Curse & Kingdom (Curse & Kingdom #1)

Chapter 1

The Invitation

The invitation arrived in a thick, white envelope with my name written in swirly gold calligraphy on the front.

Naturally, I assumed it was for a wedding.

Or a really upscale baby shower. I couldn’t think of who I knew who might be getting married or having a baby, but the reasonable little voice in the back of my mind suggested that maybe there was some distant cousin I’d forgotten about, or perhaps a friend from my childhood who’d fallen in love with a mega-rich tech tycoon and decided to invite everyone she’d ever known to their elaborate nuptials in Hawaii.

I mean, it was possible.

The envelope was sealed with a glob of blood red wax, and while something had definitely been stamped into the wax at some point, the invitation’s perilous journey through the mail system had left the symbol completely unidentifiable, with only a few ridges to suggest what it had once been.

Either way, it was by far the fanciest thing I’d ever received in the mail, so I took my time prying it open, taking care not to rip the envelope.

I’d always been pretty steady-handed, thanks to my job decorating cupcakes at a little tea shop downtown, so though it took some patience, I was able to lift the flap without causing any damage.

And it was absolutely worth the trouble.

The invitation inside was just as beautiful as I’d hoped, crafted from thick, textured paper with gold leaf trim around the edges.

There was a strange little sigil at the top—like three interlocking triangles with a rose at the center—and I briefly wondered if that had been the symbol pressed into the wax seal on the envelope.

And then the words beneath caught my eye, dancing across the page in the same swirling metallic script I’d seen on the envelope:

To the esteemed Ms. Marigold Pearl Parsons

You are Cordially Invited to a Private Masquerade

At Eight o’clock in the Evening on May 11th

At the Crestwood Estate.

Black Tie and Mask Required.

A strange little shiver moved down my spine, like my intuition was telling me this moment was important, but I was more confused than anything else.

A private masquerade? That sounded like an odd theme for a wedding or a baby shower, but given that there was no mention of either brides or babies on the invitation, it looked like my initial assumption was wrong and the event was no more than it claimed to be.

But who throws a black tie masquerade ‘just because’ in this day and age? And why had the host gone through the trouble of sending out such an expensive invitation without bothering to put their name anywhere? There wasn’t even a return address on the envelope.

My gaze flicked down to the location once more: the Crestwood Estate.

Honestly, that was the most intriguing part of all of this.

The Crestwood Estate was notorious in my little city.

In part because it was wild and mysterious and located on the cliff overlooking the dangerous waters of Graykeep Bay, but mainly because it was the home of the equally wild and mysterious Crestwood brothers.

I had absolutely no connection to the Crestwood brothers.

For one thing, they were billionaires, and I, well, most definitely was not.

I worked as the baker/whatever-else-was-needed at the tea shop, could barely afford the rent on my mediocre apartment, and spent most of my nights on the couch watching murder documentaries, scrolling through a dating app, or updating one of the three fanfiction stories I’d been writing since my freshman year of college.

I shouldn’t have even been on the Crestwood brothers’ radar.

As far as I knew, the Crestwoods never interacted with us “normal” folks.

Mostly Alastor, Octavian, and George Crestwood stayed locked away at their estate—at least when they weren’t flying to New York or Paris or Monaco or wherever it was that rich people went to do their rich-people things—and despite the fact that they lived only a few miles away from me, they remained a mystery.

But even though I didn’t know much about them—no one did, really, except for the fact that they were very rich and very secretive—I knew that this was weird.

If my name hadn’t been printed, quite clearly and beautifully, on both the envelope and the invitation itself—with my middle name, no less, which I never ever used on anything—I would have been absolutely convinced there’d been a mistake.

But my name was there. Someone had definitely invited me, and I had no idea what that meant. My life didn’t normally lend itself to adventures like this.

I grabbed my laptop and pulled up the most recent chat window.

GoldieGirl19: You guys are never going to guess what just happened.

Within seconds, my friends responded.

the_mEsmerizer: you finally got laid?

47Blob: nah, I bet she just bought another one of those little cactus plants she loves so much.

I rolled my eyes, even though neither of them could see me.

Esmer (the_mEsmerizer), Isaac (47Blob), and I had the sort of friendship where we expressed affection through teasing, but deep down, I knew that neither of them judged me for being a twenty-three-year-old who wrote fanfic, hadn’t been on a date in over a year, and yes, had a bordering-on-unhealthy obsession with succulents.

GoldieGirl19: Not even close. I got invited to a masquerade at the Crestwood Estate.

I considered Esmer and Isaac my best friends, even though I’d never met either of them in person.

We’d met on a fanfiction site five years before and had bonded over each other’s stories, and with time our conversations about grammar and plot twists had developed into conversations of a much more personal nature.

Even before I’d known their real first names, I’d told Esmer and Isaac things I’d never mentioned to anyone in my real life, things that felt strange to say out loud.

GoldieGirl19: I’ve told you guys about the Crestwoods right?

47Blob: those weird guys who live in that mansion on the cliff?

GoldieGirl19: they’re not weird. they’re billionaires.

GoldieGirl19: okay, they’re probably weird.

GoldieGirl19: but in that rich, mysterious way

47Blob: so why did they invite YOU to this masquerade thing?

GoldieGirl19: no idea

47Blob: so don’t go.

47Blob: they’re probably murderers or something

GoldieGirl19: what?!

GoldieGirl19: what makes you assume that???

47Blob: they’re secretive and reclusive

47Blob: and let’s be real, billionaires get away with murder all the time.

GoldieGirl19: still, the chances of that seem slim.

GoldieGirl19: I feel like if they just wanted to murder me they wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of throwing a masquerade

47Blob: maybe it’s one of those weird rich people parties where they invite a bunch of poor people and then hunt them for sport

GoldieGirl19: pretty sure that’s not actually a thing.

47Blob: it could be.

I should have expected that response from Isaac—he had a bad habit of wandering down strange internet rabbit holes and latching onto weirdo conspiracy theories. What surprised me more than anything was the fact that Esmer hadn’t offered her opinion on the matter.

GoldieGirl19: Esmer? what about you?

GoldieGirl19: do you think I should go?

It was a few seconds before she responded.

the_mEsmerizer: of COURSE you should go

the_mEsmerizer: and then you should seduce one of them and get him to take you down to his sex dungeon

the_mEsmerizer: let him do a bunch of kinky shit to you

the_mEsmerizer: and then take full advantage of the perks of being a billionaire’s lover

I laughed at the idea, even as my cheeks grew hot. I’d definitely read my fair share of raunchy fanfiction—and even tried writing a little—but I didn’t have the confidence or experience to pull off something like that.

GoldieGirl19: I can try, but my seduction skills are a little rusty

GoldieGirl19: and I don’t know anything about kinky sex

the_mEsmerizer: he’d teach you. obviously.

the_mEsmerizer: in the meantime go read the episode I just posted.

the_mEsmerizer: that’ll teach you a thing or two

47Blob: if you insist on going, don’t go alone

GoldieGirl19: are you offering to fly across the country to come with me?

GoldieGirl19: I don’t even know if I’m allowed a plus-one

GoldieGirl19: there’s no info about how to RSVP on the invite

GoldieGirl19: it’s weird, honestly. they have my full name on here and everything.

GoldieGirl19: no idea how they got my address

47Blob: the rich have access to all sorts of secret databases

47Blob: seriously Goldie, I don’t like this

the_mEsmerizer: don’t be so paranoid.

the_mEsmerizer: let the girl live a little

the_mEsmerizer: we’re talking about someone who doesn’t even have the balls to swipe right on her dating apps

GoldieGirl19: HEY NOW

GoldieGirl19: I’m right here

GoldieGirl19: …and I HAVE swiped right. there just aren’t a lot of options here

the_mEsmerizer: except the billionaires

the_mEsmerizer: one more reason why you should go

GoldieGirl19: maybe…

47Blob: please don’tget murdered.

the_mEsmerizer: stop being so dramatic. She’s not going to get murdered.

47Blob: I just think it’s dumb to accept mysterious invitations from rich guys who shouldn’t know you exist

the_mEsmerizer: so you’re calling Goldie dumb now?

As they dissolved into a silly argument about whether or not I was more likely to get chopped up into a million pieces or end up a willing visitor to a sex dungeon, I sat back on the couch and reached for the invitation once more.

The moment my fingers touched the thick, creamy paper, I again felt that strange little shiver run down my back, like raindrops dancing up and down my spine.

As I drew it closer, the gold leaf shimmered, glittering like fairylight.

I rose and went over to the window, propping the invitation carefully behind the row of little potted succulents sitting on the sill. It was so beautiful, it deserved to be displayed.

My friends’ words hung in my mind—both Isaac’s paranoid fears and Esmer’s insinuation that I led a very cautious, uneventful life.

Maybe she was right—maybe I did need to live a little.

I wasn’t looking for a romp in a sex dungeon, but I had to admit that I wouldn’t say no to a little extra spice in my life.

And this sounded more fun than finally agreeing to meet some douchey guy from a dating app.

What was the worst that could happen? Aside from being murdered, obviously.

Of course, that means finding something to wear.

I didn’t exactly keep a closet full of masquerade attire.

I owned exactly one thing that might be considered appropriate—a long, silvery dress that I’d bought for an event my freshman year of college and had proceeded to use for every formal occasion since.

It could work, but it was only half of the equation. I still needed a mask.

A knock sounded at my apartment door, startling me out of my thoughts.

Weird. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but sometimes deliveries showed up fairly late in the day. I didn’t remember ordering anything, but that wasn’t unusual—I had a bad habit of online shopping late at night and then completely forgetting about my purchases until they showed up at my door days later.

Sure enough, I found a package waiting on my doorstep.

Let’s see what terrible purchase I made this time. I carried the box over to the kitchen table and proceeded to tear it open.

Inside, in a pool of blood-red silk, I found a business card. There were no words on the card, just a symbol—three interlocking triangles with a rose at the center. Just like on the invitation. My heart jumped up into my throat as my fingers tugged at the silk, pulling the top layer aside.

Beneath, shining up at me, was a mask.

It was so beautiful I’m pretty sure I gasped out loud.

Gold and silver beads glittered across curves of delicate metallic lace, like gems caught in a spider’s web.

On the outer edges, just beyond the eyes, the lace had been built up in layers to suggest dew-kissed roses, and each had a tiny silver bell at its center that tinkled as I gently lifted the mask from the bed of blood-red silk.

Someone really wanted me to attend this masquerade. The question was, who?