Curse of the Troll, Emma Hamm [books to read to increase intelligence TXT] 📗

As Deirdre strode away, Elva continued to stare back at the keep. Who was that beast? And what did he want here, of all places?

She could only hope Scáthach sent him on his way as quickly as he’d arrived. No one here wanted to help him. This was a tribe of women who had been scorned by men one too many times. They didn’t save those who had put themselves in harm’s way.

Of course, her dearest of friends would tell her that was dangerous thinking. Bran wanted to see her happy, or at least happier than she was right now. Considering he was the man she had wanted to marry originally, and the man who was now married to her sister, Elva realized she should probably listen to him.

After all, he was an Unseelie king and keeper of the largest army known to faerie kind. He’d done more in his first few years as king than most would ever do in their lifetime. If he was taking the time to speak, then it was probably something important.

But she never listened to him, though. Even when they were just children in fields of golden wheat, playing at being in love, she’d always done the opposite of what he wanted her to do. The mere idea of someone telling her how to be or act had made her rebel immediately.

Until, of course, she’d married. Then she’d done whatever her husband had wanted. She’d been whoever he wanted.

Look at where that had gotten her.

She tried so hard not to remember that time, but the memories always threatened to swallow her whole. They rose in her mind, bubbling like a witch’s brew and popping at the worst moments.

One of them arose in her mind now, filling her with the memory of the sweet scent of licorice and the spice of pepper. Fionn had always smelled like candy and something that burned.

Elva felt his finger stroke down her arm, the slow glide so smooth it was clear he’d never worked a day in her life. He had always marveled at her beauty, at the way her flesh was nearly hairless, so much so that it sometimes made her sick to her stomach. He hadn’t ever seen her as anything more than a bauble, a toy he could take out when he wanted. Every time he complimented her looks, she had been reminded of how little he loved her.

He had loved her because she was beautiful, not for who she was.

But she couldn’t blame him entirely. She had married him because she wanted to be a queen. Because her mother had pushed her to be something she wasn’t.

“Be beautiful,” her mother used to say. “Beauty gets you more places in this life than intelligence or brute strength, Elva. You’re choosing now to either work the rest of your life or have someone else do the work for you. Wouldn’t you rather have pretty things?”

At the time, that had sounded perfect. Never having to worry about lighting the braziers or getting her own food? That was a life of luxury.

Now, she realized, it was so far from what she wanted. Elva wanted to work for what she earned, not be given something because another person thought she might give them something in return.

She was done bartering with her body. Now, she was the beast that roamed the forest, making deals. Not the little girl wandering through the shadows, hoping to avoid creatures that might eat her alive.

Sliding her sword back into its sheath, she stared up at the keep and prayed something wasn’t about to change. That bear had made her stomach churn.

And Elva had learned to always trust her gut.

2

He carefully placed one paw in front of the other, trying his best to look less intimidating. The last thing he needed was one of these warriors to assume he was here to attack their stronghold. He could destroy them all if he wanted.

But he didn’t.

Donnacha chuffed out a breath as one of the warrior women stepped a little too close for comfort. Her eyes flicked side-to-side, planning out her next move if he stepped a foot out of line. He would have done the same thing if something like him had stepped into his home.

Anyone with a good head on their shoulders would assume a massive bear wasn’t here for something good. He was either here to destroy them, their mistress, or their home. What other possibilities were there?

They’d never guess why he was really here. Donnacha was certain of that. The curse that had turned him into a beast was an ancient spell known only by a few. Thus, only a few would know how to break the curse.

He hadn’t known how to break it himself until the blasted woman who had cursed him in the first place had arrived in his castle. She’d only told him the single loophole because she knew he’d never be able to break the curse. Still, he had to at least try.

Scáthach and her women were the only creatures brave enough to try. He had to beg on hands and knees for them to help him, even though he knew it was going to be a long shot that this would work.

He stepped beyond the front gates, entering the training grounds. He cast a glance across the women here. They were all strong creatures. They would have made his ancestors proud.

Long ago, Donnacha had been a dwarf. One of the royal line, he was destined to be a duke who would have taken care of his people with a discerning eye and a kindness passed down from his father. Strange how those were the first two qualities he’d lost to the curse.

Now, he looked at these women and wondered how long it would take him to swipe a paw and barrel them all down. They would fall. Everyone always fell when they tried to attack him. But he wouldn’t feel good about destroying these women.

As he walked