Nine Generations of Lycan Kings Had Died at Thirty — Until the Apothecary's Daughter Spoke One Line

Nine Generations of Lycan Kings Had Died at Thirty — Until the Apothecary's Daughter Spoke One Line Nine generations of Lycan Kings of the line of Cairnmoor had died at the noon hour of the autumn equinox of their thirtieth winter — the same date as their coronation — of a slow lung-fever, ten days, a curse laid two hundred and seventy winters back by the last queen of the southern marsh-hold of Marsh-Reed and never lifted by any of nine king-healers in two hundred and seventy winters. Three-and-twenty days before the autumn equinox of his own thirtieth winter, the small careful apothecary's grown daughter Lin carried a new lung-tincture up to the king's chamber-door at the dusk-watch — and the old chapel-priestess took one look at her and asked her her grandmother's name. A clean fated-mate fantasy of an ancient curse that was never a poison and never a fever and had been waiting nine generations for the right small voice to speak the answering line at the right small chamber-bench. #lycanking #alphaking