Cursed Beauty (The Six Kingdoms, Book 7)

A girl running out of time. A prince determined to give her more. 

When Aurora finds an injured man on the battlefield of Bela, she takes him to her hidden cottage to keep him alive. It’s her last good deed before the curse she’s known was coming sends her into a thousand year slumber. 

Aurora is ready. She has nothing, no one to miss. 

Until him. 

Learning this man is the prince isn’t Aurora’s biggest problem, not when his touch is the first thing to bring her to life in years. 

Now, when she thinks of missing the next thousand years on this earth, she wants to fight. Because, this time, she has someone to leave behind. 

The epic conclusion to the Fantasy and Fairytales series, this book takes place hundreds of years before the birth of Etta Basile. See how the Basile curse came to be in this page turning adventure. 

The drums of war held a foreboding rhythm Phillip Basile would never forget. The general prince—as they called him—had stood on bloodstained fields many times before. This time was no different. He still saw no end to the continuous wars between his kingdom of Bela and their greatest enemies, the hordes of Gaule. 

Phillip stood atop the eastern tower of one of the border fortresses watching the savages streak across the hillside in the distance. Gaule was a crude land led by a cruel king who had attacked Bela’s border villages for too long. They lacked Bela’s sophistication and common decency. 

Shaking his head, Phillip turned to the men at his back. They’d die for him. He knew that. The warriors of Bela had always been loyal to the crown, and the crown was loyal to them as well. 

“Call the archers to line the walls. This fortress will not stand another assault. I want my best magic wielders to meet me at the gates. We will ride out to face them. Once the fight begins, prepare those inside these walls to make for the forest.”

One of the armor-clad men dipped his head. “Yes, General.” Among his men, Phillip was not a prince, not royal. To them, he was a seasoned fighter, one of their comrades. The general. 

He strode back into the tower and thundered down the stairs with his guards following behind. Alfred and Chandler were magic wielders who’d been with him since they were all young boys spying on soldiers in the palace. 

“General,” Chandler called as Phillip marched across the courtyard. He didn’t pause, so Chandler tried again. “General.”

“Phillip,” Alfred barked. “Stop for a darn minute.”

Phillip turned, his jaw clenched. “There is no time. Within the hour, they will overrun us.”

“You can’t ride out. What will protect you?”

Chandler nodded in agreement. “Phillip, the entire Gaulean force is out there. Even with our magic, we can’t match them. You’re the heir to the Basile magic. We can’t risk you.”

Bela was the least populated of the six kingdoms by more than half, but each person born in their land held magic in their blood. The only other kingdom that could boast such a feat was Dracon. Magic had protected Bela for centuries, yet only when the ancient power of the kings was also present. Each Basile king possessed a magic matched only by that of the dark sorceress of Dracon. 

And the king was dying. Phillip thought back to the last time he’d spoken to his father. The old man had wanted to make the journey, to ensure they won the day, but he wasn’t even able to stand. He wouldn’t have had the strength to travel, let alone wield his own magic. If he died, Phillip would inherit the power, allowing him to protect Bela.

What would his father do now? Would he abandon the last remaining border fortress? Would he try to protect the few people Bela had left? 

No. Phillip stood taller. His father would fight until he couldn’t any longer. He met the worried gazes of his two oldest friends. “I won’t force you to join me, but I’m not allowing those savages to cross into Bela.”

He turned on his heel and marched to the stables, barking orders as he did. “Ready the horses.” All those who wished to fight gathered their weapons. Steel flashed in the early morning sun, but it was only a tool, a ruse. Their greatest weapons lay inside them. 

Each magic-wielder’s power was different. Some could call on the heat of the sun, others forced the winds to obey their commands. 

And Phillip? His greatest weapon was his protective shields against the enemy. A king should have been able to do more in battle. He’d always thought it ironic that his gift wasn’t more. 

One day, it would be. One day, he’d know what it felt to be invincible, to harness the power of his ancestors, the magic that belonged to the Basiles, transferring to each new generation as they stepped up to rule.

And when that time came, Gaule would regret the day they made an enemy of Bela. 

* * *

Phillip knelt down in the middle of the battle, digging his fingers into his thighs as he tried to hold the parts of his invisible shield that hadn’t already fallen. An arrow sailed for Alfred’s back. Phillip clenched his teeth, pulling in his little remaining energy to expand his shield, throwing it out toward Alfred. The arrow hit the invisible force and snapped in two, sending a tremor through Phillip. The prince slumped forward.

“General!” Chandler ducked away from the arc of a sword before slicing his attacker across the back—not with his own blade, but with his magic. His power was an extension of his sword. 

He sprinted toward Phillip and grabbed his arm to haul him to his feet. “I told you not to use your shield to protect all of us. You can’t hold it that wide.”

“You don’t give me orders.” He sucked in a breath, and it rattled painfully in his chest. 

Chandler scanned the battlefield where many of their comrades had fallen. Horses darted from the fight. The Gaulean savages continued to come. 

“You need to order a retreat.” Alfred joined them, wiping his dripping blade on the grass. 

Phillip shook his head. A retreat meant defeat. It meant allowing their enemies to have a piece of Bela, to encroach upon their land. He lifted his eyes to the hill where the Gaulean king sat atop his horse, never joining the fight. Such was the way of the Durands. 

Alfred gripped Phillip’s shoulder. “We’ve already lost. Now is the time to save what little we can.” 

He was right. There was no denying it. Enough people had died this day. Phillip nodded and Alfred lifted his chin. “Retreat.” His voice carried on the strength of his magic. He could make himself heard at great distances. Those on the battlefield and in the fortress would hear his call. “Retreat.” 

“We have to get to the woods.” Phillip looked toward the Gaulean king once more, and the man’s dark eyes turned in his direction as if he could see the Belaen prince amidst the chaos. 

The woods were their only chance. The Gauleans were a suspicious sort, fearing the dark forests that stretched across Bela. 

Phillip tried to pull his magic forth, to shield them as they ran, but it was no use. He had no strength left for it. His feet thundered across the open land. His head turned each way to make sure the rest of his army followed. The remaining Belaens fled for their lives, abandoning a fortress they’d held for centuries. 

But some things were more important than buildings and land. 

A man collided with Phillip, knocking him to the ground. The prince tried to roll him off, but the Gaulean was too strong. He held a knife in one hand and slashed it across Phillip’s stomach. Pain radiated from the point of attack, and then someone hauled the man off him. Chandler stabbed his sword through the savage and pulled it out in one movement. As the dead man collapsed to the ground, Alfred pulled Phillip back to his feet. 

Phillip pressed a hand to his wound, trying to stem the bleeding. Crimson life seeped between his fingers. 

Chandler and Alfred both yelled his name, but he didn’t hear them as he fell to his knees. Agony seared through him. 

The end. It comes before you’re ready. It never takes into account how much you have left to accomplish. 

Death cares little if you’re the prince, if the Basile power should one day belong to you. 

It takes everything and leaves you with only darkness to call your own.