by Linda Kage
Trust In Love
A Love Mark Romance
Linda Kage
Trust in Love
Copyright © 2020 by Linda Kage
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses or establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
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All rights reserved. No part of this book—except in the case of brief quotations in reviews—may be used, reproduced, or translated without written permission of the author.
Contact Information: [email protected]
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Publishing History
Linda Kage, May 2020
ISBN-13: 978-0463920169
Smashwords Edition
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Credits
Cover Artist: Kage Covers
Editor: Summer at Red Pen Revolution
Proofreader: Shelley at 2 Book Lovers Reviews
Proofreader: Judy at Judy’s Proofreading
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. Farrow
2. Farrow
3. Farrow
4. Nicolette
5. Nicolette
6. Nicolette
7. Farrow
8. Nicolette
9. Farrow
10. Nicolette
11. Farrow
12. Nicolette
13. Farrow
14. Nicolette
15. Farrow
16. Nicolette
17. Farrow
18. Nicolette
19. Farrow
20. Nicolette
21. Farrow
22. Nicolette
23. Farrow
24. Nicolette
25. Farrow
26. Nicolette
27. Farrow
28. Farrow
29. Nicolette
30. Nicolette
31. Farrow
32. Nicolette
33. Farrow
34. Nicolette
35. Farrow
Epilogue
2nd Epilogue
About the Author
For me.
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That’s right, this story is dedicated to me. I’ve spent too long suffering through a strange, depressive state where I disconnect yet function just enough to get the bare minimum done, even though I don’t want to, where I put on an okay front but actually feel like a failure at almost every turn, or feel nothing at all, and somehow fear everything, where I’ve lost so much faith in myself and think the world would be better off without me that it’s downright scary. But if I truly want to take care of the people most important to me, then I need to learn to care about myself. Heck, I have to downright love myself.
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So, yeah, this one’s just for me.
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Don’t ever forget you matter. You’re important. It’s true.
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Love yourself, too.
“And then, one not-so-very special day, I went to my typewriter, I sat down, and I wrote this story. A story about a time, a story about a place, a story about the people. But above all things, a story about love. A love that will live forever.” —From Moulin Rouge
1
Farrow
I’d witnessed the birthing process enough from growing up in the brothel where my mother had worked to know the queen’s babe would be here soon.
Low, distressed moans and heightened murmurs of encouragement filtered from her royal bedchamber and out into the corridor, echoing down the hall to me like shards of haunting memories that pelted me with visions better left forgotten.
Pain and blood, and too often death, mixed in with the new breath of life; I’d seen it all. I knew exactly what was happening in that room.
Biting my bottom lip, I stole an inconspicuous glance around the corner and watched the assortment of men gathered outside her door, waiting for news, men who knew nothing about the process transpiring on the other side of that portal.
Among the ignorant, the king sat gruffly in a padded chair that someone had brought for him as he glared at the chamber’s entrance and impatiently rolled his signet ring around his pinkie. Even in the middle of the night, he wore his gold crown embedded with rubies and sapphires and long leather cape with the fur collar.
Ever the pompous ruler.
Tonight, however, he seemed more zealous than he had during the last four times one of his wives had given birth. More restless. More attentive. And infinitely more irritable.
Then again, the last four times a queen had borne him progeny, he’d already had a male heir.
But Murdock was nearly five years in his grave now, and King Torrance’s remaining four issue were all female, thus preventing any of them from assuming the throne after his reign, per Far Shore custom.
Or maybe I should say, his four remaining legitimate children were all female.
A bastard like me didn’t count, of course.
“It doesn’t matter if she births a boy or not, you know,” a voice, thick with a royal’s elitist pragmatism, announced directly from my left.
Flinching in surprise because I thought I’d been alone and hidden rather well, I spun to find one of the king’s legitimate offspring standing beside me in her nightgown.
“What’re you doing out of your bedchamber this late?” I hissed.
Twelve-year-old Sable blinked at me from solemn gray eyes. “My rooms are just there. And honestly, who could sleep with all that caterwauling going on? It’s absolutely dreadful.”
“Indeed,” I said dryly. “Such concern for your dear, sweet stepmother while she’s suffering through the most intense agony of her life. You’re the soul of sympathy, you are.”
With an indifferent shrug, Sable crowded closer to me so she could peer around the corner as well and study our father in all his feral glory. “Even if it’s a girl,” she whispered, persistently pursuing the conversation she’d initiated. “You still have less of a chance to inherit the crown from him than, well, I do.”
I sniffed and tossed her an affronted glance. “I’ve no interest in the crown.”
To which my half sister hummed and raised her eyebrows in obvious disagreement. “Then what’re you doing up here, skulking around and waiting for the first morsel of news? Certainly, you’re not concerned for our dear stepmother’s well-being. Kalendria wants you banned from Far Shore entirely. She probably wouldn’t balk at the suggestion of you being drawn and quartered.”
Ignoring that unfortunate bit of fact, I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be curious about the arrival of a new half sibling?” Bumping my elbow her way, I sent her a teasing wink. “Maybe I’ll actually like this one.”
With a moody pout, Sable poked me right back. “As if. You adore me and you know it.”
“Only because you command it, my princess,” I murmured offhandedly, my attention returning to the king when he demanded to know how much longer he was going to be forced to sit there, waiting.
None of his servants were brave enough to tell him he wasn’t being forced to do any such thing. He sat there by his own directive to begin with.
The entire scene was sad, really, because of how desperately he wanted a legitimate male heir. It was almost as sad as how desperately I wanted him to claim me as such.
“It’s going to be another girl, anyway,” Sable went on in her matter-of-fact voice.
I glanced her way, lifting my eyebrows. “You think so? Even though the second soothsayer claimed it would be a boy?”
“You mean Roloff?” With a roll of her eyes, Sable muttered, “He only pred
icted a boy because Father beheaded the first soothsayer for predicting a girl. Honestly, what else could he say?”
“Honestly,” I shot back, rolling my eyes to copy her. “He could’ve told the truth. The king will behead him anyway if he learns he was lied to.”
“If he finds him,” Sable argued. “Which I doubt he will. You and I both know Roloff’s halfway to Lowden, or Donnelly, or maybe even Blair by now.”
I agreed with her wholeheartedly. But it was always fun to egg on Sable’s temper, especially when she was certain she was right, which was pretty much always.
“They tested him before he could approach the king,” I reminded her. “And he was found to be pure of heart, in which case, he couldn’t lie.”
“Of course, he could,” Sable insisted, her voice sharpening high enough to make both of us flinch and widen our eyes before glancing worriedly toward the others to make sure we hadn’t been heard. When no one reacted, telling us we remained undetected, she turned back to me, hissing, “He didn’t want to die, Farrow. The lie was about self-preservation. Besides, being pure of heart doesn’t mean you’re unable to—”
She broke herself off when the first cry of a newborn rent the air.
The two of us exchanged wide-eyed glances.
The child was here.
“Well?” King Torrance barked, surging to his feet as a midwife eased nervously from the queen’s bedchamber and into the corridor. “Is it a male?”
Her answer was too quiet for us to hear, but the king’s response was not. Throwing his head back, he bellowed in outrage before slapping the quivering midwife across the face and knocking her to the ground. When a dignitary stepped forward and touched his arm to rein him in, the king spun and began thrashing him next.
He cuffed the unfortunate man upside the head until the dignitary cowered to his knees and blanketed his bloody face with his arms. So, the king proceeded to kick him in the ribs with an inhuman barbarity while his other advisors watched wide-eyed, all of them backing into the farthest walls so as not to be next.
Sable whimpered out a sympathetic shudder, so I nudged her toward her bedchamber. “You’d better return to your room.” She didn’t need to witness such cruelty.
“What about you?” she hissed, glancing at me with concern. “You’re not even allowed inside the main keep unless Father invites you, much less the family wing.”
“I’ll look after myself.” Prodding her harder, I urged, “Go! Now. He’s coming this way.”
“He—” Sable glanced over and peeped out an anxious sound when she spotted the king indeed storming in our direction. Sending me a farewell glance, she darted into safety, silently closing the door just as I slipped into a shadowed nook, out of sight and behind a stone column.
A moment later, Father rounded the corner.
“This is an outrage,” he blustered as he stalked by where I hid in the dark, the breeze from his passing cape brushing against my bare arm. The dignitary’s blood freckled his cheeks and began to drip as he roared, “Where the hell is that lying soothsayer? Bring him to me at once! I want his head on a platter.”
Damn, he was mad.
A bitter grin quirked my lips. Good.
Five daughters now and still no son worthy enough to pass his crown to. Poor, poor king. My heart wept for him. Truly. Or it would if I actually cared about his precious heir. But I didn’t. So my smile spread.
I only cared about his misery. Or his recognition.
I knew another girl didn’t put me in the line of succession. As I’d told Sable, I didn’t want to rule. And hell, gaining another sister didn’t get me any closer to being publicly claimed, either. But there was a petty sort of relish to being the only son of a man who had no male heir when that man refused to acknowledge you as his. I liked seeing him suffer, since he’d made me suffer with his denial, since he’d made my mother suffer by forcing her to stay in that damned brothel where she’d died, broken and alone, riddled with disease. I ached for his despair and ruin almost as much as I yearned for his approval and respect.
And if I couldn’t have one, I’d settle for the other.
It was all so very complicated and contradictory of me, I know. It probably made me just as evil and wretched as my paterfamilias, but it was the deepest desire of my heart. And I couldn’t seem to stop myself from craving his pride or his pain, no matter how hard I tried.
So, until the day he decided I was worthy enough to be called son, I would wish for a whole litter of sisters, just to spite him. May they all be as clever and witty and entertaining as sassy Sable.
Curious to see who else the king was going to blame for having another daughter—for he certainly wouldn’t point a finger at himself—I furtively followed the trail of dignitaries and guards fretting over him as he stormed into his throne room to rant and pace.
The last time he’d fathered a female, he hadn’t even let his queen heal from childbearing before he’d tossed her from the castle—literally, from a second-story window and straight to her death—and married another. And that had been while Murdock was still alive. Who knew how long this wife would last.
I had to admit, it wouldn’t break my heart to see the youthful Queen Kalendria go. She and I had never gotten on, not since the night she’d tried to crawl onto my pallet with me in the stables, anyway, and I’d turned her away without giving her what she wanted.
In hindsight, I probably should’ve just fucked the shrew as she had ordered, because a woman scorned—especially when she was the most powerful woman in the kingdom—was the worst sort of enemy to have. Sable had no clue our stepmother had secretly been trying to have me assassinated for nearly two years now, and only the king’s interference had saved me.
Watching Father fume, I settled into my usual spying spot behind the largest tapestry on the north wall as he heaved himself onto his throne before he pounded his fist down on its stone armrest.
“I want that damn king of Donnelly to pay for this. This is that bastard’s fault. How dare he take my only son from me?”
From the dark, I rolled my eyes. Not your only son, Father.
“Murdock was supposed to be my legacy,” King Torrance wailed. “My heir.”
Oh, give me a break.
Murdock had been an ass. A boorish, vain, cruelly selfish ass. Worse so than Father because he’d been particularly reckless and ignorant in his asinine ways. Far Shore was better off with him gone. He would’ve made the worst ruler this realm had ever seen. And that was saying a lot with all the tyrants who’d traipsed through these halls before him.
Good riddance to Murdock was my sentiment.
“And that Donnelly fiend murdered him!” my father sneered. “Something must be done to make Donnelly weep with regret, I tell you. The House of Lyker will not stand for this injustice. We should—we should kidnap one of his children. Or his wife. His entire fucking family. He took my son; it’s only right that I take his. We could torture the whole lot of them until Donnelly forfeits a debt that drains their coffers to nothing, only to return his kin back to him in such disrepair that barely even an axe to the head could benefit them.”
One of his dignitaries bowed low. “As always, you have devised a most wonderful plan, Your Majesty. The only problem, however, may lie with the fact that Donnelly—er, King Brentley, that is—has n-no children to torture. And—and—”
“That’s right,” another dignitary jumped in to assist when the first became tongue-tied under the king’s glare. Wringing his hands, he added, “And since his marriage was an arranged union to help Donnelly form their alliance with High Cliff—”
“Yes, yes,” the king growled, waving a harassed hand. “There’s no need to remind me of that. I’m fully aware Donnelly chose to align themselves with High Cliff and not us. We waged a war against them because of it, did we not? A war I lost my only goddamn son in. Do you think I’ve forgotten about Donnelly’s fucking alliance with fucking High Cliff?”
“No, Your Majesty, no. Not
at all, of course not. I was just saying, uh, that maybe King Brentley isn’t so fond of his wife, since—you know—he was forced to marry the daughter of the High Cliff king to seal their alliance. We might be doing him a favor if we took her off his hands.”
“Idiot,” the king scoffed, backhanding the dignitary across the face. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks of the bitch. No man wants his possessions taken from him, regardless of his affection for it. It’s a matter of pride, something a dullard like you could never comprehend.”
“But they’ll declare war on us if we steal one of their noble family members,” the first man pleaded. “And they’ve defeated our armies twice now. You remember what they did the last time we—”
Surging to his feet, the king roared, “Think you I’ve lost my memories, you damn fool?! Why do you keep reminding me of everything I already know? Everything I’ve lost?”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I just—”
“Get out of my sight!” Pointing toward the exit, King Torrance snarled at two of his nearest guards, “Take him to the dungeons. His services here are no longer required.”
“Your Majesty, no! I didn’t mean it that way. I beseech you, please. Have mercy. I just thought—”