Page 24 of A Kingdom of Broken Bonds

When he leaves, I’m finally in control of my thoughts again, and I go over the last words the prince demanded. The cursed one? What was he talking about? Who is this cursed one, and why am I supposed to stay away from them? Is he referring to the other brides? That seems like an odd request.

My confusion must show on my face, because the king makes a quiet noise of frustration. I turn to look at him and am surprised by how weary he appears. The strong, unageing king who battled to rule over us all appears… old.

“Anthea, how much do you know about the cursed?” he asks, confirming my theory.

“Nothing, Your Majesty,” I reply, a delicate frown pulling at my brows despite my best efforts to keep it under wraps. Even Geoff looks confused by the question.

Drath nods, striding back over to his desk and leaning against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “Last night before you left, you were dancing with a male—golden hair and a golden tattoo down the centre of his face.”

His face appears in my mind, my heart doing a summersault in my chest as I realise whom he’s talking about. “Eli.” His name sounds like a breathy gasp, and the king’s frown deepens. I hadn’t meant to speak his name aloud. I usually have better control over myself than this, so I’m surprised by my outburst.

Stress. That’s it. The stress of today and last night must be wearing on me.

“Yes. Eli.” He says the name like a curse. “Eli is from a group of fae who have been cast out of their homeland beyond the mountains. They have committed a crime and are cursed as part of their punishment. The tattoo relates to whatever act of treason they committed and is a constant reminder to them of their treachery.”

This is the first time I’ve ever heard of a land behind the mountains. Sure, I assumed there was something beyond the mountains and that they didn’t just fall off into the sea. Occasionally a fae would turn up, but I had never known that there was a whole land of them on the other side of the mountains. I suppose that makes me naive, yet no one has ever spoken about it. I don’t understand why it would be kept a secret, so I assume no one knew about it.

With Eli’s face still imprinted in my mind, I remember the swirling shapes that made up his tattoo and how I thought they were beautiful. The gold glimmered and almost appeared to shift in the light.

If what the king said is true, his tattoo is a curse for committing a crime. Eli’s tattoo was right down the centre of his face, even his lips shimmered with the patterns. There is no way to hide a mark like that, meaning that everyone who sees him will know what he is. What did he do to get cursed like that? He seemed so surprised when I spoke to him, and the happiness in his eyes warmed my heart. It would make sense that anyone who knows of the cursed would treat him differently, which could explain why his face lit up when I spoke with him.

“You should stay away from him. Remember your place and the part you play in our survival.” The harsh way the king speaks to me causes the image of Eli to vanish from my mind.

“Of course, Your Majesty. I would never do anything to jeopardize the safety of my people.”

How dare he assume I would act as selfishly as his son when I have done nothing but prove my trustworthiness since day one. I almost snap at him, but a gentle hand on the small of my back reminds me whom I’m speaking to.

“Good, you may go now. You have the rest of the day to spend as you wish. Just stay within the castle grounds.”

With a bow, I turn and stride from the room, heading straight back towards my own quarters, Geoff on my tale. He can sense my mood and wisely doesn’t say anything. It will only be a quick stop in my room so I can change out of my dress and into training gear. It’s time for me to do some training.

I need to stab something with my blade so I don’t use it on anyone else.

Chapter Eleven

Whirling around in a flash of steel and fangs, I slash my blade down on my imaginary foe. I leap forward into a roll and avoid their blow of retaliation, barely touching the ground before my feet are back under me and I’m spinning with a snarl on my lips. The target I’ve been practicing on is looking worse for wear. While it’s designed to withstand the strength of supernatural creatures, vampire strength and my current frustrations are putting it through its paces.

The soldiers in the training yard all stilled when they saw me striding in, clad in dark leggings with a tapered overskirt, which is open in the front to allow for movement, and a vest that I use to train in. It is not all that unusual to see females dressed this way for sparring or travelling back home in Trador, but in Drathlor it is frowned upon. Females are expected to be in skirts and dresses, especially females of status. As a bride, others seem particularly shocked by my clothing. Clothing that reveals a female’s legs is distracting and provocative.

When I’m training, I honestly don’t care if my legs distract males, only that I can move around and protect myself as necessary. If they get distracted by it, then that is not my problem, and they should train harder to develop stronger discipline. Anything that might benefit me in a fight is something I’m going to use to my advantage.

When I first arrived in the training grounds, I brought their training to a stop. However, I ignored them and pulled out a dummy target to practice with and jumped straight into my drills. Now that I have been here for the last two hours, I only get passing looks from them.

I know the other brides can fight, we were all given basic lessons together, but some of them choose to wield their abilities over their skill with weapons. As a vampire, my abilities come in the form of strength and speed. Because of this, I have honed my fighting abilities so my body is as much of a weapon as my blade is.

Back on my feet, I whip around and throw my long, wicked dagger, hitting the centre of the target with a satisfying thud. A grim smile pulls at my lips, and I stride forward, retrieving my blade and sheathing it at my thigh.

Leaving the training circle, I grab my bow where I left it leaning against the low fence surrounding the grounds. It takes me a matter of moments to strap my quiver to my back and set myself up at the archery targets. Positioning myself in front of the target, I begin around halfway on the track, notching an arrow and stretching the string.

Each target has a track set in front of it, with several marks painted onto the ground to identify how far away you are from the target. Most would begin from the first or second mark, but I have destroyed too many targets by shooting too fast and hard, so my warmup shots are farther back where many of the beasts begin.

Lining up my shot, I take a deep breath in and focus entirely on the centre of the target. With a slow exhale, I release the arrow. It embeds in the middle of the target. Good. I take a few more shots, and all hit home. I step forward to retrieve my arrows before setting myself up several marks back. I go through the same process, slowly working my way back along the track, the distance increasing with each shot.

I’m on the second to last mark, the colour of the rings blurring together. My bow whines as I pull the string back, arrow notched and my target lined up in my sights. I force myself to still, my focus locking me into place so I can make the shot.

Breathe in.

Hold.

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