A Curse of Stone: A Steamy Slowburn Fairytale Romance (A Kingdom of Stone and Starlight Book 2)

A Curse of Stone A Kingdom of Stone and Starlight Book Two Adelia Jezek Copyright © 2023 Adelia Jezek All rights reserved. To my dearest Darling. I could not have done it without you. To my friends who encouraged me every step of the way. A Curse of Stone Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter One I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. My room came slowly into focus and I glanced at my sister’s empty bed across the small gabled attic bedroom we had always shared. Until last night. I bit my lower lip to stifle the welling of tears in my throat and turned away. I’d never slept alone before, and part of me had hoped that the previous day had been only a horrible dream that would be washed away by morning’s first light. A furious combing of my hair allowed me to attempt to sooth the tumult of anger and grief that boiled in my stomach, threatening to rise up into my mouth. I could feel my hands shaking with each stroke. I took a few deep breaths. After all, tearing my hair out would not berate the village elders for their decision or punish them for their actions. Nor would my pain bring Rose home again. Twisting my hair into a haphazard braid, I piled it on the top of my head in a somewhat orderly crown of brilliant gold, secured with two curved hair pins. After throwing on my dress and a clean pinafore apron for the day’s chores, I dropped lightly down the ladder into the front room of the cottage. The house was quiet and chilled, the sunlight still barely peeking through the windows that faced eastward, away from the dark, still sleeping forest. I tiptoed to my mother’s bedroom door and looked in, noiselessly edging the door open a few inches. Mother slept peacefully on her low, narrow cot. Her long black curls spread over her shoulder like a cape of curling night, and the dawn’s light made her skin glow deep golden as she breathed slowly. She had not changed from the dress she’d worn the evening before, but her boots were kicked off toward the door, mud still caked an inch high on the low heels. My gaze lingered on my sister’s delicate summer shawl, the red and gold silk threads glinted in the morning sunlight as though made of precious metals and spun gemstones rather than silk. It was draped around my mother’s shoulders in lieu of a blanket, giving her the comfort that I scarcely knew how to offer. If I had been sworn to the beast, if Rose had not taken my place, she would have known exactly what to say to Mother, how to let her grieve. But no, all that was left of her comfort was her silken shawl, a gauzy bit reminder of the hole she’d left in our home. I swallowed back a pang of regret and heartbreak. I slipped away without a sound, going to the kitchen. I placed a few cuts of cured meat and cheese on a plate which I carried out through the back garden. The dew was thick on the newly unfurled leaves that had just burst from the tangled growth of roses. The vines seemed to shiver in the morning breeze as they climbed over the stones of the cottage toward the eaves. Slowly, I picked my steps through the glistening, dew-strewn flowers toward the oak tree which overhung the low stone perimeter of my mother’s garden, the new green leaves a vibrant green against the darker firs and pines of the forest. A few nearby birches and willows were putting out their own spring leaves, but their branches were still starkly bare against the gradually lightening sky. I climbed onto the lowest branch which had formed a natural bench long ago and I laid my head back, resting against a smoothed area of the trunk. Breathing out a long sigh, a mix of sorrow and weariness, I tucked my feet up onto the branch and balanced my breakfast on my knees. I ate half-heartedly, pausing between each bite as I watched the sun rise up from over the jagged outline of the Golden Peaks. Their needle-like summits turned pink and gold as the light cascaded over the ridge and yellow light flooded down the slopes and filled the valley. The forest remained dark and solemn, a nearly black shadow amid the gentle rolling hills that opened toward the plains. I wished my sister would come out of the kitchen door, one hand on her hip and a teasing, patient smile on her lips to remind me to come inside. To bring me wool to card or a bobbin of spun thread to ply into yarn for market. But Rose was gone now. The nearby town had finally managed to break into the cozy, contented world that Mother had made for us in the wake of my father’s death. The men had come, full of fear and distrust, and Rose had been given to a Spell-Touched. An offering to appease his hunger for spreading curses to the land, or to sate his appetite for devouring wandering livestock, or whatever other half-wild superstition they had persuaded themselves into believing he meant to do if they didn’t give him a sacrificial bride. Not that there had been any signs of the land being cursed, or any reports of missing livestock since the Spirit Bear had come to Ravutsa. Not that they cared, or would listen. After all, we weren’t their daughters, their kin. We didn’t even live within the bounds of the town, nor were we included in almost any other aspect