife who was fierce and passionate and who could walk by his side.

Not desperately cling to the shadows.

Aegron, however, had other ideas. The death of Conall's father left Lakentre in a weakened position, and the king used that momentary lack of support to force an unwanted betrothal.

Tying Conall to the royal family with a magically binding, heavily one-sided contract made it impossible for him to act against Aegron. At least until after the marriage took place and the contract was obsolete. The spell ensured that if Conall backed out of the agreement, he'd suffer pain for a year and a day in punishment.

And once he was irrevocably tied to Aegron, many potential supporters would be leery of trusting him.

But Conall had the last laugh after all. Because the magic of the contract might just give him the power he needed to save Darkhar on his terms.

Rescuing his fiancée from the curse was only the first step. Their marriage would give Conall the power and authority he needed to finally act on his plans. He'd finally be able to take steps to protect those he considered his responsibility.

Even if others might consider his intentions akin to treason.

The kingdom was floundering under the rule of the would-be King Kyllean and nothing was going to change until someone else took the reins.

Conall had powerful allies who agreed, in principle, with his beliefs. But they hesitated at the final break with custom, fearing it would plunge Darkhar into anarchy.

Marrying Islyne would legitimize Conall's claim to the throne. And that would gain him the support he needed from the more tradition-bound aristocrats when the time came to take it.

For now, though, it was better to let the gossips of the Kingdom believe he was simply trying to save his betrothed.

Guilt plucked at him, and Conall fought not to show it. It galled him that he hadn't even considered the possibility of rescuing the woman who was supposed to become his wife.

Five years before, the Winter Palace servants who'd escaped one step ahead of the fast-growing forest of thorns spread the word that Islyne had fallen into a magical sleep. Conall had simply accepted the impossibility of rescue without question or second thought.

In his defense, the kingdom had been in turmoil. King Aegron was dead. His sons were cursed and Trapped in strongholds at the four corners of the kingdom.

Leaving the middle counties in chaos.

Conall had needed to step in to corral panicking aristocrats, order around magistrates, and bully leaders at all levels. He'd ruthlessly organized them into making sure food and necessities got to those who required it and life did not descend into despair and anarchy.

While Conall desperately tried to stop the kingdom from falling apart, others with more esoteric leanings lent their energy to finding a cure for the curse.

Conall might doubt the royal family could be of use to Darkhar, cursed or not, but he couldn't ignore any avenue that might keep his people safe. A friend recently brought to his attention an ancient tome of magic legends. Among them was the tale of two lovers, bound by a magic promise that saved them from a warlock's curse, that had resonated with possibility.

Aegron, in his menacing need to control everyone and everything in his orbit, insisted on a witch drawing up the betrothal contract. He'd been eager to use the old spell to tie Conall even tighter in his web. The same kind of magic promise that seemed turn up in those old legends, over and over again.

Conall didn't believe in the power of true love to break a curse. But he did believe that magic could alter magic. That the unwanted tie that had been forced on him might be the key to waking Islyne.

It gave him confidence that he could wake Islyne and set his plan in motion.

With the help of his mentor, Conall