by Kyra Gregory
An uneasy smirk grew on Jared’s lips, “You’d better hope your father’s grief kills him before he hears you say that,” he said. “He will want you to see this done and he will want you to see this done soon.”
Riffin smirked and his nostrils flared, sucking a deep breath in between gritted teeth. “My father is not King,” he said, “and would struggle to put the manpower together required to face an entire kingdom.”
Jared cocked his head to one side, “You say that,” he murmured, “but he’s done it before—as have you.” He groaned, rising to his feet as he stretched his tired limbs, “Like it or not,” he said, “like father, like son.”
Riffin met Thane’s gaze as Jared turned on his heel and started to walk away. They were true. Like it or not, they were their father’s children. Like his father, nothing would stand in Riffin’s way when it came to protecting the woman he loved.
Just like Ewin, duty drove Thane’s actions.
Unfortunately for them, it didn’t work in any of their favours.
Chapter 9
STOOD IN THE NURSERY, Malia lingered beside her daughters’ cradles. When death lingered as near as it did, she couldn’t help the sinking feeling in her chest that more than one life would be taken. After all, one death always led to another, and, then, another after that.
The war between Lionessa and Evrad had started with but a single death; that of the Queen’s younger brother. Had he not been seized by her enemy, the threat to him would likely have never crossed the young Queen’s mind. His death, a mercy killing of sorts, meant to protect him from the result of the Queen’s failure, was the start of a bloody war for the Lionessan throne.
Vengeance towards the kingdom that had cost the Queen the only family she’d had forced her to unspeakable lengths. The deaths of civilians in Evrad, the deaths of Evradian King and the Evradian Prince, all culminated from the threat against one boy, one life threatened that led to the deaths of hundreds.
The deaths of the King and the Prince paved the way for many more. The executions of monarchs and their heirs were the start of everything after that, clearing the way for so many others to lose their lives, and for the power to shift from throne to throne. The deaths of King Alessio and Queen Merra of Azura must’ve been simple choices to make. After all, Queen Sybelle had already successfully taken one throne, so why not another?
The alliance she established with the pirates—including Malia’s parents—saw to an easy victory. Although, it wasn’t the deaths of Kings or Queens that led to Queen Sybelle gaining Ludorum’s attentions, but the illegalities of her alliance with the pirates.
From there, the betrayal and the bloodshed was unspeakable—Malia couldn’t be surprised that Queen Sybelle met the fate she did when the life she had made for herself was slick with the blood of others of her kind.
But what did that mean for Malia, she wondered? What did it mean for her husband and for her children? What would become of the innocent souls she’d brought into the world, none the wiser to the war she’d delivered them into?
Queen Sybelle and Deros raised their son to be a good, kind man—a King whose rule could be built on something other than blood. Never would they have imagined that his choices would lead to his mother’s death.
And there it was. One more King whose reign was founded on the spilt blood of another. Who was to say they could be any different? What hope was there for them?
Riffin entered the nursery, breathing out a sigh as he relieved himself of the tensions of the outside world, raking his fingers through his hair. Approaching the cradles, his tired features broke into a weary smile—the first one she’d seen in days. “I long to be like them again,” he whispered. His smile grew wider and, contagious as it always was, she smiled too. “They’re so oblivious to the world and to all that’s gone on.”
She slipped her fingers into the palm of his hand and he pressed a kiss to her temple, threading their fingers together.
The nursery door opened, only for Kara to come to an abrupt stop at the sight of Riffin standing there. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be sorry,” he replied, offering her a smile.
Her mother hesitated, standing awkwardly, shoulders slumped. “Is something the matter?” Malia asked. Amidst everything that had gone on in the last few days, they’d barely spoken. Her gaze dropped to the folded piece of parchment she held delicately between her fingers. “What’s that?” she asked.
She shifted uneasily, lips parted as she considered her words. “When you first decided to marry, I worried. Not for...you being a wife, but for being a Queen,” she said. She gave a short, delicate shrug of her shoulders, falling silent as she considered the rest of her words. “I thought I’d taught you enough to know what a marriage should be. But no desire to guide you would be enough when I know nothing of what it means to be Queen,” she said.
Riffin shifted his weight, half-turning towards their daughters, withdrawing from the conversation. He knew she was right—Malia was prepared to be a wife, but a year of marriage was not enough to teach her how to be a Queen.
Her mother swallowed, pursing her lips together, “She was a good friend,” she said, an uncharacteristic swell of emotion in her voice, “always did whatever she could to make me feel better.” She took a shaky breath, fumbling with the letter before handing it to Malia. “She wrote you a letter upon your engagement, hoping it would help put my mind at rest, and help you as...as you became Queen.”
Malia’s hands trembled all of a sudden, a shiver running down her spine. She wiped her sweaty palms against the front of her dress, steeling herself for what she was about to read, before she reached out and took the Queen’s letter.
Tearing at the seal, she found it to be light, her letter short and her advice succinct. ‘I have no fears for you in the position of Queen and I have no doubt that my son will teach you well,’ she wrote. ‘However, your loving mother has asked that I do my part to advise you and, you can imagine, I have found it impossible to refuse.’
Malia’s eyes started to prickle—she could hear the Queen’s voice in her words, the light-heartedness of the manner in which she spoke and jested about her unlikely friendship with a pirate.
But, true to the Queen’s tone, her written word followed that of her voice, taking a more serious one. ‘Do not fear the throne,’ she wrote, ‘embrace it. If you do not, somebody else will.’
Malia had not a single doubt about that. Just as war had broken out upon Queen Sybelle’s ascension to the Lionessan throne, those who would seek to claim it for their own crept out of the woodwork, exploiting all sorts of weakness.
‘A life can be lost with the swing of a sword, as well as the stroke of a pen. Seek out the details in every situation, and read the fine print.’
Much like the way Ludorum decided to kill the Queen, somehow, an alliance still rested between the two rulers. There was a depth to every situation, more than what appeared on the surface—of that, she was right.
‘And now I put to pen words that I wished I never need even utter,’ she wrote. The ink around the word ‘never’ was darker, as though the Queen had gone over the single word time and time again, considering its importance and the necessity of revealing her last piece of advice. ‘Trust no one. Betrayal stings most when it has been conducted by those who have gotten the closest to you. I have no doubts towards your capabilities as Queen. Fears, I have plenty,’ she wrote, ‘but I know you are your mother’s daughter, and I know you will grapple with such fears and make them your strength.’
Malia pursed her lips together, brushing her thumb back and forth over the parchment, her eyes scanning the page over and over again. ‘Be you a Queen in your own right, or a Queen made by a King, a King will always need a Queen at his side to be his most capable. I haven’t a doubt you will be just what my son needs to be the best King he can be.’
“Did she have nothing for me?” Riffin asked, taking Malia by surprise.
Malia glanced in he
r mother’s direction, finding that her features softened, a sympathetic smile inching onto her lips. “I did ask,” she said. “You would do this together. I asked if she wished to write a letter for you also but...”
Riffin smiled, shaking his head and turning away, “But she didn’t,” he whispered. Following his gaze, he marvelled at his daughters, taking turns stroking each of their cheeks.
“She said she taught you everything,” she said. “’My Little Prince knows everything there is to know,’ she’d said to me. ’He has no need for letters.’”
Riffin swallowed and the smirk on his lips quivered, “On that, she was wrong,” he whispered.
Her mother took a step closer, her eyes bright as they glistened with tears. “Call me blind,” she said, “but your mother was never wrong—not in all the years I knew her. I don’t think that started the day the two of you were allowed to marry.”
Riffin bit the inside of his cheek, then clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Perhaps, on that matter, we disagree,” he said.
There was a gentle knock on the door and Riffin cleared his throat, approaching to open once guards were forbidden from entering the nursery uninvited. “Yes?” he asked.
The guard there bowed his head, taking a pause, “Your father has demanded an audience,” he said.
He scoffed, “Demanding an audience,” he murmured. Malia slipped her hand in his as she sensed the intensity of his frustration. Demanding an audience was such a formal matter, not a thing reserved for father and son. Riffin was King now, but he didn’t expect his father would have to start demanding an audience to speak to him, much like he rarely had need to demand an audience with his mother unless the matter was of a serious or political nature.
He made his way into the throne room, Malia clutching his hand tightly in hers. He came to the steps that would lead to his throne, coming to a stop just short of them before he turned to his father. There was hesitance—his father wanted to put distance between them, that of a King and a subject, and, tempted as Riffin may have been to give it to him, he wanted nothing more than to let things go back to the way they were.
“What is it?” Riffin asked, a crack in his voice.
Malia stood beside him, looking between them as they fought a silent war with their eyes alone. Neither one wanted to concede to the other, too much anger and hurt festering between them, incapable of being quelled.
“I’d like to request the use of Boardeck Castle,” Deros said.
Riffin shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head, “Why?” he asked.
Deros licked his lips, “I cannot stay here,” he said. “It’s the smallest of all your mother’s holdings. I don’t think it improper to allow me the use of it.”
Bit by bit, Riffin succumbed to the look in his father’s eyes, “To live there?” he asked, refusing to allow his voice to betray him.
Deros nodded curtly. “Yes,” he said. “To live there.”
Riffin turned away and Malia saw the range of emotions in his gaze, something he hid from his father’s view. He thought of the castle, its location, its advantages and disadvantages. If his father was mounting a rebellion, Boardeck Castle would be of little use to him. Yes, it wasn’t far from the Ludorum boarder, but it was indeed small, owing to no tactical advantage. “Go then,” he said, turning back to him. He put on the best smile he could muster and feigned an indifference towards his request. “When do you leave?” he asked.
“Now,” he replied.
Riffin gave a short chuckle, only, when he realised his father wasn’t joking, all amusement fell from his face. “Now?” he asked. “What would you have done if I’d said no?”
He shrugged with indifference, “Gone to stay with Neyva,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Also, I, too, have land.”
“In Ludorum,” Riffin said. “Surely you wouldn’t be so stupid as to go there at a time like this.”
Deros smirked, turning on his heel and walking away, “Why not? According to the King, we’re at peace,” he said, calling behind him.
His shoulders dropped as he watched after him, blinking with growing confusion, grappling with his father’s intentions.
Malia turned to Riffin, brows twitching together in confusion. “You’re just going to let him leave?” she asked, unable to bite back her surprise.
“What would you have me do?” he asked, throwing his hands up at his sides. “Shall I have the guards restrain him and throw him in a cell again? That’ll certainly repair what’s been broken here!”
“Tell him!” she said. “Tell him of your plans! Tell him that you will exact vengeance for your mother!”
“That day will not be anytime soon,” he said. “This transition is hard enough without having him harping at me, day in and day out, about when I intend to make them suffer for what they’ve done!” He raked his fingers through his hair, licking his lips, “Let him go to Boardeck,” he said, “let him go to my sister’s, let him go anywhere. If that’s what he thinks will heal him then so be it—I won’t stand in his way.”
“This family is better united,” she said through gritted teeth. “You know this! You cannot let yourselves be driven apart by Ludorum! Not when this could be exactly what they wanted!”
Riffin lowered himself onto the steps leading up to his throne, breathing out a heavy sigh, “I know where he will be,” he said. “Should I need him, I can always demand he come back.”
“And the fact that you think you don’t need him now is frightening,” she declared. Gathering her skirts in her hands, she stormed across the throne room, then through the corridors. She found Deros on his way out the main doors, on the steps to the courtyard as he gathered two cloth bags of belongings. “Please don’t leave,” she blurted.
“I cannot stay,” Deros replied.
“We need you here,” she said. “We all need you. Your son needs you.”
“My son has been raised—no longer a boy but a man. No longer a Prince but a King. He can manage himself,” he said.
Malia’s shoulders dropped, taking a pause as she grappled with his frustrations and anger. She knew why he felt the way he did, she knew he had every right to feel it, but that didn’t make what he was doing the right decision. “I know you think he should’ve done this differently. I know you wanted this to go another way, but is this not all the more reason to stay? To see to it that he could make better choices? To see that he might be better informed of his options?”
He shook his head, lips forming a tight line as his nostrils flared, restraining himself from lashing out like he so wished to do. Again, she couldn’t blame him—not when Riffin could lock him up for voicing such options.
“Please,” she said. “Please, reconsider.”
“He’s the King now,” he reiterated. “Nothing I can say or do, as his father or his adviser, will change anything.”
“That’s not true,” she retorted. “He heeds your words, it’s just that this couldn’t have been done any other way.”
“It could,” he said through gritted teeth, facing her with rage in his eyes. “His mother gained the power to go unchallenged; he could’ve used it!”
Emboldened somehow, she took a step forward, squaring up to him, “The last time he challenged Ludorum they made the decision to execute his mother! If he challenged them again, who do you think would’ve been next? You? Me? His sister? Our children?”
“It was a risk he should’ve been willing to take,” he said. “It was a risk his mother would’ve raised him to take!”
Certainly not, Malia thought as she shook her head. “She wouldn’t,” she said. “And if you’d thought to ask him about what she said the night he visited her in her cell, you would know that! She agreed! Whatever her reasons may’ve been, she agreed!”
Deros’s breath hitched in the back of his throat, features contorted into a grimace. “And for the life of me I cannot understand why,” he said.
Thrown by the agony in his eyes, Malia glanced away. In tha
t time, Deros mounted his horse, his mind unchanged despite her best efforts.
“Her body will be arriving here in a matter of days,” she said. “Stay. Say goodbye and, if you still feel this way, leave after.”
Deros cast his gaze towards the gate, skimming his tongue along his teeth. He gave it a moment of thought, a consideration she hadn’t expected, though it only served to spark hope where there wasn’t any. He raised his hand towards the gates, signalling the men who operated it, and Malia’s heart sank. “Staying will only make matters worse,” he said, clutching the reins.
Malia placed her hand over his before he could nudge his horse, stopping him short and forcing him to look at her. His eyes, a rich and gorgeous honey colour, glistened as he mustered all his composure long enough to look at her. “We’re family,” she said. “Whatever’s been done here, you’ll always be welcome back.”
Deros pursed his lips together, glancing elsewhere. A bastard child, having killed his own father, he’d severed all ties with the only family he knew. The Ludorum family, never quite accepting of him, had done little to embrace him—their relationship made worse now by their hand in the death of the woman he loved. An unhappy affair and a daughter that was kept from him, what hope he’d had for a family was ruined. For the longest time, Queen Sybelle was the only family he had. Now, she was gone. All that was left was the life they’d made together—and his hand in her death couldn’t be forgiven either.
“Remain as...tenacious as you are, Malia,” he said. He glanced back down towards her, his gaze darker now. “I reckon you’ll need it if you’re to keep him in line.”