Traitor's Crown (Stones of Terrene Book 3)

by RJ Metcalf

  “Yes, sir.” The heat of the fire seared at his pant legs and he moved away from it, finally warmed through. “Do you want me to bring him here?”

  “Tell him I want him here within twelve hours.” Victor’s eyes narrowed, and he slid his hands in his pockets as he regarded Christopher. “I have a feeling he’s a bit too overzealous about having a Void Born to control after so long, and I don’t want him to do anything stupid when it comes to you and orders.”

  Christopher nodded as he lugged a bag out from behind the couch in the other room. He quickly sorted through his daggers. “Thank you, sir.”

  Victor loomed over him like a slender hawk. “Unlike some, I like to protect my assets for as long as possible.” He handed Christopher a blade with a serrated edge, the Doldran crest gleaming in the light. “Give my regards to the Queen.”

  * * *

  Even in the later hours of the night, the Aerugan palace had enough staff and activity to make Christopher profoundly grateful for his borrowed Antian livery. The green-and-yellow garb may be hideous, but it provided him the invisibility to move freely among the servers, courtiers, messengers, and other working assistants, who appeared and disappeared throughout the massive marbled hallways and white arches. He maneuvered through the maze of the palace expertly, relying on his memorized map of the layout to lead him to the room that Kaius had been given for the duration of the Leaders’ Summit. Better to go talk to him first, before the assassinations started and palace security tightened.

  Pamela and Rachel promised him a two hour head start, as they had to finish their makeup and sheer costumes before they could even leave for the palace, let alone intercept and take out the original prostitutes. Christopher glanced up at a golden clock that ticked softly in a nearby alcove. At this point, he had about a quarter of that time, if they were holding to that estimation.

  He hurried, his steps sounding loud to his ears as he approached Kaius’s door. He rapped it with his knuckles. Once, twice. Christopher pressed his palm against the smooth wood. “Advisor Kaius? Sir? It’s Christopher.”

  He’d barely finished speaking when the wood left his fingers, the door swinging open to reveal Kaius’s shadowed face. The Elph grabbed Christopher’s arm and yanked him inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

  Kaius loomed near Christopher’s face, his expression tight and hungry. “Where have you been?” Kaius released Christopher’s bicep and retreated further into his room, his long brown robes swishing with his angry strides. He turned back at Christopher and gestured for him to come in.

  Hesitant, Christopher came into the light, ignoring the Antian crest hanging on the wall and the small idol of Falchion on the roll-top desk. An incomprehensibly large bed with unkempt sheets sat at the far wall, and Kaius stood by a squat table and couch in the center of the room. Now that the advisor stood in the glow of a nearby gaslight, the pallor of Kaius’s already pale face, and what looked like bruises that bloomed out from under Kaius’s sleeves became noticeable. Christopher frowned. “Sir, are you well?”

  “No,” Kaius snapped. He lifted his sleeves to reveal lurid blotches and a smattering of scratches and cuts. “I’ve been cooped up in here, having to damage myself, because of that—” He jabbed his fist toward the door. “That Void-cursed, whale-born human scum from Doldra.” Kaius’s face reddened, and he stomped over to a small liquor cabinet. He poured himself a glass of amber liquid and downed it in one gulp. He clutched the glass with white knuckles. “How does he have the blood-bond? How does he hold rank over me?”

  “Sir?” Christopher clasped his hands behind his back as he watched Kaius pace. “I don’t understand. Who are you talking about?”

  “Brandon!” Kaius roared. His eyes flared wide. “He told me to stop lying, and now I can’t do what I need to be doing.” He stabbed a finger toward the ceiling, then winced and dropped his hand to press into his side, his breathing ragged. “I should be out there, laying the path for our glorious victory, and instead, I am here, relying on servants for news and waiting for you to show up. I can’t risk going out and giving away anything, and now I’m stuck here, hurting myself, so I can honestly say I’m unwell.”

  Christopher bowed deeply, his pulse starting to race. Prince Brandon was in the blood-bond? And he was above Kaius? How was that possible? “My apologies, sir. I was working under Lord Victor’s orders.”

  Kaius’s glare eased some. “What’s happening? What is he going to have you do?”

  “I’m to assassinate Queen Violet tonight. Pamela and Rachel are taking out Everett and Weston.”

  Glee brightened Kaius’s eyes. “Finally.”

  Boldness stiffened Christopher’s spine at the sight of Kaius’s weakness. The way Kaius had emphasized honestly … could Kaius not lie right now? Is that what Prince Brandon had ordered from Kaius? “What is the north planning? Are they truly going to enslave all the south?”

  “Of course not.” Kaius sniffed. “We’re going to wipe out the filth and keep only those worthy of being our slaves. We don’t need to share resources with—” His mouth snapped shut and fury whitened his face. “How dare you.” He seethed, his hands reaching out like claws at Christopher’s neck. He dropped them to his side and glided forward, breathing into Christopher’s. “I still outrank you, slave.”

  Christopher bowed his head in a show of subservience, hiding his expression. So it wasn’t exactly as he’d been told. They were going to kill those that weren’t useful. It wouldn’t be a life of service and care, like some of the blood-bonded back home. How many in the south would have to die?

  “I have new orders for you,” Kaius spoke lowly, his voice roughened with bitterness. “Kill Brandon. Cut this bond.” Christopher’s head whipped up, and Kaius ran his hand through his hair, nodding to himself. Kaius stared at the crest embroidered over Christopher’s breast. His gaze flicked up to meet Christopher’s. “I won’t tolerate failure in this. If you fail or get caught, kill yourself.”

  Christopher dipped his head in a nod, his arm tingling with the bonded magic, dread swirling through his gut. Brandon was the one he was most interested in. Twice now he had witnessed Brandon, Doldran royalty, putting the needs of commoners above his own. The king was an enigma he wanted to study, not assassinate. “Yes, sir,” he said, the words falling from his lips like a millstone around his neck.

  Christopher kept his focus on the floor, his mind whirling. He had two orders, and they didn’t counteract each other. He’d have to kill both royals, tonight. But he could choose the order. The easy target first—Violet. Then he’d finish the duel with Brandon that they’d started back in Kelstone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Brandon

  A flare of distant homesickness surged through Brandon as he strode through the austere Aerugan halls, hand on his sword hilt. It had been over two decades since he’d called Doldra home, but the warm amber walls, the rich wooden furniture, and the vibrant decor was so much more appealing than the cold whites, blacks, and sterile simplicity of this place. Was it all of Aerugo who disliked color? Or just Everett?

  Either way, it would be a relief to have the Summit over with as soon as possible. They needed to unite, and in that regard, the timing of the Summit was perfect. But all the silly formalities were vexing. They needed to be mustering forces. Not holding meetings about taxes.

  Granted, once the Summit was over, he had only one place to really go to, like it or not. He didn’t feel ready to return to Doldra for good. To visit the rooms that he’d been raised in, to walk the halls that he’d rampaged in, to go to the library where his wife was first poisoned—where he’d nearly killed their daughter.

  Jade. He had a lifetime of penance to pay to her.

  He angled toward an open door with Aerugan guards in black-and-silver uniforms at attention on the outside. They saluted as he passed them and entered the large sitting room. A deep blue rug provided a splash of color in relief to the contrast of the white floor, black couches, and white table.
Thick curtains half-covered a nearby window, and Deisy’s pale blue dress complemented the navy color of the curtain. Queen Violet stood by the table, bracing her hands against it, an expression of pure vexation adding to the faint wrinkles around her eyes. She fairly radiated disapproval.

  Brandon bowed before she spoke.

  They’d known each other for only a few months before his family had been slaughtered in Doldra and she’d been made into a widow. They were never close, by any standard. But there was still a bond. A solidarity in losing their spouses in the same tragedy. A slight understanding, from the meals shared between her, Sapphire, and himself, as they’d tried to reach out and encourage Violet before she wedded his brother.

  So it wasn’t too shocking, or alarming, when he’d received a summons from her after his announcement this morning at the Summit.

  He straightened and gave her a somber nod. “Your Highness.” He looked past her to equally greet her handmaiden. “Deisy.”

  Deisy bobbed a curtsy and Violet shook her head at him. “Brandon. What the whales were you thinking?”

  Violet’s curt tone instinctively put Brandon on the defensive, but he fought to not let it show how quickly she got a rise out of him. “I was thinking that I wanted to protect our people.” Brandon stalked forward and plopped himself into a seat by the table, uncaring that she hadn’t invited him to sit. He shifted his sword so it would fall to the side of him and not twist on his belt oddly. It was brash of him to ignore decorum like this, and it would test what small bonds they had from so long ago, but he was tired and didn’t care about propriety much right now. “My people are not prepared for an invasion. We’re not a military-minded country like yours.”

  “They’re my people, too, Brandon. They have been for twenty years.” Her voice rang sharp with that reminder before she sank into her seat with a sigh, her back straight. Her wine-purple earrings swung forward and glittered in the light as she settled her forearm on the table. Her voice softened. “We’re not much better prepared, to be honest.” She smoothed a thick section of black hair with white streaks away from her face. “But you just gave Everett something he’s dearly wanted.”

  “And he gave me what I wanted,” Brandon countered. “I don’t want my daughter to have to marry his son.”

  Violet raised her eyebrow. “He’s my son, too, you know.”

  Brandon grimaced. “I know. I’m sorry.” He shrugged and he frowned at the stiff movement. One thing he missed from his twenty years of being not-a-prince: comfortable clothing. “If she didn’t already have her heart set on someone else, I wouldn’t be as vehement against it, but … I want her to have a relationship like Sapphire and I had.”

  Violet’s expression and tone softened. “Not everyone can be blessed with a choice, Brandon.” She reached her hand out across the table and set it on Brandon’s in a brief show of support. “But I admit I’ve been thinking along the same lines. I want my son to be happy, and I know that Jade makes him happy.” She lifted a finger to forestall any comment from Brandon. “But I know that such a union would make her unhappy, and that would affect whatever relationship they have.” She drew back, crossing her arms over her amethyst dress. “It was hard for me to marry Richard and harder for me to marry Everett. Choices like that, for duty, are a burden I’d rather neither of our children had to bear.”

  “Then why haven’t you said anything against it?” Brandon’s voice rose. He flung his hand to the closed door. “Why are you letting our children suffer with this nonsense?”

  “Because, Brandon,” Violet’s voice hardened, “I still need to stay in my husband’s good graces if I want any sort of power or sway.”

  His retort lodged in his throat, and he ground his teeth.

  She continued, “I suggested that they consider making a treaty document as a means to draw things out, prevent them from marrying for duty. There’s no guarantee that Everett would accept it, but it was a chance to take.” Violet looked up at Deisy, who gave Violet a small smile. “It was the best I could think of, considering the situation at the time.”

  Brandon stared at the blindingly white table. He couldn’t harbor anger against her. Not when she’d done all within her power against her controlling, whale-spawn of a husband. Brandon clenched his fists. Richard had issues, but at least he wouldn’t have treated Violet so poorly.

  Violet hesitated. “Have you read the newspaper recently?”

  “No. Should I have?” He rubbed his fingers against his forehead. It was hard enough getting back into the world of politics without having to think of mediocre things like the press.

  She slid a paper across the table, and he read the headline, sitting up. Scandal! Lord Everett involved in Doldra’s royal family slaughter? What really happened twenty years ago!

  His vision choked red. “Is this—”

  A knock announced someone at the door, and Deisy opened it to reveal a server in Aerugan livery. He bowed in the doorway and walked in, his head bowed as he balanced a tray that held a steaming teapot and several tea cups. He set it down on the table, then looked up.

  Shock rippled through Brandon, swiftly followed by the heat of rage. The Void Born from Kelstone. The other man froze for barely a heartbeat before he brandished a dagger from the folds of his uniform and jumped on the table, rushing toward Violet, who pushed away from the table. Deisy grabbed Violet’s shoulders and twisted, putting herself between the assassin and the queen.

  Brandon grabbed the chair next to him and swung it against the assassin’s legs. The man stumbled and swore before falling off the table. He popped up a moment later and eyed Brandon across the table. His short, black ponytail jostled as he sprinted toward Violet.

  “Guards! Guards!” Violet screamed as she backed up, flashing a short dagger at the assassin.

  Brandon raced around the table and drew his sword. The metal clashed against the assassin’s blade. They struggled, each pushing against each other. The door burst open behind them, drawing the assassin’s attention for a heartbeat. His gaze darted away toward the window. He heaved his strength forward, pushing Brandon back and into a fallen chair. Brandon stumbled and the assassin raised his blade as if he was about to stab Brandon through.

  Guards swarmed on either side of Brandon, and the assassin drew back. He turned on his heel and chucked a chair at the window. Glass shattered, sending fragments flying everywhere. The assassin sprinted toward the window, and Deisy shrieked.

  Brandon found his voice, buried under all the anger. “Stop!”

  The would-be assassin froze, hands braced on either side of the jagged glass, blood leaking from his left hand where the window had already cut him. He looked over his shoulder at Brandon, eyes dilated.

  Brandon held his hand out, his heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t expected the assassin to actually listen, but he’d take whatever he could get. Maybe he could somehow talk him down, and they could question the man. “Don’t even try.”

  The assassins nostrils flared.

  “Arrest him,” Violet ordered, her voice strong despite the tremor that ran through it. Guards pulled the assassin from the window, and Violet leaned her hip against the table, her hands bracing herself there as she shook. “Take him to the dungeon.” She looked at Brandon. “Thank you.”

  Brandon nodded as he sheathed his blade, watching as the soldiers escorted the man out. Someone wanting him dead made sense. But who would want Violet dead? And why?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Weston

  Weston stalked through the rain with impunity, uncaring of the cold water that clung to his hair and rain down his face in rivulets. Spending a few hours in the workshop had done him good, letting his mind clear some of the fog that overtook him in his anger. Hopefully he’d been there long enough that his father wouldn’t try to follow up and finish their fight tonight. At this point, Weston wanted nothing more than to return to his room, crash on his bed, and not move till long after dawn.

  He groaned and rub
bed his hand down his face. There was a brunch in the morning for the delegates, and his mother had already informed him that he’d be co-hosting. His stomach flipped. Jade would be there. Should he find her and tell her about the newspaper article tonight, before any rumors reached her? He glanced back at Niles, then rejected the idea of asking Niles for his advice.

  He knew what his bodyguard would say. “Do you really want to stir this up?” No, he didn’t want to stir anything up, but he wanted to protect Jade from the whirlwind that loomed on the horizon.

  Maybe he’d find Zak and at least warn him. Let Zak take the lead on how to approach the whole thing with Jade. If Everett had truly been responsible for all the deaths at the Doldran palace back then … Weston didn’t know how they’d react.

  Weston walked into the nearest palace entrance, taking every shortcut and avoiding palace staff. He didn’t want his father hearing that he was back. Niles shadowed his movement.

  Relief coursed through Weston as he neared the door to his chambers. He looked back at Niles. “Get some rest. I’m just going to bed. No need to stay up anymore.”

  Niles opened the door for Weston and walked in, turning on the gas light for him. He surveyed the room with only a small pause in his inspection, and his lips twitched as he turned back to Weston. “Have a relaxing night, Highness.” He touched the two fingers of his left hand to his sword hilt and lifted two fingers to his head in a gesture of respect. “Sleep well.”

  “Thanks.” Weston let the door swing shut behind him, taking a moment to rest with his back against it. Precious little light came in through the windows, and the soft patter of rain eased some of the tension remaining in his shoulders. He sighed as he unbuckled his sword belt and set it on his dresser. He strode over to his lounge chair to sit and take off his boots, but drew short.

  Shapely legs shifted under a barely-there negligee, and a blonde woman smiled up at him from the reclining seat. She lowered her lashes, her gaze clearly traveling from his boots up, pausing momentarily at his groin, then up to his eyes. A slow smile spread across her red lips. “Hello, Highness.”