Curse of Stolen Flame (Firebird, #1)

CHAPTER 42

Over the next few days, Kindra and her mother spent ample time with the Helena and Emeline. The princesses had welcomed Sera warmly, showering her with compliments and regaling her with stories about their lives, and about Kindra and Jasper. Many of those had Kindra scarlet with embarrassment, but her mother loved every second of it. She was happy that Kindra was to marry a decent man. But more than that, she was overjoyed—relieved, even—that Kindra had found real, genuine friendship for the first time in years. Maybe ever.

But even as they spent their time relaxing and socializing, the castle was buzzing with excitement. On the night of the Winter Solstice, there was to be a ball, and no detail or extravagance was spared in regard to preparation. Apparently, the castle was usually the home of long, extravagant celebrations—when Helena had listed off all the different days they typically had one, it seemed as though they were an almost weekly occurrence. But the enemy armies at Alverin’s borders, the bombings, and the impending sense of doom had resulted in many of those balls being forgotten. Kindra, having no clue how to dance, had no qualms with that.

But the Winter Solstice Ball was not forgotten. That one, Helena told her, she had personally fought to keep. It was good for morale, she’d claimed. Emeline had joked that she simply wanted to show off her new gown.

In the interest of gowns, the four women had spent an afternoon being fitted for the occasion. Kindra’s gown was a true masterpiece: the base layer of the strapless gown was a powder blue silk, covered by a gauzy layer of midnight blue tulle. The bodice was adorned with golden jewels, some even stretching up above the plunging neckline in intricate, arching designs to better cover her exposed chest. The thin flutter sleeves were also bejeweled with tulle streaming from them down to her knees.

It was the most beautiful piece of clothing Kindra had ever worn. Her mother had teared up seeing her in it.

Kindra, too, had gotten emotional seeing Sera in her gown: a beautiful silver piece with dark blue beading. Growing up in Harthwin, there’d been little opportunity to dress up. She’d seen her mother in roughly the same clothing every day for the last twenty-two years; the same few dresses, somehow always worn thin even when she’d managed to get a new one; the same dirty apron and scuffed boots; her hair always pulled haphazardly out of her face. Even when they’d ventured to Mistbarrow for holidays or festivals, she’d only worn a less threadbare version of her usual attire. Most of the money for clothing had gone to Kindra; as a growing child, she’d needed a constant supply.

Most of everything they had had gone to Kindra.

So seeing her mother dressed in such finery was yet another moment she would always be grateful for, no matter the cost.

Two months ago, Kindra would have loathed the idea of spending a day trying on gowns with her friends. Two months ago, she didn’t even have friends.

So much had changed. And though some of those changes still haunted her dreams at night and made her gut twist with anxiety, she grew fonder of the rest of them with each passing day.

The next two days passed in a blur. Kindra went about her regular daily routine: training in the morning after breakfast, then after her bath, lunch with some combination of Helena, Emeline, Jasper, and her mother, then doing whatever she felt like until dinner and her training session with Jasper.

There were no meetings on either day—at least none she was invited to. Jasper said nothing regarding them either. There’d been no new developments; everything was quiet since the attack in Dewport. It was as if the kingdom—the whole continent—was holding its breath. Something was coming. Though neither of them said anything about it, she knew that Jasper felt the same way. Every time she touched him, she could feel the tension coiled in every muscle. Even when he slept—almost always with her now—it seemed he never completely relaxed.

The only time he seemed to loosen up was during their nightly training sessions. Only then did his dimpled smirks return in full force, only then did she hear him really laugh. He was obviously pleased with her progress. In the month since they began, she’d gone from hardly being able to swing the sword he’d gotten her to being able to wield it with a passable amount of precision. She was still a long way from being able to rely on it in a battle if her magic failed her, but she at least could hit a dummy where Jasper instructed her to. Roughly.

The night before the ball, however, Jasper decided they were forgoing the dummy and instead, she was going to spar with him.

“You’re joking, right?” Kindra watched him go through a series of stances and strikes within seconds. He made it look as easy as breathing. The sword was an extension of him. A couple weeks ago, he’d invited her to watch him train with other swordsmen on the Royal Guard. Even though they had just been sparring matches, with no real threat involved, he’d been a beast in that ring, his blows faster and stronger than any of his opponents. He’d won every single match.

She’d kissed him breathlessly afterwards. Even the taste of the sweat on his skin had driven her mad.

Now, as he swung his sword in strong, sweeping motions, cutting through imaginary enemies, she felt that passion for him once more.

“I’ll go easy on you, of course,” he replied, still swinging away. “But you should start getting a feel for what it’s like to fight with a real, moving person. Not a dummy.”

Kindra groaned, no more than a petulant child. Jasper laughed, halting his exercise and turning to face her. Sweat glistened on his brow, and through his half-unbuttoned shirt, she could see it beading on his chest. She swallowed thickly.

Jasper met her gaze, and the fire that burned inside her had nothing to do with her magic. His smile turned almost feral. “Of course,” he murmured, walking over to stand right in front of her, so close that she could feel his breath, “I may just prove to be a distraction.”

“Nope,” she bit out, “not at all. ”

“I suppose you now know how I feel, when I watch you train,” he said, reaching out with his free hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. She quivered at the touch.

“We should get started,” she said tightly, before she lost all semblance of control and launched herself at him.

His smirk only deepened, like he knew exactly why she was so eager to begin. Thankfully, he obliged her request, stepping back from her. He gestured at the sword in her hand. “On guard, my darling.”

Kindra’s toes curled inside her boots. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” She fell into the defensive position, holding the sword in front of her and widening her stance.

“I have to make this entertaining for me somehow, you know,” he replied, mirroring her pose. “It’s not like sparring with you is going to prove challenging.”

She bared her teeth at him. “Let me light the fucking thing on fire, then.” She swung at him, just like he’d had her do to the dummy a thousand times. He blocked it without even breaking their eye contact. The clash of their blades reverberated down her arms, making them shake.

“There’s that temper I’ve come to adore so much,” he purred, pulling back and striking at her from the other direction. Kindra scrambled to block it in time, and this time she couldn’t hide the tremble in her limbs.

“See? You’re already shaking.” His eyes danced. He was baiting her. “I’m not even using my full strength.”

“Maybe I’m not using my full strength either,” she shot back, and he laughed, because they both knew she was. She couldn’t fight the smile that blossomed at the sound. She heard it so rarely these days.

“Oh, you’re not?” Jasper cocked his head to the side, a predator studying its prey. The move excited Kindra to no end. Seeing him in his element did something to her. “Then, please, unleash yourself upon me. I’m simply begging to experience the full power of Alverin’s cursebreaker.”

Only he could make her laugh at the title she’d unwillingly had bestowed upon her. It was, after all, a burden they both shared. Not even her mother understood how it felt as well as Jasper did.

At the end of it, it really was them against everything, wasn’t it? Just the two of them, living on borrowed time .

She swung her sword at him as hard as she could, pushing that realization—and the feelings it brought—out of her mind. Jasper still blocked it easily, but his arm did falter for a second at the impact. His eyes widened with surprise and delight. Then he parried and returned the blow.

Strike, block, parry, repeat. That was the dance they fell into, moving around and around in a circle. It was ten minutes before her arms were shaking so badly she could hardly swing the sword. Another five and they buckled completely under the weight of Jasper’s strike, her sword clattering to the ground.

He smiled approvingly. “You lasted quite a while.”

She retorted, unable to help herself, “Fifteen minutes is a long time to you?”

Heat flared in his eyes immediately at the innuendo hidden in her words. He dropped his sword and closed the space between them. She could see every individual drop of sweat on his skin.

“For a beginner like you, it is.” He leaned down, his lips almost brushing hers. “I, on the other hand, can last quite a while.”

Oh, gods above.

It was moments like these when Kindra all but forgot about the curse, about the risk. Her mind was filled with thoughts of him taking her right then and there—against the wall, on the floor—

“Something on your mind, Kindra?” Jasper whispered, his hand coming up to rest on her hip. Kindra was practically quaking. “You’re burning up.”

“Um,” was all she could manage. Struck utterly stupid. Even her quick tongue had abandoned her.

His hand slid from her hip down to her thigh. Squeezed, ever so slightly.

Kindra snapped.

Their lips met, messy and hungry. With one smooth movement, he lifted her off the ground, her legs wrapping around his hips. She was dimly aware that he was moving, and a moment later her back hit the cool stone wall. Her arms, suddenly no longer in immovable agony, moved of their own accord through his hair, down his neck, clawing at his shirt. He pressed his hips into hers, and she moaned, the sound echoing through the otherwise empty space.

She dragged her lips down the column of his throat, tasting his sweat. Her fingers started making quick work of his shirt. His hands grabbed at her thighs, her ass, and her whole body shuddered each time he ground his hips against her.

“Jasper,” she choked out as he sank his teeth into her neck, biting and sucking in a way that would surely leave a mark—but Sala had become very used to smoothing those from Kindra’s skin. “I need—”

“What do you need, Princess?” His voice rasped deep in his throat.

“You,” she gasped. “I need—we could—right now, please—”

“Kindra,” he groaned, and she could feel so clearly, even through their clothing, how badly he wanted her.

“We could lock the doors,” she rambled on, barely coherent. “Nobody would be able to catch us—”

Jasper cut her off with a long, hard kiss, open-mouthed and wet and ravenous. Then he pulled away, chest heaving. “Kindra,” he repeated, slightly calmer, “if you think the first time I fuck you is going to be in some smelly, damp barracks beneath the castle, you are out of your godsdamn mind.”

She could only gape at him, rendered speechless by both his words and the scorching desire in his eyes.

“No,” he continued, kissing his way down her jaw and neck, “when we finally reach that point, it will be in the warm, private comfort of my chambers. Or yours. You pick. And then, after that,” He pressed his hips against hers again, “I’ll fuck you wherever you please.”

She swallowed, the thought sending lightning down her spine. Let’s go to your chambers right now , she almost said, but her common sense—at least some of it—was returning to her.

They couldn’t. At least not until the wedding. Not because of some tradition or expectation—she couldn’t give a single shit about that, and she knew Jasper didn’t either—but because that, the consummation , as they said, was when the countdown really started. When she started staring down what would likely be the last few years of her life.

If they weren’t on the brink of a war that they very well might lose, perhaps she’d have more hope. But the king was losing his mind. Anybody who failed him these days was at risk. And she was going to fail him in the worst possible way .

A magical child would do little to change the outcome of the war, not unless it carried on for generations. But it wasn’t the actual power that Leofric was obsessed with, necessarily.

It was what it symbolized. The message it sent, not just throughout Alverin, but to the whole continent.

To the enemies now gathered at their borders.

And when that failed to materialize...

Jasper’s eyes met hers again, and he gave her a grim smile, clearly also remembering the axe over their heads. Gently, he lowered her to the ground, though his hands didn’t leave her hips.

“We’ll figure out how to get out of this,” he whispered, as if he could sense her fear. “We can—I don’t know, we could flee, if we have to. We could run away.”

The words shot through her. “Jasper, you couldn’t,” she started, but he shook his head, silencing her.

“I would, for you. For us. We’ll get your mother, and we’ll go.” His voice was quiet, but it nearly shook with intensity. “I don’t want to face a life without you. Or a life where you’re forever punished for not making some insane man’s dream come true.”

“You’ve lived most of your life without me,” she said weakly, suddenly overwhelmed by the closeness of him, the earnestness on his face.

“And now that you’re here, I won’t live another minute of it without you by my side.” He raised his hands to cup her face, pressed his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes, partly to relish the touch but also because she was unable to look at him.

“Okay,” she breathed, wishing she could find some thread of hope, of safety, in his words. But all it did was fill her with icy cold fear.

Because each day, it became more and more apparent that she would have to flee in order to not be killed, either by the king or the war. And when she did, she knew she’d likely only be taking her mother.

Jasper couldn’t leave. It would be hard enough to escape without him—a death wish, probably, but she still had to try, if only for her mother’s sake. Even if she was caught, if her mother got away, then whatever fate she met afterwards would be worth it.

And Jasper... Jasper would have to understand, if she couldn’t find a way to bring him with her. He’d have to let her go .

She was starting to worry that he wouldn’t… and that part of her didn’t want him to.