Boris shook his head. "No, it can't be. I failed her. Failed them. What woman could ever love me, knowing I could not protect her? Or our children?"
He felt her stiffen in his arms.
"Well, I…I…I think if you kept your promise to Igor, and helped to break the curse your brother had cast on him, you'd at least demonstrate that you can save a child. That…that would be something." She pulled away from him, then waved her hand to close the coffin.
The quiet clunk of the stone falling into place over them sounded so final, Boris wanted to reach out and shove it open again. To see their faces again, just one last time…
"We should return to the castle," Rossa said, her tone cold.
Loss slid through his insides, leaving him empty. He'd lost Vica and Lida, but why did it feel like he'd lost Rossa, too?
Chapter 44
When Rossa and Boris returned to the audience chamber, it was like they'd never left. Father and the king had a jug of wine between them, as they laughed over something one of them had said.
"Where's Igor?" Rossa asked.
Both men shrugged, and the king sent a servant in search of the boy. When he arrived, flanked by two guards, they said they'd found him in the castle kitchens. He'd remained in the throne room after everyone else had left, and when the guards had tried to throw him out, he'd told them he was the squire to the prince currently meeting with the king, so they couldn't, and one of the serving maids took him to the kitchens, where he'd eaten enough for three men and was well on his way to finishing a fourth portion when they found him.
When Igor saw the king, he fell to his knees. "Please, Your Majesty. I brough him back, and the crown jewels, just like you told me to. Please lift the curse."
King Bela frowned at the boy. "That is not an order I recall giving."
"But it was you. You're all old now, and fat, but you're wearing the same crown and you're still the king," Igor persisted.
That's when Rossa knew that an old man's deathbed ramblings had not been ramblings at all, but a confession. Which meant all these years, Boris had blamed the wrong brother, and the one who'd been called wise had deserved to die more horribly than the one they'd called cursed.
"I can do it," Rossa blurted out. "I just need a drop of your blood, Your Majesty. To break the spell."
It would take his blood and some of hers, and possibly the crown, for djinn were enslaved to an object, and for Igor to recognise a crown after so many years…it fit, in a dark, twisted way. The crown that had belonged to the brother Boris had trusted, who had betrayed him and the rest of their family…
"And I need to touch your crown, if only for a moment."
The king's eyebrows rose. "Do you hear that, Zoticus? Your daughter asked me to give her a crown. I believe I win that wager." He took off the coronet and held it out to her.
She refused to take it. "Blood and your crown, King Bela. Your ancestor enslaved this boy for two centuries, after he stole the throne he passed down to you. This is not about you or me, but about righting wrongs that never should have happened."
Father drew his dagger, and held the blade out to the king. King Bela pricked his finger on the point, then let a dark drop fall onto the hammered gold. Then a second, and a third, before he stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked it. "Now will you show me some magic?" he mumbled around his finger.
Rossa fought down her laughter. "Yes."
Father held out his dagger to her, and she ran the back of her hand across the blade, until a line of blood beaded her skin. She swiped the bleeding cut across Bela's crown, blending the king's blood with her own. Now she held the crown, she could feel the magic threads that tied it to Igor. One by one, she severed them, until the boy was free.
Igor drew in one great, gasping breath. "I can't believe it! Is it really gone?"
"Igor, take out your dagger, and stab yourself in the arse," Rossa said.
"No!" Igor snapped.
Rossa tossed the crown back to the king. "It is done. If the spell had not been broken, he would not have been able to refuse. Now, I believe the throne owes this boy a debt. Especially as he is partially responsible for restoring the crown jewels to you."
King Bela's frown deepened. "What would you ask of me, boy? What is it that you want?"
Igor stared at each of them for a long moment, before he turned to face the king. "All I ever wanted was to be a knight. I'd only just begun to be Prince Boris's squire. I thought I would only spend a few years as a squire, with some training, and then I'd be allowed to become a knight."
"Perhaps Prince Boris…" the king began.
"NO!" said Igor, Boris and Rossa, all at the same time.
"Your Majesty, Igor has spent two hundred years hunting Prince Boris so he could bring his head back to…your ancestor, and Boris has spent the same amount of time fighting him off. As Prince Boris is still firmly attached to his head, he might not be the best teacher for the boy. Perhaps another knight…" Rossa suggested.
King Bela nodded. "I believe I can find a suitable knight to train you." He turned to the guards, who hadn't yet left. "Take him to the barracks hall, where the other squires are quartered, and see that he has a bed."
Out they went, leaving only four of them in the room.
The king leaned forward, his eyes on Rossa. "What would I have to offer you, for you to give me an heir, Lady Rossa? Name it, and it shall be yours. Your father refuses to bargain on your behalf, even wagering that you will not agree. That a crown is not enough. So, assuming I will already give you a crown, what else could you possibly want?"
Rossa glanced at her father. He met her gaze, looked at Boris, then winked at her.
She hoped he hadn't wagered anything he didn't want to lose.
"A boon," she said finally. "If you would grant me the right to ask for anything at all, at any point in the future, and you must give it to me…then I shall give you your heir."
A smile flashed across Father's face for a moment, before it disappeared, as though it had never been. Certainly too fast for the king to see it, for he was fixated on her.
"You shall have it, Lady Rossa. And I shall commission a crown made just for you. Any jewel you wish, wrought in whatever shape you desire. Tonight, we shall have a feast to celebrate – "
"The announcement of your heir, Prince Boris," Rossa interrupted. "Say he is your son, or your nephew, for no one will believe that he is your many-times-great-uncle. You shall say he has only just returned from his successful quest to return the crown jewels that were stolen so long ago. A man proven in battle, trained to rule…of your own blood, as royal as you yourself…who was denied the throne because of your ancestor's treachery. For him to return when you are without an heir is fortuitous for you both – perhaps some might say it is fate, or even divine intervention. Invoke Saint Boris, if you wish. I give you the only rightful heir to your throne."
Father began to clap. "Well played, daughter. What say you, Bela?"
The king did not look pleased. "I had hoped…" He sighed. "Very well. I defer to the wisdom of Lady Rossa. Who would make a brilliant queen, though it is not to be." He rose. "What say you, Prince Boris? Though you are a saint, and my many-times-great uncle, though my ancestor betrayed you…would you agree to assume the throne, upon my death?"
Boris stared at the king for what seemed like forever. Finally, he said, "I came here, with my friends, to kill the man who sat on my father's throne. Now you're offering it to me upon your death. Perhaps this is why my father died, far sooner than any of us wished. Do you desire death, King Bela?"
Bela gave a wry smile. "No, I do not. I'd like to think I have at least a few years left to live. Maybe many more."
Boris dropped to one knee. "Then we are in agreement. I will agree to be your heir, as long as you mean to live many years yet."
Bela's gaze grew wistful. "I wish I had been blessed with a son like you. I'm sure your father would have been proud of the man you have become."
Boris inc
lined his head. "In everything, I strove to make my father proud, and I honour his memory now when I ask you, in proclaiming me as you heir, you also declare me to be your only son. A clear succession is the easiest way to avoid civil war. The kingdom I remember was a strong one, and I mean to help you keep it so."
"Then we should send word to the kitchens, that tonight there shall be a grand celebration feast for the whole court, and in the meantime, allow me to bring you up to date on the history you might have missed…"
Bela led Boris off to his private chambers, leaving only Rossa and her father in the room.
Rossa swallowed. Her quest was at an end – she'd helped free Igor, and win Boris back his father's throne. She should feel victorious, happy, triumphant…but all she felt was emptiness inside.
"Shall we go home, Father?" she asked.
Father shook his head. "No, we'll be expected to sit at the high table for the feast. Bela likes to pretend I am his pet assassin, to frighten any enemies he might have, and I lost a wager today, so I must pay him what is owed. You…should enjoy the feast. There will be food and wine and dancing, and more courtiers than you can count, at least after you've had a few cups of wine. Perhaps one of them might catch your eye, or it may be that you develop a taste for court life, and that you'd like a place here. Tonight will be your victory feast, and you should celebrate." He guided her out of the chamber, then waved for a servant. "Can you show us where we shall sleep tonight?" he asked.
The flustered maid dropped a deep curtsy as she stammered out, "I…do not know, my lord. I shall find out directly." She hurried away.
"Oh, and your fairy godmother will return at midnight, after she's dealt with the shoes girl, or whatever it was. In case you need help with anything," Father said.
Chapter 45
Boris had attended many feasts, even sitting at the king's right hand, but he suspected this was the one he would least remember, for he had eyes only for Rossa in her red gown. He'd never thought he'd want another woman in his life after Vica, but now…he wanted nothing else. And he'd give up the throne and all the honours Bela wanted to heap on him, if only Rossa would smile at him again.
Of course, he could scarcely see her while they both sat at opposite ends of the high table, and he'd lost count of the number of courtiers who'd come up to talk to him, hoping to earn a place in his favour early on. Much might have changed in two centuries, but the self-interest of the king's courtiers was ever constant.
Boris drank sparingly, waiting for the feast to end so he might seek out Rossa to speak with her. But King Bela had other ideas, commanding the musicians to play something they might dance to. Boris quickly realised he would only embarrass himself in attempting to join the complicated dances, for that much had changed since he'd last been at court. He glanced at Rossa, wondering if she knew these modern dances. Perhaps he could persuade her to teach him…
But her place was empty, as was her father's. Boris scanned the room, searching every face for the one he wanted most. It was her gown that caught his eye, a quick flash of red before she vanished through a side door.
Boris excused himself and followed.
The door led to a dark passage, then another, until he glimpsed light around the corner. He crept closer.
"I must apologise for my lateness. I promised I would stay at the ball until midnight, if she needed my help, but she did not. I waited until the very last moment, too. I hope she and her prince will be very happy. Even if she did lose her shoes…" he heard Zuleika say.
"Do your god-daughters usually marry princes? Are you supposed to act as matchmaker?" Rossa asked.
Zuleika sighed. "I'm supposed to help them when they have no other hope of happiness. Sometimes with little warning, too, so that I am forced to portal thousands of miles in a night in order to be in two places at once. I don't know how my mother managed it all, to be honest. But I infinitely prefer it to staying tied to one court, so there is that."
"I wish I could travel. This is the first time Father has let me leave Mother's lands, but the more I see, the more I want to know. Like whether all courts are like this one, or if everyone eats the same dishes, or does the same dances, or even plays the same music. Or what the ocean tastes like. Or how desert sands would feel beneath my feet. Or…"
Zuleika laughed. "Sounds like you should do my job for a while, if only to see some of the world. Heaven knows I could do with the help. Ah, but then there is your prince to think about…"
"Boris is not my prince." Rossa's voice sounded so flat.
"That's not what it looked like when I arrived at your home. Unless you've had a disagreement…in which case, perhaps I can help?"
Rossa sighed. "No, there is no disagreement between us. I agreed to help him win back his father's throne. The king has named him his heir before all the court – he has his heart's desire. He no longer needs me, so I should go home. Yet I have this yearning not to…"
"You wish to stay here, then?"
"No! I want to see the world. One court is not enough."
"A pity, for your prince will be king one day, and he will need a queen, for that's how succession usually works."
"Could you see me as a queen?"
"Well, you certainly have the bearing for it. Not to mention the right gown and jewels to impress even this court. You'd need to wear a crown, though…what of this one?"
"Don't be silly!"
"I see nothing silly about it. It's quite stately, in my opinion."
Boris edged closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rossa in a crown, if her godmother succeeded in persuading her.
"Here, let me help you," Zuleika said, turning Rossa to face her. She lifted his mother's ruby and diamond crown high into the air and took several tries to settle it among Rossa's dark curls.
Boris swore he saw Zuleika wink at him before turning her attention back to Rossa.
"Now, Crown Princess Rossa, nay, Queen Rossa, for that's who would wear such a crown, you must sit on the throne," Zuleika said.
"That's going too far. What if someone sees us?"
"Then you should do it quickly, for what other opportunity will you have to know what it feels like to be a crowned queen, seated upon your throne?"
Fearless Rossa did not hesitate. She ascended the dais, and took her rightful place upon the throne, staring out across the throne room as if it were filled with courtiers and not shadows.
Boris's mouth went dry. He would dream of this sight. Of Rossa in all her glory. And wish…
"It suits you," Zuleika said.
"No, I…"
Boris stepped forward. "It does. That is indeed the queen's crown, which was only worn a few times a year, at the most important events. Bela promised you a crown, and I think you should tell him you want that one."
Rossa shuddered and set the crown aside. "King Bela is an old man. He might be a wise and just king, but I could never marry him."
Boris's heart sank. "And I am so much older than him. If I were to ask…would you refuse me, too?" He had to know.
"I…"
Boris closed his eyes. He wanted to become the bear again, a creature who did not mourn or cry, but who might run forever.
Rossa swallowed. "I'm not ready to marry yet. I've seen so little of the world, and I want to see so much more. If my father would only allow me…"
"You are an adult, are you not? Mistress of your own fate? Your father cannot control you forever. Your fate is your own, and he has no choice in the matter."
Zuleika dropped a silent curtsy, cast a spell that unleashed a blinding light, and when Boris managed to blink the bright blindness from his eyes, she had gone.
Rossa managed a smile. "Even my fairy godmother is afraid of my father. No one dares risk his ire, for his reputation precedes him."
Boris took her hands. "I'm not afraid of him. If you wish to travel the world, come with me. King Bela has named me Captain of the Varangian Guard, just as my father did, for the Emperor has dismissed them and sent t
hem home. We will defend the borders, and protect our own people, going wherever we are needed. I've seen you fight. We would be honoured to have you with us, as you earn a name for yourself, separate from your father's."
"Truly?"
"Truly."
Rossa threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. What started as a chaste peck did not stay so for long. Boris drank deeply, as though her breath were wine, wishing he could never let her go. Like that night in the cave, when he'd first regained his manly form, thanks to her.
Her thoughts seemed to mirror his own. "Take me to bed, Snow."
"Are you sure, my Rose? I haven't asked you to marry me yet, let alone said the vows."
She met his gaze, unflinching. "One day, when the time is right, you will ask. And on that day, I will say yes."
"And one day, you will sit on that throne beside me, with the queen's crown on your head."
"Yes."
"Can I persuade you to wear it to bed? Just the crown and nothing else?"
Rossa laughed. "Perhaps."
He set the crown upon her head, then swept her up in his arms. "My bedchamber, or yours?"
"Whichever one has the bigger bed."
Down the in the great hall, the festivities went on, while Rossa and Boris barred the door of his bedchamber. Court clothes slid to the floor, no longer necessary for two people who only wanted each other. Maiden she might be, but Rossa was as ready for Boris as he was for her, and she did not hesitate. A blissful gasp was the only sound she made as their bodies became one, and Boris swore nothing and no one would ever part them again.
Also by Demelza Carlton
Would you like to start the series from the beginning, with Zuleika's tale, Enchant: Beauty and the Beast Retold? Get your FREE copy HERE.
If you're looking for more of Demelza's medieval fairytales, you can find the rest of the series HERE.
Warlords, Witches and Wolves: A Fantasy Realms Anthology Page 111