That’s exactly what Renna needed right now—somewhere to belong.
Renna’s hair was wet from a warm bath, and it hung around her back and shoulders, dampening her nightgown. Nellie’s soft fingers combed through the strands, just like they had when she was a child. The crackling of the fire soothed Renna’s soul. She lay on her side against the worn-out pillows of her old bed, feeling the comfort of home wash over her.
“What happened in Albion?” Nellie asked quietly. “Why did you leave before the wedding?”
Renna thought about lying. It would have been easier that way, but her heart longed to be comforted.
“I fell in love with the prince. That’s what happened in Albion.”
Nellie’s fingers paused for a moment, no doubt from the shock of Renna’s confession. “Oh, child!” She patted Renna’s head like a toddler and then continued combing through her hair. “Tell me all of it.”
Renna had held it all in until now. As soon as she started, the floodgates opened, the words pouring out of her, begging to be told. Nellie listened quietly as Renna told her about Wellenbreck pond and the fake drowning. About meeting Trev there the next day. She told her how easily her feelings for him had come, how he made her feel light and tied up in knots all at the same time. She told her how they had almost kissed at the pond and how he had promised to see her again in Albion. Nellie gasped at the part where Renna found out he was the prince and endured the horrible first dinner at the palace. She talked about all the times they had tried to convince each other they were just friends. The ways they had justified their relationship so they could be near each other. She told her about the deep sadness she felt when she saw Trev with Seran and how King Carver had threatened her in her room. Nellie laughed about the red dress and sighed deeply when Renna told her about their kiss. She explained how she had managed to avoid speaking to Trev until the day before the wedding. How she had wanted him to say the wedding was called off, even though he couldn’t. Finally, she told her how she had wished he’d been in the courtyard, stopping her from leaving, telling her he loved her.
“My, my, my,” Nellie clucked, shaking her head. “You poor dear.” Nellie hugged the back of Renna’s shoulders, her warm hands squeezing all the disappointment and sadness out of her until Renna found herself sobbing uncontrollably in Nellie’s soft arms. “Let it go, child. Let it go.” Nellie stroked the back of her hair deep into the night until there were no more tears to cry, and sleep swept Renna away.
53
Trev
Trev stood on the dais in the great hall next to the casket holding Seran’s body. A line of people from the nearby villages came to pay their respects to their almost-queen. Tomorrow, King Bryant and Queen Mariele would leave for New Hope with Seran’s body so they could have a proper funeral and bury her near her mother, Queen Isadora, at the New Hope Government Center. Most of the viewing, Trev nodded graciously at strangers and thanked them for coming. Occasionally there was someone he knew coming to give their condolences. Seran’s friends cried and cried in front of him, leaning over her casket, hugging the king and queen, and telling him how sorry they were. That was a tough one. He should be telling them how sorry he was. Not the other way around.
Joniss stepped up next. Everything inside Trev turned cold. He’d known for a few days that Joniss was the informer. Drake had done some investigating but couldn’t find anything concrete to prove it beyond the words of Commander Pryer. There wasn’t a single trace of evidence tying him to Tolsten, but Trev wasn’t worried. They would prove it eventually; it was all about timing.
“Ezra, I’m sorry for your loss,” Joniss said a bit too smugly to really be sorry.
From the corner of his eye, Trev saw Drake coming across the room to them. He must have thought Trev wouldn’t be able to control his temper. He was probably right.
Joniss looked at Seran’s casket covered in an elaborate bouquet of flowers. “Well, this all ended up very tidy for you, didn’t it?”
“How’s that?” Trev said, unable to hide his disgust.
“Just that Seran is conveniently out of the way now, opening the door for you to run after Renna.”
Trev’s fingers tightened into a fist.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you planned the shooting yourself as an easy way to get rid of her.”
Trev’s fist went flying through the air, landing on Joniss’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. A crowd of people around them gasped.
Joniss grabbed his jaw while a few men reached to help him up. Everyone in the room watched them now.
“I know this is a hard time for you, Prince Ezra.” Joniss spoke the words loud enough for the watching people to hear. “And I don’t hold you accountable for your actions today. You’re grieving.”
Trev struggled against Drake’s grasp. He wanted to kill Joniss and his fake persona.
“Let him go,” Drake said in his ear. “He’s not worth it.”
Trev relaxed in Drake’s arms. Everyone around them had gone silent, still watching the drama in front of them.
Trev couldn’t do this anymore. He turned and left the viewing without another word.
54
Renna
Renna bent over a row of cucumbers, knife in hand. She examined each vine, cutting the large vegetables at the stem and throwing them into a nearby basket. She had been at Wellenbreck almost a week and was starting to settle into a nice routine—waking early in the morning to feed the animals with Preetis, working hard in the fields all day, and laughing with Mangum, Nellie, and Preetis at night until she was too tired to even think.
Each day she spent time at her father’s grave. She had forgiven both her parents for the past. She didn’t blame them for the choices they had made. She understood now more than ever the difficulties they had faced and why they had done what they did. Forgiveness—especially when it came to her mother—brought a new sense of peace into her heart, and Renna liked the way it felt. She hoped someday she could feel that kind of peace about Trev.
A sleek, black PT zoomed toward the front of the house, pulling her from her work. She struggled to her feet, wiping her hands on her pants. By the time she came around the corner, a guard was off the machine and walking toward the door.
He stopped when he saw her. “Miss Renna, this is for you.” He held out a letter.
She recognized the man from King Bryant’s royal guard. She took the letter, and the soldier turned to go. “Won’t you come in for a drink or a bite to eat?”
“No, M’lady,” he said, swinging his leg over his PT. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m headed to New Hope with an urgent message.”
Before she could say anything else, he turned his machine on and sped away.
“What was that about?” Mangum asked. He had a horse by its reins and was leading it out to the field.
Renna held up the paper as he passed by. “I got a letter.” She quickly added, “I’m sure it’s from my mother.” She didn’t want Mangum thinking she still held out hope for Trev. She tore through the paper and began reading to herself.
Renna,
I don’t know where to even begin. Our hearts are broken. Seran is dead. There was a shooting at the wedding. Ezra tried to save her. He jumped in front of her, but the bullet scraped the side of his arm and hit Seran in the chest. Officer Vestry was able to take down the shooter before anyone else was hurt. Seran was rushed to surgery, but they couldn’t save her. We are utterly devastated. Bryant believes the shooting is somehow tied to Tolsten and King Adler. I don’t know what will happen with that. We are leaving Albion tomorrow with Seran’s body and will stop at Wellenbreck Farm on our way. I’m assuming you’d like to be there for Seran’s funeral and burial. I’d like you there. With the election coming up and everything going on right now, we all thought it best that Ezra stay in Albion and not travel the long distance to Seran’s funeral. As you can probably guess, I’m having a very difficult time dealing with all of this. I’m trying to be strong for
Bryant, but I am afraid my nerves are not cooperating. Cypress is taking good care of me and assures me that once I return to New Hope, I will be able to function much better. I hope she’s right. I’m sure you have a lot more questions. We all do. We’ll get through this terrible time together.
Your loving mother,
Queen Mariele
Renna didn’t know when she had put her hand to her mouth, but it was there. She reread parts of the letter to be sure she’d understood it correctly.
Mangum returned from taking the horse to the field. He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“Seran’s dead,” Renna whispered, handing him the letter.
“What?” Mangum scanned the paper. “This is crazy,” he muttered under his breath as he continued to read.
“I’m going for a walk.” Renna headed for the hill behind the house.
“Do you want me to come with you? Maybe you shouldn’t be alone right now,” Mangum said, his concern apparent.
She shook her head furiously and kept walking—practically running—until she collapsed at her father’s grave. The tears had already been falling, soaking her neck and chest as they fell.
Seran was dead.
It didn’t seem real.
Renna could remember the first time they met when she and her mother had arrived at the New Hope Government Center. Seran stood there as her father explained that he was going to marry Mariele. She didn’t cry or protest. She took the news with grace, hugging Renna and her mother, welcoming them to New Hope—to their family.
Then there was the time Seran had taught Renna how to do one of the latest dances. There were plenty of people at the Government Center that could have taught her, but Seran had taken the time to do it personally. At the next ball, Seran had made sure to dance next to Renna so that she could follow her lead if she forgot any of the steps.
The beautiful woman Renna had envied the last four years was gone, even after Trev had jumped in front of a bullet to save her. He’d almost died for her. A new wave of tears spilled down Renna’s face. She thought of King Bryant losing his only child and cried some more. She thought of her own father’s death and a fresh sting of loss stabbed at her. Then a very human part of her thought of Trev—now available. She hated herself for thinking that. How unfeeling could she be? The tears kept coming until night was upon her, and she needed to go back to the house.
Tomorrow she would pack for Seran’s funeral.
55
Trev
A line of servants and a few remaining wedding guests bordered the sides of the courtyard, quietly watching the waiting transporters. New Hope flags were attached to each vehicle, flapping freely in the wind. Seran would leave Albion much in the same way she had arrived, heralded by all the fanfare a princess deserved. Except this time, she was in a casket.
Trev’s grief and guilt had prevented him from sleeping the night before. He should have treated Seran better. He deserved the bullet, not her.
“Thank you for everything,” Queen Mariele barely managed to say before all her fragile strength was gone.
Trev bowed in silence. What was there to say? Mariele knew the truth, knew what kind of a liar he really was.
King Bryant spoke to his father first. “We’ll be in contact about the next move with our alliance and Tolsten.”
The two kings shook hands.
King Bryant stopped in front of him. Trev wanted to say a million things to him, but all that came out was, “I’m sorry.”
Bryant put his hands on Trev’s shoulders, and that’s when Trev lost it, when his tears started to come heavily. “I’m sorry,” Trev said again through his sobs.
Bryant folded him into a fatherly hug, the way his own father never had. They stood there, hugging, crying, not caring who was watching.
“It’s not your fault.” Bryant’s words were soft and comforting. “You did all you could.”
“I didn’t deserve her,” Trev cried.
“Yes, you did.” He pulled Trev back, forcing him to look in his eyes. “When you jumped in front of her,” Bryant fought to speak between stifled sobs, “when you risked your own life to protect her, I knew you were a good man. I knew you deserved her.”
Trev wiped at the tears that wouldn’t stop coming, wishing he could believe him. “I should be coming with you to New Hope for the funeral.”
“No.” King Bryant shook his head. “Things are uncertain with Tolsten, and with an election around the corner, you need to be in Albion right now.”
King Bryant was right, but it felt cruel to watch Seran’s body leave in a transporter without him.
56
Joniss
The blackness of night felt thick around Joniss. Even the narrow sliver of moon glinting in the night sky seemed darker than usual. He whipped his head around, making sure he wasn’t followed, but there was nothing but a canopy of pine trees behind him. Joniss wasn’t usually this jumpy, but ever since the wedding ceremony a month ago, he’d been watching his back, half expecting King Adler to be lurking in every shadow.
Joniss quickened his steps, pointing his hand light into the dirt in front of him. Through the rays of light, he could see his breath puff out like a cloud of smoke in the chilly air.
He was almost to the cave.
Joniss had sent a note earlier in the week, letting his men know he would be visiting Axville as part of his campaign. His men knew the plan and what was supposed to happen during his visit.
He looked back one more time before ducking under the rocky ridge that led to the opening of the cave. He crouched to avoid hitting his head as he slowly walked through the narrow tunnel. The flicker of firelight danced ahead of him and there was a panic of frantic movement.
“Calm down. It’s just me!” Joniss called out to his men.
“He’s here,” someone shouted to another. “Get the blindfolds ready.”
The passageway opened up into a large alcove. Joniss straightened, the rocks finally high enough for him to fully stand. He stopped at the opening, careful to stay in the shadows. He didn’t want to be heard or recognized. So far, his men had done all of the dirty work for him.
Parson stepped in front of him, a long gun slung over his shoulder. He was dressed in all black with clunky black mountain boots that almost went up to his knees. Firelight danced off his bald head and face, making his teeth look more yellow than they already were.
“Is everything ready?” Joniss whispered.
“Dundy and Fike are finishing with the ropes and blindfolds.” Parson gestured behind him to where the men worked.
Joniss shone his hand light to the far corner of the cave, watching until his men were done. He walked toward his prisoners, examining them. A purple bruise stretched across the first one’s face.
“I thought I told you not to hurt them.” Joniss looked directly at Fike.
Fike’s mouth twitched, and his gray eyes flashed with fear. “Well, that one there causes trouble.”
Joniss looked at the older man, and without any notice, struck him across his cheek the way he imagined the prisoner had been hit. Fike stumbled back, grasping his face.
“Did that hurt?” Joniss asked calmly.
“No, boss,” Fike replied, still holding his cheek.
Joniss looked back at the prisoner. “Then, I suppose it didn’t hurt her either.” He shone his light on the rest of the prisoners. Despite the blindfold over their eyes, they turned their faces from the bright light. Their hair was tangled and matted, their gray working dresses dirty and ripped in places, but they all seemed fine.
The missing daughters of Axville had been relatively compliant prisoners.
It was a brilliant plan, and in the end, Joniss would be the hero. It would be him, not Ezra, that found the girls and returned them home, laying the blame for their capture firmly at the feet of the Tolsten soldiers.
He glanced at Dundy, a tall man with muscular arms and long brown hair. “Gather them up, and let’s go.�
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Dundy nodded, pulling on the rope that tied the eight girls together, preventing them from escaping.
“Watch your head,” Dundy said, as he pushed down each girl’s head. “It gets low here.”
Everyone followed Joniss down the passageway. In a few hours, he would save the day.
Joniss ducked under the last ridge then stood. He waited for the rest of the group to exit the cave before moving.
When cold metal pushed against his neck—metal from the barrel of a gun—he froze.
“Hello, Joniss,” an icy voice said behind him.
The blood drained from Joniss’s face.
From the corner of his eyes, Ezra emerged from the darkness.
Trev
“You’re finished, Joniss,” Trev said, digging the gun further into his neck.
A bald man behind Joniss pointed his gun at Trev. “Not so fast.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Drake said from up above the ridge, pointing his own gun at the bald man. “You’re surrounded.”
Two dozen Albion soldiers with guns appeared from the trees and circled around them.
“You all should be thanking me,” Joniss sneered. “Not pointing guns at me.”
“Why would we thank you?” Drake asked.
“Because my men found the missing girls.”
Trev scoffed. “Your men kidnapped them.”
“Prove it!” Joniss huffed.
“Oh, we can,” Drake replied. “We’ve been following you for a month. Tracking your every move. We can prove you kidnapped these girls and that you’ve been leaking government information to Tolsten.”
Two Albion soldiers stepped forward, taking the rope from the tall man, and ushered the girls away from their captors. The girls sobbed as the soldiers untied them and removed their blindfolds. Trev had to cough to keep his own emotion in check.
The Promised Prince: A YA Dystopian Romance Page 31