Golden Curse (The Six Kingdoms, Book 1)

Get lost in an epic fantasy romance where love crosses enemy lines, the girl must save the prince, and only magic can help those who oppose it. 

A curse. A hidden identity. A dangerous love.

At ten years old, Persinette Basile fled the palace of Gaule for her life. Now at eighteen, she must find a way to return in order to obey a curse on her family line.

The prince won’t know who she is. Not anymore. But she knows him and what he will do if he discovers her true name.

Made to fight for her life to earn her place, she vows to find a way to break the curse no matter the cost.

To. The. Death. 
The words describing the upcoming tournament turn Prince Alexandre Durand’s blood to ice. The last warrior standing will win a spot at his side.

As he's thrust onto the throne, forbidden magic, dangerous betrayals, and a complicated love could tear his reign apart.
When the secrets begin to unravel, will Alex stay true to the laws and traditions of Gaule or will he give it all up for a woman who deceived him?

Golden Curse is the first book in the completed seven-book Fantasy and Fairytales series. Books 1-3 are a complete story. Are you ready? See why readers love Etta and Alex.

Magic was evil. 

That’s what they’d been told when it was scrubbed clean from the face of Gaule. Alexandre Durand’s father-the king- made sure it couldn’t hurt them any longer. 

"Brother," Camille said sharply from her spot in the doorway.  She stood as proof of magic’s cruelty with her twisted leg. Magic folk did that to her the night the purge began.

Alex tuned her out and listened to his lead scraping against paper as an image began to form bright and hopeful. It represented everything the prince could want. He scrunched his face in concentration to apply the final strokes of the magnificent landscape. 

It wasn't the palace or the lands surrounding it. When he was a boy, he'd taken a trip across the border into the outer edges of Bela, the forgotten kingdom. The beauty he'd seen there stayed with him. He knew it wasn't real. A friend of his created it. Her magic could make whole fields of flowers bloom. 

Not anymore. She was most likely dead. He hated her magic for making her an enemy of Gaule. Persinette. His childhood friend. All he could do as she fled the palace was watch. 

He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. Magic was a plague on their land. It was eradicated with good reason. 

He set his drawing aside face down, not wanting his sister to see the things he yearned for. He was always on guard around her, lest she report him to their father. She was his favorite little pet. 

"What?" he snapped. Exhaustion made him short and dealing with his sister was never easy.

She held up her hands, palms facing him. "I'm just the messenger. You're summoned to the throne room." 

"Of course I am." He let out a low growl and ran a hand through his long jet-black hair, tying it back as he did. 

His sister watched him with the eyes of a hawk. 

He stood and smoothed his tunic before shrugging on his jacket over his surcoat and fastening the gold buttons. It was too warm for the jacket, but his father would know if a single thing was out of place. 

He didn't say another word to Camille as he brushed by her and marched down the hall. Velvet carpet muffled his steps while servants and guards ducked out of his way. 

The sound of Camille's cane echoed behind him as she struggled to catch up. Guilt twisted his gut, and he slowed. Camille brushed by him without a word.

His fists clenched at his sides and he let out a long breath as he pushed the doors to the throne room open and stepped inside. The opulence soothed him. It always had. 

Gaule was doing well with their closed off borders. Without a war to keep them busy, the army had spent years rebuilding roads and cultivating farmland to make the kingdom self-sufficient. They didn't need the rest of the world. Not with the dangers out there. 

Servants bustled by, some catching his eye as he stood at the back of the hall, waiting to be called forward.

His brother strode up beside him. 

"Where have you been?" Alex asked. Tyson had slipped his guards two days before and no one had seen him since. 

The teenage prince laughed and Alex envied his careless freedom. His brother had been too young to be affected by the events of their past. He'd only known peace and prosperity. 

"Should I have even asked?" Alex matched his grin. 

"Promise not to tell Father?"

"Do I look like Camille?" He glanced to the side to make sure she wasn't near. She'd found some ladies and joined them.

"Fair point. Some friends and I found a tunnel from the palace that goes all the way to the sea."

Alex stopped walking and turned to his brother. "The sea is past the wards." 

"Only just. We didn't go through them ... yet." Tyson shrugged. 

"Ty, you are not to go there again."

"Wow, way to sound like Father." 

Tyson’s words stung, but Alex only shook his head.  A serving girl stopped in front of them. 

"Sires." She dipped into a curtsy. 

Alex shifted as she scanned him from head to toe without a word. 

"Louisa." Tyson stepped forward and took her hand to place a light kiss on the back. "It is always a pleasure to see you." 

Amusement lit in her eyes. She had the grace not to laugh at the prince who was at least ten years her junior. "Thank you, your Highness. I must get on with my duties." 

She left and Tyson elbowed his brother in the ribs. "You're too shy, brother."

"I'm a prince. It isn't for me to dally with servants." 

Tyson barked a laugh. "Alex, you're a prince, you can dally with whoever you'd like. And I thought you liked blondes." 

Alex gasped as if greatly offended. “I can’t believe you would think I’d discriminate.”

Tyson’s laugh bounced across the room, garnering stares from more than a few people. “Good on you, brother. You’re an equal opportunity slag.”

Alex threw his arm around his brother’s neck and locked it there. “I am not having this conversation.” 

Tyson tried to wrestle out of Alex’s grip and failed. “You are too predictable.”

Alex released him with a friendly shove. "And you're not? Disappearing for days. Again."

"Being that no one could find me.” Tyson grinned.  “I don't think I'm predictable at all." He pushed Alex back.

Their father stood abruptly. “It would be nice if the two princes of Gaule could stand in the throne room without acting like idiots.”

“He means acting like normal people,” Tyson whispered-hissed. 

Alex jabbed him with his elbow. “Now would be the time to shut up.”

Their father nodded, and they strode forward, stopping in front of the golden throne. A throne that would one day belong to Alex. Every time he saw it, a chill ran the length of his spine. Some said La Dame crafted it herself. She'd been their ally once, before distrust of magic became the law of the land. 

Tall pillars of wood lined the red velvet carpet, creating a path to the king. Their mother was nowhere to be found, but she typically opted out of standing by the king’s side.

The king regarded his sons coolly before a smile spread across his face. "My boys," he boomed. "We are to have a tournament!"

Alex straightened and Tyson let out an excited gasp. They loved tournaments. The knights. The swordplay. Alex couldn't help but hope he'd be allowed to participate this time. 

"Father, I would be honored to fight for the glory of the crown." Alex kneeled and yanked Tyson down with him. 

The king scowled. "Not that kind of tournament." 

Alex's heart crashed. 

"It is time we find you a protector. Every king has their oath-man." He didn't mention that the man who'd once sworn an oath to him had to flee from the palace to avoid being murdered for his magic.

Hearing the title woke something in Alex. Tradition was important to the Durands and to the kingdom. 

Tyson laughed and his father glared at him. 

"What is funny?" the king snapped. 

"It's about time you got someone to protect this oaf." He gestured to Alex. "He's awful with a sword and you won't win many battles if all you can do is shoot an arrow." His grin stretched across his face. "Maybe he should have been a hunter instead of a prince." 

His father’s expression darkened and Alex wanted to tell his brother to shut the hell up, but before he could, the king rose. 

"You're a fool, Son. Do you know our history at all?" He trapped everyone in the room in an attentive trance. 

Tyson's smile finally slipped. 

"The role of a protector is purely symbolic. As long as Gaule's wards are in place and La Dame cannot cross the border, there will be no need for them to fight for you. They are to provide the appearance of protection and if need be, a sacrifice. Their life is only worth something if you are alive. They will take an arrow for you. They will face death. Your protector is your shadow, your right-hand man. They are an icon of strength."

The thought came unbidden to his mind that Viktor, his father's champion, had been much more than a symbol for many years. Alex got to his feet. He would never betray those loyal to him as his father had, and it was time he had people of his own he could trust.  

"Tell me," Alex said. 

"Notices have been put up in every village in Gaule. Any fighter can compete in the melee."

"How do you know the winner will be loyal to the crown?"

"Because if they're not, they would not face their ends to be at your side."

"Their ends?" He swallowed hard. 

The king nodded.  "The tournament will be a battle… to the death.”