Crown of Darkness Read online

  Crown of Darkness

  Bec McMaster

  Lochaber Press

  Copyright © 2020 by Bec McMaster

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Gene Mollica

  Editing by Hot Tree Edits and Olivia Ventura

  To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at www.becmcmaster.com

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Looking to connect?

  What readers are saying about Bec’s epic fantasy romances…

  Content warning

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Seduced By Darkness

  Thief of Dreams

  Also by Bec McMaster

  About the Author

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  “A dark romance perfect for fae lovers… This is the exact kind of fae fantasy romance I've been craving. It's dark, it's romantic, and it is very, very fae…” —Kate

  * * *

  “MUST READ fantasy romance… Bec McMaster has painted a delightfully dark and sinister world of the fae, the seelie and unseelie and an enchanting tale of forbidden love and fated mates.”—Arial

  * * *

  Kiss Of Steel—Georgia RWA Maggies Best Paranormal Romance 2013

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  Heart Of Iron—One of Library Journal's Best Romances 2013 and nominated for RT Reviews Best Steampunk 2013

  * * *

  Forged By Desire—RITA Finalist Paranormal Romance 2015

  * * *

  Of Silk And Steam—RT Reviews Best Steampunk Romance 2016 and SFR Galaxy Award winner

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  Mission: Improper—#1 Amazon Steampunk Bestseller

  * * *

  To Catch A Rogue—RITA Finalist Paranormal Romance 2019

  * * *

  Nobody’s Hero—Two-time SFR Galaxy Awards winner

  * * *

  The Last True Hero—Dark Paranormal PRISM winner 2018

  * * *

  Hexbound—Historical Fantasy PRISM winner 2017

  * * *

  Soulbound—Historical Fantasy PRISM winner 2018 and overall PRISM Best of the Best

  Content warning

  Please note: This is a content warning for self-harm in Chapter 32. I don’t believe it is overly graphic, but I respect the right of each reader to decide whether to read that particular chapter.

  Prologue

  The first earsplitting shriek of abandonment echoes in the air as the baby wails.

  The princess stares down at the child, the one she loves so dearly, and every inch of her trembles. This is not what she wants for it, but she cannot keep it. Not without risking its life. And she has already risked too much. The only answer she has is this.

  A moon-drenched forest.

  An old, hollow stone that has been used for this purpose for eons—an altar to the Old Ones.

  And the silence, broken only by the baby’s quiet sobs as it stares at her face, its lower lip trembling as if it knows its fate.

  “I’m sorry.” She falls to her knees, tentatively touching its soft face.

  The night steals away its features, but she knows them as well as her own. Those green eyes, so alert, even from the moment of its birth. An old soul, this one. The thatch of black hair is different from the gold of her own, but the soft pillow-shaped curve of its mouth mimics hers, and she cannot help tracing those little lips with her finger.

  She never knew love like this until the baby’s birth.

  “This is for your own good,” she whispers. “I must keep you safe, no matter what it costs me. I must protect you. I love you, my little one.”

  And so I must give you away.

  Pressing one last kiss to the baby’s smooth forehead, she forces herself to stand, ignoring those whimpering cries even as her heart bleeds.

  Shadows draw closer, as if sprites linger. The golden, unblinking eyes of demi-fey watch from the woods, curious and playful. And the baby wriggles fat, chubby arms, tearing free of its blankets.

  She should go.

  She needs to go.

  But she cannot leave the child alone until she knows it is safe.

  Hiding in the nearby trees, she tries to steel herself against the whimpering cries. It needs to cry if it is to be found. Old Mother Hibbert can hear the sobs of abandoned babies from a thousand miles away, and it is she the princess wishes to attract.

  Minutes trickle past. It’s growing late, and she must be away before the sun rises. The child screams now, full-throated sobs that might attract any manner of predators.

  “Please,” she whispers, clenching her fist around the hilt of her sword in desperation. “Please, come. Please take this child.”

  Eerie blue-white lights gleam through the trees. Will-o’-the-wisps? Or something else?

  The princess freezes.

  And sure enough, the sound of bells tinkles through the trees on the heels of the glittering lights.

  Relief slams through her. Thank all the gods.

  An enormous reindeer draws the ancient sleigh, lichen clinging to the hairs under its chin, and breath steaming from its nostrils. A hooded figure hauls on the reins until the reindeer pauses.

  “Here now,” the old woman calls. “What have we here?”

  The princess draws back, pressing her spine against the tree so as not to be seen. Slowly, she peeps around the other side of the tree, to where a spill of moonlight falls on the altar and the child.

  “Oh, look at you, my poor, poor sweet,” whispers the old hag, stooping to pick it up. The baby’s cries grow louder, but she tucks its wrap tightly around it and rocks it in her arms. “Now, no more of that, no more. Old Mother Hibbert is here.”

  The baby snuffles and whimpers. It is but days old.

  And the princess’s heart quivers in her chest as she watches another cradle it close, when she has known the feeling of it in her arms. This is for the best. It has to be.

  But her yearning betrays her.

  A stick cracks beneath the toe of her boot as she leans forward.

  “Who’s there?” Old Mother Hibbert snarls.

&nb
sp; The princess freezes.

  The old hag cradles the baby with one arm, the other falling to one of the knives sheathed at her waist. “Aye, I can hear you breathing now, you little creeping wretch. Come out and let me see you.”

  There’s no help for it. She cannot afford to let the old crone flee in fright.

  She steps around the tree, her hands held in the air.

  They stare at each other, and the hag puts the baby back on the altar, her nostrils flaring as she draws a knife.

  “No, don’t! Please take it,” the princess begs. “I know I shouldn’t have stayed, but I just wanted to make sure the baby was safe.”

  “Is this a trap?” the hag demands, her head turning this way and that. “Come forth, you bright and shining wretches, and meet my iron. I shall cut thee and rend thee and boil thee in my cauldron.”

  “No! No, it’s not a trap.” The princess takes a step forward, then hesitates when the blade swings back her way.

  “I can smell the stink of your power, girl. Why does a child with royal blood lie on this altar?”

  “Because those in power will kill it if they know it survived the birth.” She bites her lip. “It was never meant to be born alive. It was… a curse of fate. Please. Please take the baby. They’ll kill it otherwise.”

  Old Mother Hibbert’s nostrils flare, the tip of her knife slowly lowering. “You ask a great boon of me, Daughter of Maia. I can sense the twist of prophecy all around the child. This will only end in bloodshed and tears.”

  “I will come for it in twenty years,” she promises. “I will bear the burden of its fate. I promise once. Twice. Thrice.” The shiver of winds whisper through the woods as Blessed Maia hears her oath. “Just give the baby time to grow and prosper, far away from these lands. Just let it have a chance. I will do anything to protect it. Anything.”

  The hag looks down, though her brow softens as she looks upon that little face. “There are Shadows on its soul. It bears the taint of the Unseelie and worse, far worse.” Then she looks up. “Twenty years,” she says coldly. “I will protect this child and return it to you in twenty years. And you will owe me a boon of my choice.”

  “I will owe you a boon,” she whispers, though she knows she risks everything in promising the Unseelie creature her soul—without limits.

  But some prices are worth the cost.

  “Then away with you. Before you are followed or found.” Old Mother Hibbert tucks the baby to her chest and turns to the sleigh.

  Bright green eyes blink open as the baby stares over her shoulder, and the princess swallows. Hard.

  Something flutters to the ground as Old Mother Hibbert leaps onto the sleigh and sets the baby among her furs. Grabbing the braided leather, she sneers at the princess before she slaps the reindeer’s rump with the reins.

  And then the hag is gone, and the baby along with her in a jingle of bells and soft sobs.

  And as the princess rushes to see what Old Mother Hibbert dropped, she can’t stop the tears streaming down her face.

  It’s a little bootie.

  And she can still feel the baby’s warmth as she curls the tiny knitted sock to her chest.

  Chapter One

  Iskvien

  I wake with a gasp, still reaching for the child.

  The image of it vanishes like the remnants of a tattered dream, my hand closing over nothing. My heart feels like it’s going to thunder through my ribs.

  Sheets sigh, and then Thiago rolls toward me, sleep sloughing off him the second he catches a glimpse of my face. “What’s wrong, Vi?”

  I swear I can feel that knitted bootie in my hand, though I’ve never seen that forest before. Nor that altar. “Nothing.”

  “I thought we were done with secrets?” Thiago teases lightly, though there’s an intensity to his eyes I can’t hide from. He kneels over me, then slowly reaches down to brush my cheeks. They’re wet, and we both know it, but I turn my face away.

  “I’m fine. It was just a dream.”

  I’ve been having them for weeks, though they’re always different.

  “The baby?” he asks.

  Collapsing back on the sheets, I scrape my shaking palms over my face. I can never see its face, but it always looks like him in my mind’s eye. “It’s probably a reminder.” The words taste sour in my mouth. “Probably a gift from the Mother of Night, urging me to find the Crown of Shadows.”

  Darkness hoods Thiago’s eyes. “That bitch is not having our child.”

  I’ll wear the cost of the bargain I made with her, no matter what I do. Tossing the sheets aside, I drag my robe on and cross to the bathing chamber. “I know.”

  We’ve both discussed this ad nauseum in the last three months, as we recovered from my mother’s attempted execution.

  Thirteen years ago, I fell in love with my enemy. My mother, the Queen of Asturia, couldn’t bear to see me happily in his arms, and so she struck a deal with him. To avoid war between our kingdoms, he could have me for three months and then he must return me. Each year I would spend the winter by his side, and the rest of the year at my mother’s court.

  If, at the end of thirteen years, I chose him forever, then Mother would be forced to relinquish all hold over me—and surrender all claim upon the disputed border lands that lie between our kingdoms.

  If I chose her, then Thiago would be executed.

  Thiago agreed to her demands. How could he not? He believed in my love and told me that he’d thought a little patience would be worth it in order to avoid war and still have me.

  Only, when the time came for my mother to return me, she revealed a malicious little twist in the game.

  She’d cursed me to forget him.

  For thirteen years he’s spent every winter winning my heart all over again, and I can barely remember any of it.

  To save Thiago’s life and break the curse my mother laid upon me, I made a bargain with one of the Old Ones who walked this world before the fae arrived. The Mother of Night fractured the curse that stole my memories, but in return, she insisted that I bring her the Crown of Shadows within the year.

  If I fail, then my firstborn child will belong to her.

  Unless there is no child.

  It’s the promise I made with Thiago. Until the Mother of Night overturns her own bargain, we can’t risk making a baby together. I’ve been timing everything and drinking bitter nettle tea until I want to gag, and Thiago managed to locate some sheathes, but….

  I can’t stop seeing her smile the moment we made that deal.

  They say she can only see the hearts and souls of those before her—not the future—but her smile chilled me to the bone, and I don’t think I’ve been able to warm myself ever since.

  “No child, no bargain,” I say softly, looking into the mirror of the bath chambers.

  Behind me, Thiago leans one broad shoulder against the doorway, his dark green eyes locked on me intently and his arms crossed over his chest. Every inch of him is carved muscle and olive skin. Tattoos darken his chest and they shift and swirl, little eyes blinking from within monstrous wolfish faces as though they’re watching me. One of them trails down the hard-packed muscle of his abdomen, luring my gaze. Thiago must have stopped to haul a thin pair of loose gray trousers from the floor, because it vanishes behind the linen.

  But there’s evidence I’m not the only one whose gaze lingers.

  He’ll hold me and kiss me and chase the bad dreams away if I let him, but in this moment, it’s not comfort I seek. I want action. We’ve been trying to trace any hint of rumor about where the Crown of Shadows was last seen, and so far we’ve found nothing. Three months. Three months of nothing, with only nine months until I must produce the crown.

  How prophetic.

  “What was it this time? A maze? A set of cliffs?”

  “Old Mother Hibbert took the child,” I say, turning the faucets on and splashing water over my face. The shock of it steals through the numbness. “A princess left it in the woods for her to fin
d.” I can’t help giving a bitter smile. “The baby had your eyes.”

  Thiago stills. Every inch of him is leonine with grace, but there’s a coiled violence within him. “My eyes?”

  His voice warns me.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t just a dream,” he murmurs, stroking his hand across his knuckles. “Some fae can pick the thoughts from others. And while my wards are impenetrable, you’re the one person I might lower my defenses against.”

  His words slowly penetrate as I turn the faucet off. “You mean, I’m picking up on your thoughts?”

  “Or memories.”

  “You were left on an altar in the forest?”

  I remember the day he told me of how Old Mother Hibbert takes all those lost and abandoned babies and raises them in Unseelie.

  Thiago crosses the room toward me, wrapping his arms around me from behind. He presses a kiss to the back of my neck. “Yes.”