The Kingmaker Series, #1

by Gemma Perfect

  10

  EVERLEIGH SNEAKS OUT of bed. Her life might not be coming to an end but visiting her mother’s resting place is a habit; a comfortable and familiar thing to her. Besides, she wants to tell her about Halfreda and the teacher, and the prophecy. The wisdom in the teacher’s eyes. Archer. She also wants to apologise that she won’t be reunited with her as soon as she had thought she would be.

  Taking her time walking through the woods, she hears a noise, the sound of footfalls, and turns around. She can’t see anyone. “Archer?” she calls out, wondering if he is tailing her. There is no answer. It must be one of the animals that call the woods their home.

  She continues, her unease fading as she comes to the circling where her mother was laid to rest. She sits on the rock where she always sits, and she talks like she always talks. Freely and easily. Telling her mother her worries, thoughts, concerns. She talks of the play and tells her all about Archer. Her mother listens. Or does she? Who knows? Like Halfreda’s teacher said, people like explanations for things, they like to understand things. Death is easier to bear if you know that the spirits of the dead can hear you and watch over you from afar. She will never know the truth of it, but she always feels better after a visit.

  She’s cold, and it’s darker than she realised. The woods are thick with it and she feels uneasy again. It’s just the cold and dark surrounding her; she knows the forest and she’s safe here. She makes her way towards the castle and then hears another noise. This one isn’t quiet or subtle; not an animal or bird. This is a person.

  Brett crashes through the trees, coming to a stop in front of her. He bows low and smiles up at her. “Princess. Kingmaker.”

  Everleigh nods at him and moves to pass him. He puts his arm up, barring her way. She feels a swoop of fear in her stomach. She doesn’t like this.

  “Goodnight Brett.” She moves forward again.

  He shakes his head and burps. His breath smells of ale, and Everleigh turns her head away, disgust mingling with fear, trying to keep a smile on her face. “Goodnight Brett.” She repeats herself, a tiny bubble of panic rising in her chest.

  He is a handsome man, tall and broad shouldered, long dark hair, cut in the fashion – the same as most of the King’s men. His lips are full and look soft. He has all the separate features that should be pleasing but somehow, they are not. He looks mean and he doesn’t have friendly eyes. Everleigh thinks briefly of the teacher and how lovely his eyes are. Of Archer, how dreamy his eyes are. Brett is different.

  “That’s all I get? Goodnight?” His eyelids are heavy, his expression hard to read.

  She stares at him. What more could he expect? She is a princess of the Realm. A Kingmaker at that. As far as he knows she is being sacrificed in four days. What does she have to give?

  “The way I see it, princess. Everleigh.”

  She hates the way he says her name, the sneering leer on his face. “Brett. Let me pass.”

  He shakes his head again and steps towards her. It’s cold and dark and for the first time ever she is frightened. This isn’t the abstract fear of her death day; this is a very real fear and a very real threat. Brett isn’t her favourite person, but she has never been alone with him like this. He smells of ale and looks rough, his handsome features marred by alcohol and ill will. She isn’t happy at all, but she’s not sure what to do.

  “No. The way I see it; you’ll be dead in four days. Why not take my chance here and now? No one will ever know.”

  He reaches towards her and stumbles, brushing his hand roughly across the front of her cloak.

  “No, Brett. Let me pass.”

  He comes closer, running a finger along her arm. “No one will ever know.” He repeats himself.

  “I will know. I am a princess of the Realm. You must not touch me.” She tries to put both authority and self-assurance into her voice; neither of which she is feeling. She cannot bear for this to happen, not now that she will live. Not now that she has met Archer.

  Brett laughs, a nasty, stomach churning sound. “Problem is, my princess, my Kingmaker. There’s nobody here to stop me. I like what I see. I always have. And I always thought it was so sad that you would never know love, never know the feel of a man’s touch or the taste of a man’s kiss. I can change that. Let me.”

  Disgust builds up in the pit of her stomach. Brett is foul. She would never be interested in his touch or his kiss as long as she lived; his touch would be sweaty and smarmy and his taste would be of stale ale. Besides she has longer to live than he knows. She will not let this happen.

  She shoves him and rushes past him, hoping that the reek of ale means he has drunk enough to make him unsteady. Fleeing through the woods, the branches rip at her skin and her cloak. He’s chasing her and she goes faster. He grabs at her arm but she pushes on even faster. He’s gaining on her, lumbering along he’s still quicker than she is.

  He catches her and pushes her against a tree.

  “Now, now Everleigh. That was unkind.”

  She screams but he is too fast, he puts a hand over her mouth and uses his free hand to undo the ties of her cloak. It falls open, revealing her nightdress.

  Trying to get free, she wriggles and pushes against him, but he keeps one hand firmly over her mouth, the other against the tree trunk. She’s pinned to the tree by his hips. He leans in closer, and Everleigh just knows he’s going to move his hand off her mouth and kiss her. She’s revolted by the sight and smell of him and annoyed at how helpless she is.

  A whistling noise makes her look up, an arrow shoots past her head, and straight into Brett’s hand. He screams and lets go of her. She darts away from his reach, dropping to her knees. He can’t move; he’s pinned to the tree. Blood is dripping from his wound and he’s screaming in pain.

  Archer comes running towards them. “Are you hurt? I am so sorry. I was almost too late.”

  Everleigh stumbles up and into his arms, and he drops his bow, holding her tightly with both arms, scooping her off the floor and squeezing her. He had almost failed in his duty on one of his first days in her service. “Can you forgive me?” He keeps his head bowed as he sets her back on her feet.

  “Of course. You saved me. That’s all I can ever ask of you.”

  He looks up at her. Her lovely face pale with upset. “I should have been watching you more closely.”

  Her eyes are locked on his as she shakes her head. Brett groans behind them.

  “What will we do with him?”

  “Well, he’ll have a hard time winning the joust with only one working hand.” Archer strides over to him. Brett scowls, but holds his tongue. Even he isn’t so stupid as to start a fight with one hand attached to a tree by an arrow.

  Archer yanks the arrow out of Brett’s hand and he screams with pain, fresh blood pumping out.

  “Clear off,” Archer tells him.

  Brett stalks past them, holding his wounded hand close to his body. “This isn’t over,” he mutters as he heads away from them.

  “True,” Archer calls after him. “Next time I’ll aim for your heart.”

  He moves closer to Everleigh and touches her face. “Are you hurt? Did he...?”

  “He’s disgusting. He wanted to, but you rescued me. How did you know I was here?”

  “I promised Halfreda that I would keep you even closer. Just in case. I watched you come in here, but you were a long time. I decided to come and investigate. I will never put you at risk again.”

  Everleigh touches his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “It is an honour to serve you. I will always be at your command. I am yours.”

  Everleigh tucks her arm in to his. “Take me home?”

  Archer nods, reaches down for his bow, and then walks her back to her room.

  He leaves her at her door with a deep bow. Everleigh wants so much to hold him and be kissed by him, but allows the door to close softly.

  She falls in to bed, some of the bricks still warm and sleeps, dreaming of Archer.

  H
alfreda

  I SINK DOWN INTO MY chair, fire roaring, and still I am cold. Truth be told, this new revelation has chilled me to the bone. These children are like my own and to find that one of them has such wicked desires; it’s broken my heart a little.

  My teacher is enjoying the King’s hospitality; it is a long time since they have seen each other and are keen to catch up. Indeed, as I left them, feigning a headache, they were toasting the good old days and laughing about something they both remembered fondly.

  I am not happy.

  I have never been duped so soundly as I have in this instance. If Ginata hadn’t come to me for the death draught I doubt I would ever have seen it. I stare in to the flames. Where has my power gone? I am slipping. And it could have had such dangerous consequences.

  Everleigh is a priority now and while I feel safe with Archer here in the castle with us I am quite faint at my lack of insight or foresight or anything helpful or useful.

  How can a monster walk among us and evade my sight? It has never, to my knowledge, happened before and I feel like it is a sign of something bigger.

  A seer relies on their sight.

  A wise woman relies on being wise.

  If I am neither of those things, what am I?

  Ready for the end?

  I have prepared myself for my death for many a year, but I kept on going. I feel that my purpose is Everleigh. Maybe after she is crowned, I will pass peacefully away.

  Ginata is more than capable of taking over my role. She’s younger and greener than me. I can say, fairly, that her powers are slightly more limited than mine, but at the same time, look at me here: missing something that was right in front of my nose.

  I am ashamed. My gifts have never let me down before. The fact that they have here, in the place I spend all of my time, is a definite sign.

  I might travel to a market in a remote village and walk past a murderer, and the sights and sounds and smells surrounding me, and the unfamiliarity of the setting might put me off, so that he or she could walk past and not suffer even a glance from me. But in this castle, the place I call home? The knowledge and sight that I have are what keep me safe, what keep all of us safe.

  That I have been so lax with all our safety and well-being is really upsetting. I do have a headache, and a heart ache and an ache in my whole old body.

  I really do feel it; the end is coming.

  11

  EVERLEIGH SLEEPS LATER than usual; the urgency has gone out of her now that she knows she will live. When she wakes, Lanorie and the little maids have already filled her bath and brought her breakfast and she hadn’t heard a thing.

  She is excited about today and gets ready quickly. There’s a huge joust planned with fighters from all corners of the Realm and she knows that Archer is planning to fight in disguise.

  Now that she will live, she can enjoy the rest of the week’s events. Yesterday’s play had been good, there is the joust today followed by a night time picnic and a hunt tomorrow morning.

  “Are you looking forward to the jousting today, princess?” Lanorie passes her a drink.

  “I can’t wait, Lanorie.”

  “So, is your new friend Archer going to take part?”

  “No, he’ll just watch, I think.”

  There’s a knock at the door and Addyson runs in. Everleigh pulls her close for a hug.

  She had been pulling away from her sister, maybe consciously maybe subconsciously, but now that she is to live, she wants that bond back. She feels it will be even stronger when she’s Queen. She will be able to look after Addyson properly and protect her from the stigma of her curse.

  “I cannot wait for the fighting today. The King said I could drop a handkerchief.” Her smile is huge, plastered over her face. Any small token off their father meant the world to her. She is only eleven and so desperate for her father’s affections.

  Everleigh ruffles her hair. “That’s great. What colour will you drop?”

  Addyson looks down at her lap. “Brett usually rides out in blue.”

  “No!” Everleigh says, her tone sharper than she intended. She takes hold of Addyson’s hands. “Don’t wear his colours. He’s a pig.”

  “He’s not.” Addyson starts to cry. She has always liked Brett; he is the King’s favourite and so he is hers.

  Everleigh knows better. “Sorry, Adds. I don’t think he’s riding anyway. I heard that he hurt his hand.” She can’t help but smile as she flashes back to last night. The relief that Archer got there in time to save her is still palpable.

  She sits with Addyson by the window. The courtyard is full of bustle; people, getting ready for the joust. It would start at twelve noon, and be followed by a lavish banquet and then the picnic this evening.

  She can see Will with his father, the fool, turning cartwheels around the little maids, half of whom are laughing, half of whom are swatting him angrily away.

  Everleigh opens the window so they can hear the rush of voices. The castle is always a busy place; people come to sell goods, barter goods, drink and revel, petition the King, attend the royal banquets; there is always something going on. The castle, courtyard and grounds are the hub of the entire Realm. It makes Everleigh proud to see her father’s work; he is a good King. Will she be as good a ruler? She hopes so.

  “There’s Brett.” Addyson points to a group of the King’s men, and right enough, Brett is in the centre of the throng. He doesn’t look happy; his hand is bandaged up and looks three times its normal size. Everleigh knows he will be furious at not taking part in the joust. He loves fighting and he is good at it, she has to concede.

  As though he feels her eyes on him, he glances up to her window, scowling at her. She smiles and nods at him. He won’t try his disgusting tricks so quickly again. Addyson waves at him and he reluctantly raises his bandaged hand, before hiding it by his side and raising the other one.

  “What happened to him then?” Lanorie joins them at the window. “He looks furious.”

  Lanorie is right. Seeing Everleigh seems to have darkened his mood even further. He stands stock still amongst the King’s men, all of whom can never keep still. They are like a mass of puppies as they move around the castle, loud and loping and full of silliness. Brett looks like a statue in comparison, glaring at someone out of Everleigh’s sight. She changes position so that she can see who’s upsetting him so much, though she has an idea.

  Archer.

  He is standing just along from the King’s men; his arrows on his back, his bow at his side. He’s laughing at Will and gesturing about something.

  Brett starts towards him but one of his friends stops him.

  Relief floods Everleigh; Brett is sure to want revenge but maybe not in front of the whole courtyard. “Not sure.” She answers Lanorie with an easy lie. She won’t implicate Archer, and she doesn’t want anyone knowing what Brett tried to do to her. When she’s Queen, maybe she’ll banish him.

  When she is Queen.

  It is such a delicious phrase; it makes her shiver. She can’t wait for the truth to come out. She wants to show Addyson her powers. She would love it.

  The tension in the courtyard seems to have dissipated. Brett is heading in one direction with his friends and Archer is still talking to Will. His hair looks like it’s on fire; no wonder he has to disguise himself for jousting. Usually there are several men in disguise, and Everleigh wants to test herself to see if she knows him. She’s thinks that she will but wants to be sure.

  The fighting is dangerous and usually Everleigh chats to Lanorie, rather than watching it all. Men are so bloodthirsty and the poor horses; they must be so frightened by it all. Today though, she wants to watch every move that Archer makes; she’s seen that body up close and knows how good it is at what it does.

  Lanorie busies herself tidying away the bath and breakfast things and Everleigh watches the world go by with Addyson.

  A butterfly flies near the window and Everleigh whispers, “Come here,” quietly enough that Addyson
won’t hear her. Then she adds, “More.”

  Within seconds there are hundreds of different types of butterfly, every different colour, all settled on the window sill, wings lazily flapping, while Addyson screams with delight. “Look, Lanorie.”

  Lanorie comes over to the window and raises an eyebrow at Everleigh, who smiles and shakes her head.

  A butterfly lands on Addyson’s open palm, and another and another, until her hand is full. “It tickles,” she says, her eyes huge with wonder. Everleigh’s smile is wide. She will always look after her poor little cursed sister.

  Ginata

  SINCE THE DAY THE CLOAKED stranger came to my home, it has felt different. After he left, his evil request and tainted money took up space and fouled the air.

  I tried all my own remedies; cherry plum, mimulus, red chestnut, but none of them helped. I swept all the negativity out, opened all the windows and lit a fire to drive out the devil and still I couldn’t sleep.

  Since seeing Halfreda and making the disgusting death draught and then bringing it home, things are even worse. Last night, for the first time since I came to my little cottage, I wanted to leave.

  I have hidden the little poisonous vial, in a bag of cloth, tied with black ribbon, hidden in a box of scented pouches. I have put the box on a shelf, with books on top of it, and a posy of flowers on top of them. I am hoping that I have made it difficult to find, should someone try to steal a love potion or worse and I am hoping that the books – all good spells and white magic – as well as the flowers will off-set some of the evil within the vial. It’s not working.

  It is so small but so disgusting. It’s as though it’s giving off a heat or a smell, even though it’s not. I am aware of its presence and I feel like it’s watching me.

  I make a calming tea and sit in my chair, watching the box. I have had so many customers, many strangers coming to see me this week, and I know I am not myself, I should be happy. The Kingmaker’s feast, celebration week and death day are all going to make me a heap of coin. My heart feels sad, though.