by M. Lynn
The irony of it all almost made him laugh. Almost. The tournament seemed so long ago. Etta had won it to become his protector and now all he wanted to do was keep her safe.
“Camille, I’m going to need a list of the nobles at that meeting. Can your husband aid me in that?”
She nodded and released his arm. Tears stained her cheeks, and he wrapped his arms around her. Her cane knocked to the ground with a crash, but he didn’t let go.
“Stay safe, brother,” she whispered. “You may think me false, but I do wish for that.”
He let her go, and she picked up her cane and disappeared around the corner.
As they started toward the palace, his eyes darted around. If his own people were coming for him, it could be any one of them. Who was this assassin to be? He drew in a deep breath as Etta stepped up beside him.
“Please.” She paused to steel her voice. “Just consider what it is you do.”
He issued an abrupt nod and entered the courtyard, suddenly knowing exactly who he was and what he must do.
Chapter Eight
Chaos was king.
In the absence of the ruler, nothing was as it should be.
Etta stopped walking as a line of guards barred their way.
“No one is to enter the palace,” one yelled from high atop the scaffolding behind the gate.
Alex straightened his shoulders, lengthened his spine, and pushed back his hood. The well-trained guards showed no reaction on their faces.
“Let your king pass,” Alex demanded.
They finally parted and Etta and Simon followed Alex across the courtyard and up the front steps of the palace.
Nobles and their servants crowded into the halls, bumping and jostling Etta, but she managed to stay on her feet. What was happening? She couldn’t remember a time when there’d been so much activity.
Amalie appeared among the fray and when she spotted them, relief flashed across her face. She rushed forward. “Your Majesty.” Her voice carried and the servants in the hall froze and turned toward Alex.
They whispered to each other that their king had returned. It was said with such obvious relief and glee that Etta scowled at them all.
Almost as one, the servants bowed. Alex stared at them. “Rise,” he said. “I need baths drawn in each of our rooms and supper delivered.” They ran off to fulfill their duties.
Amalie considered him. “Sire, don’t you think it best you address the nobles first?”
He smiled. “Glad to see you were worried about me, Amalie.”
She flushed and mumbled, “I had a good guess as to where you were.”
“Making nobles wait is good for them.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I am king and will address them when I am ready.”
He started walking again and Amalie kept pace. “You should know many of the nobles of the realm are here, more than usual. I don’t know how they arrived so quickly. Word hadn’t gotten out about your missing status.”
“They were already in town for a meeting of their own.”
She nodded as if this wasn’t surprising at all.
It worried Etta. Alex might act as if everything was under control, but he was in danger of losing it all. After all that had transpired between them, she was surprised she could still care. But she did. More than anything. If something happened to him, it would kill her—literally—but she was more afraid for him than for herself. She knew how the kingdom worked. Her father taught her well.
The nobles supplied the palace with everything it needed from food to gold, even armies. The palace guard was under the king’s command, but the greater forces were the ones amassed by nobles from the people living on their lands. If they revolted, the kingdom would fall into war.
They stopped outside Etta’s old room and she was snapped from her own thoughts. “You’ll be staying here again,” Alex said. “Now that you are recovered, my mother would like her rooms.”
Etta opened the door and nodded.
“I will be in the throne room at sundown,” he said before leaving her.
Before long, a handful of servants showed up with food and water for the bath. After living on prisoner’s rations, her stomach flipped and roiled when she even thought of the aromatic meats on the sparkling platter, but she uncorked the wine and poured herself a glass.
It warmed her throat as it slid down and began to calm her nerves. Alexandre Durand was a mystery. His next actions would define him and she hadn’t been able to read what he was thinking. The prince she knew thrived on being well-liked. He was comely and charming. He loved opulence. The prince became the king and now she felt as though she didn’t know anything about him.
He’d hated magic. He’d spoken out against it many times. He’d arrested her people.
Then he’d saved them.
He imprisoned her, said she betrayed him, and then claimed to love her.
She drained her wine and refilled the cup as she walked into the washroom. Setting it on the floor next to the tub, she removed her filthy clothing and sank into the lukewarm water with a sigh.
She lifted her wineglass to her lips and let it dribble down her chin as she drained it once again before sliding under the water.
Was tonight going to be the end of her? Would the people they’d set free be hunted? Would Alex be the friend she loved or the enemy she hated? He couldn’t be both.
She broke free of the water with a gasp, splashing it over the sides onto the stone floor. Stone. Everything in that palace was cold and hard and she shouldn’t be there. She kicked the water in frustration.
After scrubbing her skin raw, she stood and dried herself before dressing in the clothing she found in the wardrobe. Catrine must have prepared for her return.
She walked to the familiar window. When she’d first arrived in that room, she’d stared longingly out of the window, wishing to be anywhere but there, knowing she had no future but the one within those walls.
A knock on her door made her step back and turn. “Enter.”
Simon appeared with a gentle smile on his face. He held a long wrapped parcel in front of him.
“Persinette.” He inclined his head. “The king sent me.” He set the parcel on the table.
“Care for some wine?” she asked.
He arched a brow. “How much have you had?”
“Only a little.” She swayed on her feet.
He shook his head and grabbed her elbow to guide her to the table. “Let’s get some food into you.”
She didn’t argue because he was right. She needed something to soak up the wine. It calmed her so she hadn’t stopped.
“In my defense,” she said slowly. “I deserve it.”
He laughed softly as he set a slice of bread and hunk of cheese on her plate. “More than most.”
She collapsed into a chair. “I am a queen with no kingdom.”
“To be fair, you weren’t raised to be queen, so that was never taken from you.”
“I am a prisoner and this curse will keep me chained here for the rest of my days.” She slouched as the room spun around her.
“Ahhh, well that you were raised for.”
A hiccup punctuated her scowl. “Fine then, I’m a warrior with no weapons.”
“A true warrior doesn’t need weapons.”
“Are you trying to vex me?” She shot him a glare.
He stared back. “Are you trying to make me pity you?”
She bit into the bread and chewed. “No.”
“When you were in the dungeons, I promised to free you.” His smile fell as he glanced away. “I did not know the true meaning of the curse. I didn’t know you couldn’t leave.”
“Simon.” She stopped eating for a moment. “Don’t think for one moment you failed me. You’ve done more for our people than even I have. I heard what you did at the gallows.”
“That was the king’s doing.”
She nodded. “He’s changed his position on magic and it could cost him his throne.”
/> Simon scratched the back of his head. “I truly don’t know what he will do at the meeting tonight.”
She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Just promise me you’ll protect him. He needs you.”
When she glanced at Simon again, he was smiling. “I’ll have help.” He stood and began to unwind the fabric wrapping his parcel.
A gasp escaped her as a blade was revealed. She recognized it immediately. “My sword,” she whispered. “How?”
“He’s kept it since you were arrested.” He held the hilt towards her. “Maybe even then he had faith you would use it in his service once again.”
Her fingers closed over the golden hilt. It fit her hand like it was meant to be there. The blade was light but strong as any other. Her father always told her it wasn’t a blade that won the fight, but how one used it. Even so, he’d had this one made specially for her. It was part of her.
She walked to the open area of her rooms and cut an arc through the air. Her movements were sure, confident. It was what she was meant to be doing. She spun on one leg and flung her arm out as she stumbled forward, the wine stealing her balance.
Simon chuckled and when she faced him once again, he bowed.
A smile lit her face. “So, I was told you began training Alex with a blade.”
Simon chuckled. “I don’t know how a prince survives so long without the skill.”
“I tried to goad him into dueling with me when we were young, but he was always lost in his sketches.” She set her blade down with a dramatic sigh. “Maybe it’s better to have a king whose first inclination isn’t to fight.”
“Unless that’s the only thing left to do.”
“Yes, unless that.”
Still feeling the effects of the wine, Etta twisted her damp hair into a braid and left her room behind. The entire palace seemed as if it was waiting for something. The servants were holding their collective breath.
Etta took notice of every face and each action as she made her way to the throne room. She brushed her hand over the sword hanging at her waist as dread filled her. It was her first time roaming the palace on her own since she was protector and she couldn’t help but feel something important was about to happen.
The doors to the throne room were shut, but upon seeing her, one of the guards opened them and let her through. The room was crowded with nobles. Some lived near and had been able to make the journey immediately. Others must have been in town for the meeting Camille mentioned.
Alex hadn’t yet arrived, but Amalie found Etta and beckoned to her.
“Do you know what he’s going to say to them?” Amalie whispered. She’d come in a gown cut perfectly for her. Yellow lace trailed the curves of her torso over the sky blue high-waisted dress.
Etta wore her usual black pants with a tight black top. If she ended up having to use the sword at her side, she’d need the mobility a dress lacked.
Plus, she hated the things.
“I wish I did.” Etta finally answered with a shrug as she leaned against the wall to wait. She made her sword as visible as possible as she watched the nobles congregate amongst themselves. They wore an array of clothing ranging from bright silks to plain muslins. Etta was the lone woman present not to wear a dress.
The women stared, and the men kept their distance. Did they recognize her? Did they see the sword at her side? Was this the first time most of them had been around a magic woman?
The gawking woman pointed, her angry words floating on the thick air. “It’s one of the prisoners.”
Etta clenched her fingers over the hilt of her sword.
A sudden yearning to be outside hit Etta. Then she’d show them what she could do. Their reactions would almost be worth having to hide it for so long. None of them understood because they didn’t try to understand.
They’d call her dangerous, but they didn’t know how truly dangerous she could be.
Their ignorance blinded them. La Dame wasn’t only coming for the people of Bela. Gaule would need allies – those with magic – or would find themselves very much alone.
Maybe if they stopped persecuting those with magic in their blood, they’d see how much they needed Etta and her people.
Instead, they were going to find themselves very much alone.
“Has Alex told you of the border?” Amalie asked.
“I haven’t seen him since he dropped me at my rooms.”
The young girl glanced around to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard and leaned in. “La Dame is still in Bela. Our scouts report she has repaired the old palace there.”
Etta sucked in a breath. “Not possible.”
“They saw it with their own eyes.”
“Amalie, that palace is in ruins.” At least that was what she’d been told her entire life. “There is nothing left to repair.” She rubbed her eyes. “But the bigger question is why she’d move herself there when her palace at Dracon is supposed to be the grandest there is.”
All thoughts of La Dame disappeared when the double doors were thrown open and Alex faced the crowd.
Etta pushed away from the wall and elbowed her way through the bodies blocking her view. They scowled, but she barely noticed. The only thing she was focused on was the king who was walking down the long, carpeted aisle with a hard glint in his eye. He rolled his shoulders back and held his chin high, refusing to look anyone in the eye.
Chain mail rattled with each step he took but it was hidden behind a black surcoat embroidered with a deep green dragon. It was tied at the waist by a heavy sword belt. He’d come to the throne room armed. That alone sucked the air from her lungs. He’d made sure both of them could protect themselves.
A fur-trimmed mantle of velvet sat lightly on his shoulders, puffing out at the sleeves. He shifted his hand to the hilt of his sword, drawing every eye in the room to the jeweled instrument they had no doubt he knew how to use now.
His dark hair stood out beneath his golden crown, but it was his eyes that had the nobles in the room staring in silence. They blazed with a fire Alex wasn’t known for. There was a purpose to every step. Etta had never seen Alex like this and she realized what she was seeing.
He was truly becoming the king. He was owning it for the first time. That throne was his. These nobles were his subjects. It was his birthright and now she saw it was truly what he was meant to do.
Catrine followed a step behind her son in an emerald gown of satin and fur. Simon was the only guard to accompany them, his eyes wary. Camille was nowhere to be found, but she’d been banned from court so he couldn’t very well allow her before the throne.
Tyson should be up there. Etta sighed. Alex could’ve used his brother. Edmund too.
Alex reached the steps leading up to the throne and took them slowly. Simon and Catrine stayed on the lower dais. When Alex turned to gaze over the assembled nobles, the group bowed.
Etta followed suit, anticipation working its way into her heart. Alex looked so very much like his father on that throne as his gaze turned to stone. He looked heartless, uncaring. She straightened and pushed back into the crowd to find Amalie. The girl was watching Alex with rapt attention.
“Can you believe I almost had to marry him?” she whispered.
Etta grimaced.
“I mean, the king has been good to me, but look at him.”
Etta did. He still hadn’t said a word.
Amalie went on. “He has less of Tyson’s kindness. Tyson couldn’t be king because there’s nothing cold in him. He’s all heart.”
Etta turned away to scan her eyes over Alex. Amalie was wrong. Etta had seen Alex’s kindness when he freed her people, when he protected her from the cold. She’d felt it every time he’d kissed her. Alex had broken them. Or she had. She didn’t truly know. There’d been many lies and betrayals. Was he about to crush the final piece?
Alex finally spoke. “Bring him in.” He flipped his hand to the door.
It opened, and a guard dragged forward a well-dressed man Etta recogn
ized instantly. She’d been in the dungeons for Lord Leroy’s disgrace, but she’d never forget his disdainful looks. The man was dragged forward and dropped in front of Simon, near the throne.
A few people in the crowd gasped.
“My king,” Lord Leroy said, trying to get to his feet.
“Simon,” Alex barked.
Simon placed his hand on the back of Leroy’s neck and forced him down.
Alex raised his voice. “This man was banished from court.”
Amalie gripped Etta’s arm so tightly she feared it would break.
Alex scrutinized Lord Leroy. “Yet, he returned with ideas of rebellion.”
“That wasn’t me, sire,” Leroy cried. “It was Duke Caron.”
Alex laughed but there was nothing humorous about it. “I tried to have mercy before, but no longer. I hereby strip you of your title. Your tax income forfeit to the crown. You’re to be exiled to your own estate with guards of my choosing.” He narrowed his eyes. “You may leave.”
Simon hauled him to his feet, but Lord Leroy jerked away from him. “You can’t do this.”
Alex jumped to his feet and his voice boomed throughout the room. “You are lucky to be leaving here with your life. Don’t make me change my mind.”
Simon passed Leroy to another guard, and he was dragged from the room screaming obscenities.
Alex sat back on his throne with an eerie stillness. Catrine moved to the side of him and sat in a chair on the level below. Simon shot threatening glances toward the assembled nobles, many who were as traitorous as Leroy.
The public door banged open and a silver-haired man rushed in. He moved with the grace of a trained fighter, but was dressed better than any noble present. He wore a velvet coat with puffed sleeves over a silk shirt and tight-fitting breeches. His face was another matter. Attractive in a rough sort of way, but his eyes were alert and trained on the king.
He reached Alex and handed him a paper.
“That’s Duke Caron,” Amalie told her.
Camille’s husband. Curiosity had Etta watching him. Many of the nobles scowled at him, but the duke grinned as his eyes passed over the room. His gaze met hers and he winked. She ripped her eyes away.