The Dark Queen

by M. Dalto

  Leminol…

  She gritted her teeth, closing her eyes.

  “It’ll be alright,” Xavon reassured her, placing a gentle hand against her back. “Once we are inside and you can properly rest, all will be well.”

  She could only nod as he led her the rest of the way toward the palace.

  “When Leminol lost control,” Xavon explained as they walked, “he banished all magic but his own from the Empire. When he spread out his own power during that destruction, it was as though it created a field that deflected anything that wasn’t from his own making. That was why I needed to return to the Borderlands to bring you back to me. There was no way I would have been able to do so here in the Empire—Leminol wanted no one to have that power. No one other than himself.”

  “This…magic,” she started, asking quietly. “Is it so different from your own?”

  She noticed Xavon smiling softly from the corner of her eye. “The magic in our bloodline runs differently in every one of us. His compared to mine, compared to yours—”

  “I have magic?” she blurted.

  “Oh, my sweet Brynaxia—your magic is the most cherished of all.”

  The pounding in her head continued. “I don’t know how to use magic.”

  “Maybe not now,” he agreed. “It has been a while since you’ve needed to use it, but I assure you, it’s still within you. Once you’ve rested to your full strength, you’ll realize that it has been within you the entire time.”

  She had to take his word for it, but the more he mentioned rest, the more she realized she needed it. She had grown weary from the porting, the walking, seeing the devastation of her lands, and contemplating the concept of this magic she allegedly possessed. The discomfort she felt was only heightened by the battling in her skull, continuing in increasing intensity with each step. She was leaning against Xavon, relying on his strength the closer they came to the castle, and she almost cried with relief when the enormous front doors came into view.

  Before them stood two unknown individuals.

  The man, aged finely, was dressed in an elegant tunic, pants and boots that seemed to impart some royal stature, which would explain his presence at the palace. His features—they were oddly familiar, as if she had met him once, a long while ago.

  The woman beside him, elegantly dressed and extremely pregnant, met her gaze with a sneer that had Brynaxia glancing over her shoulder to confirm it was directed at her.

  The woman did not look familiar, despite her watching Brynaxia as if she was the last person she would ever want to see.

  “What the hell is she doing here?” the woman snapped, her venom directed toward Xavon, and Brynaxia immediately felt her defenses rise at the tone of the woman’s voice. That she would speak to him in such a way, not to mention speak about her like that.

  Xavon, however, appeared unbothered by the woman’s tone, and instead of giving her the benefit of an acknowledgement, turned his attention fully to Brynaxia.

  “May I present to you Lord Steward Razen, former Councillor to the Empire, and his…consort—” he smirked. “Lady Crystalia of the Borderlands.”

  The man named Razen bowed gracefully, even respectfully, but the woman—Crystalia—didn’t move other than to fold her arms above her engorged abdomen.

  No, Brynaxia did not see herself becoming well acquainted with this woman any time soon.

  “Who are you?” Crystalia hissed as she glared at Brynaxia.

  She could see Xavon out of the corner of her eye, opening his mouth to answer for her, but she would not let others speak for her, as if she was incapable of doing so on her own. She took a step away from him, positioning herself before this would-be Lady of the Borderlands, and met her emerald gaze with one that promised only the darkest of intentions.

  “I am Queen Empress Brynaxia,” she informed her with a voice that dripped with as much threat as venom. “I am here to reclaim my Empire.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Convincing Lord Dremond to assist him in his attempt to reclaim the palace took more effort than Treyan wanted to waste on a man who clearly detested him. He thanked the gods that Jamison could keep a level head during the deliberations. Just requesting an audience with the lord almost had Treyan groveling, and it was an insult the prince would not quickly forget.

  Once the lord agreed to see him and the Captain, Treyan took advantage of every moment he could, working in apologies and justifications for the palace’s lack of support toward the outlying kingdoms. In truth, he could have blamed that on Razen, who was focused on his own personal gain. And Treyan—he was too preoccupied with retrieving Alex from the Otherrealm and then handling the situation with Reylor…

  In speaking with Lord Dremond, Treyan finally understood how many had been affected by the years of conflict between the Empire and the Borderlands. He would even go so far as to feel somewhat guilty for his lack of action over the years, especially as the Crown Prince.

  “We were left to handle ourselves for years,” Dremond reminded him, once again, over a poor excuse for ale. “Any request for support from the palace went ignored and we were left to our own devices against whatever mages and lackeys the Borderlands sent through the tree line…or whoever your troops allowed to slip through their fingers.”

  “As I have repeatedly apologized time and time again,” Treyan began, trying his best to reel in his temper. “I would also remind you that the Empire remains dependent on its people to assist in the defense of the tree line.”

  “Why should we have defended an Empire that refused to defend us?”

  “There was no refusal,” Treyan insisted. “Not to mention, these requests you say were sent were never brought to my attention.”

  “Nor mine,” Jamison added with a frown.

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Dremond growled.

  “No,” Treyan responded, but said no more as he considered why such messages would have never made their way to him or Jamison. Who would have intercepted such messages requesting help?

  Who would have possibly wanted to leave the Empire weakened or vulnerable?

  “Not everyone can spend their time traipsing through the Otherrealm looking for a happily ever after,” Dremond grumbled into his mug. Treyan only stared at him; that he had been all but banished to that Otherrealm was not a matter he wanted to bridge in their conversations.

  Discussing the death of Symon, however—that proved to be the more arduous task. Dremond demanded answers, and Treyan had none.

  None that he knew for certain, anyway.

  Treyan only knew what he saw himself and could barely remember what little he was told before rushing from the cottage to make his way back to Alex before anything happened to her.

  “Your son was killed, but not by anyone loyal to the Empire,” Treyan reiterated to Dremond for what felt like the nine-hundredth time. “We don’t know how, we don’t know why, we only know that it happened.”

  Jamison, however, was able to supply the necessary details. “It appeared that whoever killed your son knew who he was, and the effect his death would have on the Empire,” the Captain explained.

  “And that…person,” Treyan drawled, “is the exact same traitor who is currently living within the palace while we waste our time having these conversations!”

  Dremond remained unconvinced. If Treyan could only persuade Lord Dremond to move his army upon the palace, he would be able to properly influence them to move toward the Borderlands. Treyan could convince the lord that the Borderlands were behind not only his son’s death, but the abduction of their Empress, and there would be more than enough momentum to rally the troops, and—

  “Prince Treyan, have you been listening to a damn word I’ve said?”

  Blinking, Treyan sat up straighter in his chair. Jamison, sitting to his right, gave him a rather curious glance, while the look Lord Dremond cast from across the table in his war tent was filled with contempt and utter annoyance.

  “Of course I have
,” Treyan lied as he glanced at the maps that littered the space between them.

  “So you understand that we’re in no position to march upon the palace until we’ve gathered enough information to justify moving the entire troop.”

  “Then why the hell are you out here?” Treyan countered, leaning forward in his chair.

  “We were here to discover the whereabouts of my son,” Lord Dremond ground out through clenched teeth. “Now that you have updated me on his status, we will need to regroup until we know for certain who and what we are up against.”

  “I can tell you who,” Treyan insisted. “And to be honest, it will take more than your army to defeat them, if we continue to wait.”

  “We need more time,” Lord Dremond growled.

  “We don’t have time,” Treyan shouted, a fist striking the table.

  “Treyan,” Jamison hissed, but the prince ignored him.

  “If you don’t want to move your entire army upon the palace right now, fine, I understand that—but you cannot allow those bastards to go unpunished for what they did to your son. For what they’re going to do to your Empress.”

  “What do you suggest?” Dremond asked, still appearing skeptical.

  “Allow me and the Captain to take a small, select group to the palace to confirm my suspicions,” Treyan suggested as calmly as he could.

  “What will I get out of this arrangement?” the lord asked with a raised brow. “Sacrificing my soldiers on a whim…for what? So you and your Empress can return to hiding behind your walls while the rest of us fight your battles for you?”

  “You’ll know for certain that we will deal with the one who killed your son,” Treyan hissed. “You’ll help secure the wellbeing of your Empress, whether or not she’s currently behind the palace walls. Once we march on the Borderlands, I’ll be able to show you where your son spent his last moments, and perhaps even his ultimate resting place. But none of that is possible if we don’t do something now.”

  Something flashed across Dremond’s eyes, but Treyan would not press the issue, not as the lord turned to Jamison.

  “How many people will you need?” the lord asked casually as if inquiring about the weather.

  Jamison sat straighter in his chair, giving Treyan a passing glance. Treyan acknowledged this was Jamison’s area of expertise—the prince knew better than to intervene.

  “Five of your best, if you can afford them.”

  “You’ll get three,” Lord Dremond countered, finality in his tone.

  Treyan wondered if they had asked for ten, would they have been offered five?

  “We appreciate your cooperation in this matter,” Treyan sighed as he stood from his chair, Jamison following at his side.

  “There’s one more thing,” the lord said as they were about to exit the tent, and both men stopped and turned to face him.

  “This woman from the Borderlands,” he said, looking down to the maps as if focusing on the lands in question. “Whoever she is—when you find her, I want you to bring her back here. Unharmed.”

  “My lord?” Jamison asked, and the flash of Dremond’s dark eyes silenced the Captain.

  “She killed my son, Captain,” he whispered. “If anyone is going to end her, it’s me.”

  Treyan didn’t argue with the lord’s resolve and nodded once as they exited to begin their preparations.

  Treyan hoped the lord would understand when he didn’t keep that promise.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dremond allowed them the use of two men and a woman, trained for his most covert operations, and all more than willing to help their prince. He would remember their names when this was over and offer them a position at the palace.

  Despite Treyan’s objections, it was decided that they would leave at the dawn’s first light. Patrols were more on their guard during the dark evening hours, Jamison reminded him. Dawn would catch the sentries not only at their most exhausted but also allow their party to travel safely all while using the fading shadows to their advantage.

  It took every bit of his discipline to keep from sprinting toward the palace once it was in sight, knowing that he was so close to finding Alex, or at least discovering what had happened to her. Nevertheless, they needed secrecy on their side, and the longer it took for them to be discovered, the greater their advantage.

  The borrowed soldiers knew what they were doing and knew it well. With two in front, and one behind with Jamison, they led the prince through the dense overgrowth, weaving as they took a clandestine, though direct, route toward the palace.

  Soon enough, in the suns’ early morning light…there it was.

  His home.

  “This way, my prince,” the woman urged quietly. The others had already begun their approach, though less directly than Treyan would have preferred. Their goal was to approach the palace undetected while remaining hidden by the shadows, and with the suns on the rise, they were running out of time.

  They moved around the desolation of that centuries-old battle, and it almost appeared they held every breath a little longer while they did so. The royal history, though still shrouded in mystery after all this time, was known throughout the Empire, and knowledge of that devastating battle was more than enough to remind them of what could happen when the Empire and the Borderlands clashed once again.

  A chill traveled down Treyan’s spine, and it had nothing to do with the weather.

  He almost collided with the soldier in front of him, as the company had suddenly stopped.

  From where they hid in the castle’s surrounding dense foliage, they spied two forms approaching through the decimated battleground. A man and a woman; stepping down the broad steps that led to the main pathway to greet them were two more.

  “Treyan,” he heard Jamison whisper at his side, though he hadn’t noticed the Captain’s arrival. His attention was wholly focused on the scene before him.

  The two on the steps—he recognized them immediately. Razen’s pompous form and the arrogant Crystal next to him appeared to be welcoming the two who ambled across the once-sacred land of the Empire. They seemed to be in conversation, but Treyan couldn’t make out the words from where he watched.

  He had never seen the male visitor before—he was older than the others, and there was a thrum of power that Treyan could feel from where he crouched that told him this was not a man he wanted to confront without proper precautions.

  And the woman…

  “Treyan,” Jamison whispered again, this time more urgently. Almost as though in warning.

  Though she wore a beautiful black dress unlike any the Crown Prince had ever seen, with her auburn hair piled atop her head, framed with a crown of the blackest diamonds, her face, her features—every curve…

  His wife.

  His Empress.

  His…

  “Alex,” Treyan said, louder than he should have, and the nearest soldiers tried to hush his exclamation, but he could not just stay there while his wife, his Alex…she was right there.

  “Alex,” he said again, taking a step away from their cover. He felt Jamison reach for him, but he shook him off, refusing to be restrained as he approached his Empress.

  Jamison may have cursed him as he moved away from the safety of their hiding spot, but none of that mattered.

  Not as he ran toward the group standing on the palace’s stairs, not as he screamed out Alex’s name, as he made his presence known.

  The fury that raged within Brynaxia toward the woman who dared block her path into her own palace flickered only slightly at the sound of yelling. She turned to see a man emerging from the wooded outcroppings beyond the palace. Though he was screaming incoherently, his focus was entirely on her.

  The pounding that ebbed and flowed within her head increased exponentially, and she used all of her might not to collapse to her knees as she held her head. She had an image to uphold in front of these strangers, and she would not allow a mere headache, or an intruder, to cause her to show any weakness.
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  No, instead she turned to face this man, even as his features, his dark hair and bright blue eyes, sparked a sense of recognition and nostalgia within her—even as the pain in her head refused to subside as she took a step toward him.

  “Treyan,” she whispered, and she could sense the surprise and curiosity of those around her, but she paid them no mind as she took another step.

  He never once slowed as he approached her, as if he expected a welcoming embrace upon his arrival. Instead, Brynaxia raised her hand, and channeled that pain, that ache in her head and her heart from all the loss she had endured, and aimed her innate power toward the man who would dare call out to her, bombard her, who could believe he could overtake her.

  His surprise was audible as dark bands of magic quickly wrapped around his neck, his wrists, and his ankles. He would have fallen on his face had she not kept him upright, and Brynaxia was content knowing Xavon was not mistaken about the magic she possessed.

  “Alex—what are you doing?” he breathed as he struggled against her bonds, which only caused them to tighten around his body. He coughed as he realized his error.

  “My name is not Alex,” she corrected him.

  “What are you doing here?” Crystalia demanded, storming down the steps as fast as her pregnant form would allow. “Where’re the rest of you traitors?”

  “Crystal, enough.” Razen commanded from where he stood on the steps, though his eyes remained on this Treyan.

  “No,” Crystal shouted, spinning back to him. “He left with them—there’s no way he’s alone. If they’re not here now, they will be soon, and all of this will have been for nothing!”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Xavon purred as he slowly approached Brynaxia turning his back to the others. “Bryn, this man…look closer. Can’t you see? He is of Leminol’s line. He is valuable. To end him now will only bring death and destruction to the Empire…your Empire.”