A Curse So Dark and Lonely (The Cursebreaker Series Book 1)

The morning we’re due to leave for Silvermoon, I finally let Freya do my hair. She comes in with tea, and I don’t have the heart to refuse her offer. I keep thinking about Rhen’s comment, how she was very protective. In my efforts to be self-sufficient, I’ve been pushing her away. Until I heard how she stood up to Grey, I didn’t realize it was possible to be strong and yielding at the same time.

So I sit at the dressing table in Arabella’s room, and Freya stands behind me, silently running the brush through my curls. The baby is swaddled and sleeping in the room next door, but I haven’t seen her other children. Freya’s skin looks clean-scrubbed, and her eyes are bright. The near-panic that’s been in her expression since I met her is gone. Yesterday, she was still wearing her clothes from the inn, but today, she’s in a lavender dress with a white-laced bodice, and her hair is in twin plaits, which she’s pinned up into a twist.

“You look really pretty,” I say.

Her hands go still and she blushes. “My lady. Thank you.” She offers a curtsy. “I was borrowing clothes from Evalyn while I stayed at the Crooked Boar, but those are not appropriate in the palace. I asked the guardsman where the queen’s ladies stored their garments.”

We fall into silence again and she resumes brushing. I thought it was going to make a frizzy mess, but she used something from one of the dozen bottles scattered across the table and the curls relax. The motion of the brush is soothing. A reminder of childhood.

When my mother would do the same thing.

Without warning, my eyes fill. I press my fingers to my face.

“Oh!” Freya stops brushing immediately. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” I barely recognize my own voice. “No. I’m fine.”

But I’m not. I can’t stop crying. My shoulders are shaking before I’m ready for it.

Freya takes my hand. Hers is warm, her grip strong. “Shall I send for His Highness?”

“No! No—I’m fine.” My voice breaks and it’s obvious that I’m not.

She puts a hand on my shoulder and rubs gently, moving close. My hand is still gripped in hers. She says nothing, but her closeness is more reassuring than anything I’ve felt in days.

I think of home, and realize it’s more reassuring than anything I’ve felt in months.

“My mother is dying,” I say. I’m sure this isn’t part of Rhen’s plan, but I can’t keep melting into a puddle or I’m going to completely unravel. “My mother is dying, and I can’t be there. And I just keep thinking—I keep thinking she’s going to die before I can say goodbye.”

“Oh … oh, my lady.” Freya wraps me up in her arms, and then I’m sobbing into her skirts like a child.

This isn’t like with Rhen or Grey. I can wrangle my emotions into compliance in front of them. But Freya is all kindness and warmth, and it feels so good to be held that I allow myself to sink into it. She keeps smoothing my hair, whispering nonsense.

Eventually, reality catches up with me. I can’t be Harper today. I have to be the Princess of Disi.

I draw back. I’ve left a huge damp spot on her dress. “I’m so sorry,” I say.

She uses a thumb to brush the tears from my cheeks. “Here,” she says quietly—though her voice is firm. She straightens my shoulders. “Sit. Allow me to finish.”

I obey. The brush finds my hair again, her hands slow and sure.

“When my sister died,” Freya says quietly, “it was very sudden. I had no time to say goodbye. But she knew I loved her. I knew she loved me. It is not the moment of passing that is most important. It is all the moments that come before.”

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Your sister died?”

She nods. “I took in her children. The thought of having four mouths to feed was overwhelming, but we have survived.”

Surprise knocks some of the sorrow out of my chest. “Those are your sister’s children?”

“Baby Olivia is mine. She had just been born when my sister was killed. I lived with Dara and her husband, Petor, in the farmhouse to help care for Dahlia and Davin and little Edgar.” A pause. “But then the monster attacked Woven Hollow when Dara and Petor were there to trade goods, and suddenly the children were all mine.”

“The monster.” Every time someone mentions it, the fear in their voice is undeniable.

“Yes, my lady.” Freya hesitates. “When the men came to raid the farmhouse, I thought fate had finally found us all. But then you came to our aid, and now we are here, in this enchanted place.” She pauses. “I do not presume to know what you face, my lady. I know nothing of your land, your customs. But I do know your bravery and kindness seem to have no bounds. I have no doubt your mother knows that, too.”

My throat tightens. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

“Well, at the very least, hold still so I can do your plait.”

That makes me smile. “I’m glad you’re here, Freya.”

“As am I, my lady.” She begins to braid, her fingers quick and sure. “I am always surprised to discover that when the world seems darkest, there exists the greatest opportunity for light.”

The dress Freya selects for me is navy blue, but every inch of stitching is shot with silver, with tiny diamond-like stones affixed along the bodice. A blue overskirt spills from the waist, split at the hip to reveal a cascade of white petticoats. Beneath the dress I’m wearing calfskin leggings and heeled boots that lace to my knees. She arranges my curls into a loose, loopy braid that falls over my shoulder, with jeweled hairpins arranged at regular intervals. Then she dusts dark charcoal across my eyelids.

When I stand in front of the mirror, a stranger stares back at me. This is the kind of dress little girls dream of, but my eyes center on the stitched line across my cheek. It’s healed to the point of being sore and itchy, but there’s no swelling left. Now it’s just ugly. My reminder that actions have consequences.

I put a hand over my cheek, hiding the imperfection.

Freya takes my wrist gently and lowers it. “Proof of your bravery,” she says. “Nothing less.” She holds a tiny stretch of twisted wire adorned with a few jewels. I think it’s a necklace until she reaches to slide it into my hair.

“Freya,” I whisper. “This is … this is all too much.”

She gathers a length of leather and fur from the chest at the end of the bed and holds it up. “Are you too warm? You can wait to add the coat once you’ve crossed through the woods.”

That wasn’t what I meant at all. I swallow. Until this moment, Princess Harper was something to consider in theory.

Right now, Princess Harper is looking back at me from the mirror.

A hard knock sounds at the door. “My lady, the horses have been brought to the courtyard.”

Grey. He’s been running errands for Rhen, so I haven’t seen him since we confronted Lilith in the arena.

Freya moves to the door and pulls it open. “The princess is ready.”

He steps into the room, and I feel the instant his gaze stops on me. His eyes give away nothing.

Some dynamic has shifted between us. I’m not sure if it has to do with the way he held me back while Lilith was torturing Rhen—or the way I stole his knife to stop her myself. Either way, it feels prickly and I don’t like it.

I smooth my hands along the bodice. “Is it good enough?”

“Good enough?” His expression doesn’t change. “You have me wishing I had more guardsmen.” He glances at Freya. “The princess needs a weapon. Fetch a belt with a dagger. There are several in the chest.”

“Yes, Commander.” She scurries into the closet.

I frown. “A dagger?”

“We should give people a reason to think twice before approaching you.”

That’s both awesome and terrifying.

Freya returns with a stretch of dark leather, along with a simple dagger. A few jeweled flowers decorate the hilt, matched by a stitched vine of blue flowers on the sheath. Just as she hands it to me, the baby begins crying from the next room.

She looks apologetically at me. “My lady—”

“Go,” I say. “It’s fine.”

I begin wrapping the straps around my waist, but there’s just too much length, and no buckle.

I stop and look at Grey. “You know I have no idea what I’m doing with this. Would you help me?”

He nods and puts out a hand for the belt, then moves close to slide the leather around my waist, wrapping it double. His deft fingers thread the leather into a knot that lies flat at my hip, putting the light weight of the dagger along my upper thigh.

The effort puts him close enough for us to share breath, but his movements are quick and efficient. He doesn’t quite meet my eyes.

“Thanks,” I say softly.

“Yes, my lady.” He pauses. “I have been ordered to stay at your side today. Jamison will accompany His Highness.”

Grey doesn’t sound like he approves of that arrangement, but I can’t tell which half bothers him more: guarding me, or not guarding Rhen. Either way, I don’t like this hum of tension between us.

“Are you mad I stole your knife?” I say quietly.

“You are welcome to every weapon I carry.” His voice is level. “I showed you how to throw knives because you asked. Not because I expected you to use them.”

“I’m glad you showed me,” I say. “I got her to stop.”

His eyes flick to my cheek. “At what cost?”

Warmth heats my face. “Grey—what she was doing to him … it was awful. No one deserves that.” My voice tightens, some mixture of anger and fear and regret. “Rhen told me he ordered you not to stop her, but I don’t know how you can do that. I’d do it again, and I will if I have to. I can take a scar.”

“And if she cuts your throat?”

I set my jaw. “I’m not apologizing for what I did.”

“I seek no apology. I understand your motives.”

“Then what do you seek?”

“Your trust.”

I don’t have an answer for that.

He speaks into my silence and his voice is just as hard as mine is. “His Highness would like to arrive at Silvermoon by mid-morning, my lady.”

My mood has soured, and I feel completely off balance. I grab the jacket and wish I could storm out of the room with an even step, though the boots Freya found in the closet are better than what I wore before. The dress sways as I walk down the empty hallway, my booted heels clicking on the marble unevenly.

Grey follows beside me, but slightly behind. He moves like a ghost.

Before we reach the staircase, I can’t take it anymore. I round on him.

“Look. I do trust you. I trusted you before I trusted Rhen. You know that.”

His eyes give nothing away. “You trust me not to harm you.”

“Yes.” Obviously.

“Do you trust me to keep you safe?”

I suck in a breath—then hesitate.

“That is the trust I mean,” Grey says, and finally there is anger in his tone. “You are the Princess of Disi,” he says, “and as you are to ally with His Highness, I will obey your order.”

“But that’s different,” I say. “It’s not real.”

“It is real enough here in Emberfall,” he says. “My obligation—indeed the very oath I swore—is to lay down my life in favor of his. And now, in favor of yours, my lady.”

“But not with Lilith! How could you stand there and watch that, Grey? How could you?”

“Do you truly think it costs me nothing?” His voice is sharp, but torment sparks in his eyes. “I have seen her actions countless times. And to a much greater extent.”

“I would try to stop her every time.” To my surprise, emotion builds in my chest. “Every time, Grey. I wouldn’t care what he ordered me to do. I wouldn’t care what she did to me. He told me what she’s done to you—I’m not even sure that would be enough to stop me.”

“If His Highness allowed it, I would take her provocation by tenfold. I would fight her until I had no breath left to breathe.” His voice turns almost lethal, and in the dim light of the hallway, Grey’s eyes seem to darken. “My duty is to bleed so he does not. And now,” he says, “my duty is to bleed so you do not.”

Those words are chilling. I swallow.

“What you have agreed to do is larger than you think. Your life is no longer yours to sacrifice.”

“I know,” I whisper.

“You do not know.” He’s genuinely angry now. “Or you would not have risked your life so carelessly, as if your death carries no consequences. You would not—”

“Commander.” Rhen’s voice, by the stairs. I jump.

His tone isn’t sharp, but Grey snaps to attention. His expression evens out so quickly that you’d never know we were having a heated discussion.

I don’t know how much Rhen heard, but as he approaches, I’m guessing it was a lot. Or at least enough.

Shame has formed a lump in my chest—especially because I know he’s going to lay into Grey, or order him to apologize to me, or something I won’t be able to take.

“Wait,” I say to Rhen. My voice is half-broken, and I’m a breath away from crying. I look up at Grey. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t understand. I’m sorry.”

He lets out a breath and glances away. His voice is regretful. “A princess should not apologize to a guardsman.”

“I’m Harper,” I say to him. “And I’m apologizing to you.”

He hesitates, then nods. “As you say.”

Tension still wavers in this space between us. I wish we’d had five more minutes to play this out to the end.

“Is all well?” says Rhen.

“Yes.” I inhale and turn back to face him—and all that breath leaves me in a rush.

A moment ago, I was embroiled in the argument with Grey. Now I’m really looking at Rhen, and it’s like he’s stepped out of a fairy tale. He wears no armor, but instead a jacket of blue-and-black brocade with a high collar. From what I can glimpse at his neck, it seems to be lined with the same fur as the jacket hanging over my arm. Slender stretches of silver are twisted in an intricate design along his collar, matched by similar metalwork on his black leather gauntlets and the hilt of his sword. Subtle, but there’s no question he’s the prince.

Or maybe that’s just Rhen himself. He could stand there in a potato sack and he’d probably look like royalty.

“All is well,” I finish, but then I realize he’s staring at me, too.

A blush crawls up my cheeks and I smooth down my skirts. “Do I look like a princess?”

He steps forward and takes my hand. I think he’s going to lead me toward the stairs, but instead, he bows low and kisses my hand. “You look like a queen.”

My face feels like it’s on fire. The rest of me, too. I have to clear my throat twice to speak, and even then, my voice is rough. “I understand you wish to reach Silvermoon by mid-morning?”

“I do.” He glances past me, and I can see him weighing whether to pry. “I have asked Commander Grey to stay by your side today, but I can ask Jamison, if you prefer.”

“No.” I swallow and glance back at the guardsman. “I trust Grey to keep me safe.”

We head south, the sun to our left. Snow and slush have been trampled down to reveal a rutted gravel that’s clearly seen a lot of traffic already. Trees line the road on either side, the remnants of the forest that encircles Ironrose, but ahead the trees give way to a long sloping valley. Snow glitters on homes and farms that seem small in the distance. Well beyond that, the sun gleams on what must be water.

Rhen has been quiet for most of the ride, but I’m having trouble figuring out his mood. I keep my voice low and shift my horse closer to him.

“You think people will be happy that you’re making an alliance with a country they’ve never heard of?”

“I think my people will be happy I am trying to save them from invasion.” He pauses and his voice turns grave. “Jamison said the battle at Willminton was brutal and most lost their lives. Their regiment was destroyed, their encampment burned to the ground. It seems the soldiers of Syhl Shallow do not intend to simply overtake my kingdom, but to raze it.”

I swallow. “You said there were a thousand soldiers in a regiment.”

Rhen looks at me and the expression in his eyes reminds me of the anguish in Grey’s voice in the hallway. “Yes, my lady.”

“They accepted no surrender,” says Jamison. “Men who tried were slaughtered before they could raise their arms.”

Rhen looks over at me, and for the first time, I begin to understand the weight of what he’s hoping to accomplish. “We are lucky to have secured the alliance of Disi,” he says.

“Our soldiers stand ready,” I say. These are practiced words, suggestions from Rhen, but my voice sounds hollow when confronted with the deaths of real men. “My father awaits my order.”

“We will fight alongside,” says Jamison. Contrary to the regret over the loss of fellow soldiers, his voice is full of anticipation. He loops his arm through his reins and hits his chest with his fist. “For the good of Emberfall!”

To my right, Grey does the same. Passion rings in their voices, strong enough that I feel it right to my core.

Rhen hits his chest, too. “For the good of all.”

His voice carries an echo of the same passion—but something else. Something closer to sadness.

Before I can puzzle this through, Grey frowns and points ahead, ever vigilant. “A covered wagon on the road. Three horses.” He glances at Jamison. “Check it out.”

“Yes, sir.” Jamison’s horse springs forward, hooves spraying slush.

Grey stares after him. “I had almost forgotten what this was like.”

“Having someone to order around?” I say.

“No.” Rhen looks past me at his guard commander. “Being part of something bigger.”

Grey nods. “Yes. That exactly.”

Rhen shakes his head. “I’m not sure I ever realized.” He draws up his reins. “I do not wish to treat my people as a threat.” He nods ahead, toward the wagon. “Come. Let us greet them.”