Page 2 of A Curse of Breath and Blood

The carriage stopped in front of him. I tried not to stare at my future husband. A strong jaw and high cheekbones gave him the appearance of elegant masculinity, while his crooked nose added a bit of character.

I covered my face with the ceremonial veil, trying my best to calm my nerves. Visions of Caiden’s smiling face flashed before my eyes.

I took a deep breath.

The handle clicked open.

A jeweled hand extended toward me. Hesitantly, I took it.

Gideon smiled back at me.

“Princess Aelia, Springborn, I presume?” His voice was warm, like a loving caress.

My skin pricked at his touch.

“Prince Gideon, I presume?”

“Your presumption is correct.”

Fingers clasped around mine, he pulled me out of the carriage where a fleet of servants waited to attend to me.

Looking for support, I gripped his hand tighter.

Leaning in, he whispered, “It’s alright, I’ve got you now.”

1AELIA

FIVE YEARS LATER

The guards beathim to a pulp before I arrived.

I stood with my hands crossed over my chest, drumming my fingers on my arm. Usually, I knew the full details of a job when an employer came looking for me, but kings don’t send forewarning, the Winter King least of all.

The uneasiness pricking at the back of my neck made the raging winter storm outside seem more welcoming than any tavern room gold could provide. A fireplace at the end of the hall crackled as it fought the cold. Shreds of firelight peered from behind the broad frame of the Winter King. Though his body blocked the heat, it did not stop the bits of shadows dancing on the young boy’s beaten face.

“Destroy him,” the king’s voice shattered through my ears.

I gazed at the soldier, no older than seventeen, with a bloodied lip and an eye so swollen, I wondered if it would ever heal. Still, he stared back at me. A slick sweat coated his brow.

“Will it hurt, Miss?” His brown eyes full of fear.

I crouched down. “Only if you resist me.”

I did not break bodies; I broke minds.

Acne still dotted the soldier’s face. His youth made me flinch, and I hoped the king didn’t notice. Why did he want this boy to suffer?

As if answering my question, the king’s daughter burst in, flooding the room with a bone-chilling cold.

“Please, Father…” With clenched fists, her eyes darted between her father and the boy. “Please spare him.” Head held high, she threw herself between them.

My eyes snapped to the king. Grinding his jaw, he reached for his daughter, yanking her away.

I ran my hand through my hair—a nervous tick I picked up to ease the tension building in my chest.Breathe, Aelia, do not let your affinity for young love get the better of you.

The king stared at his daughter. His mouth bracketed tight. A spasm hooked the corner of his eye. In an instant, his long years of diplomatic training erased every trace of emotion from his face, hiding it away—but even the best liars have a tell. Hidden in the loose curl of a fist, the tip of his thumb worries an incongruously simple gold band on his ring finger. Thinking of his dead queen, perhaps? I could work with that.

Bowing my head, I pleaded with his more sentimental side, “May I make a suggestion, Your Majesty?”

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