The Golden Key Chronicles

by AJ Nuest

  He squinted. Where had he seen this man’s face before?

  The moment stretched as they assessed each other across the room. The steady drip of water from a broken glass upon a small beside table kept time with the weighted beat of Caedmon’s heart.

  “Hey.” His lady ran her palm down his arm, the pointed tips of her breasts prodding his back as she stood on tiptoe and peered over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  The wizard sharply inhaled and slapped a hand to his chest. If possible, his eyes widened farther still. “Rowena?”

  Her soft chuckle alleviated a small portion of the tension pervading the room and Caedmon slowly straightened from his defensive stance. This stranger knew her, but in what capacity?

  “Hey, Oliver. I see you kept the armoire.” She pointed toward the far wall and Caedmon glanced to his left.

  The door hung open, the veil shimmering inside a gilded frame, the glass smooth and intact. Visions of the past slowly coalesced in his memories—an enchanting white sorceress standing opposite the veil and, seated at her side, a false god by the name of…Ah-lee.

  Caedmon jerked his head back around and studied the wizard’s closely cropped sandy hair, the patrician nose and high unlined brow. Yes, yes, this man and the one who’d previously accused him of betraying his lady’s trust were one in the same. Not a wizard, a friend. A friend whose rightful name was Oliver. Caedmon relaxed his fisted hands. The Dregg leader had spoken true. The nine goddesses blessed their purpose, and had seen fit to deliver them within the shelter of a close ally.

  The rumpled covers on the far side of the bed shifted and a muscled arm stretched high into the air. “What’s with all the noise?”

  A form rose to sitting, and Caedmon’s gut clenched when a young man raked a tousled mop of dark hair back from his forehead. He glanced between Oliver and his chamber mate. Goddesses tits, were the two involved intimately? In his realm, any man who dallied about in such a way would be tried and hanged for crimes against morality.

  The dark eyebrows adorning the young man’s face shot into the air and he grasped Oliver’s forearm, surprised delight parting his lips. “You silly, romantic fool. Our anniversary’s not for another two months.”

  And evidently, they expected participants in whatever activities they concocted beneath those satin sheets. Caedmon grabbed a small pillow from a nearby chair and crammed it over his crotch.

  “No, Jon.” Oliver rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Remember I told you about the magic mirror in Rowena’s armoire?”

  “Oh, that.” The broad shoulders of the dark-haired man lowered to a more natural position and he wiggled his fingers at Oliver. “I thought you were speaking metaphorically, not literally.” The two men faced Caedmon and his love, and the one named Jon let his focus linger over Caedmon’s chest, his torso and arms. A small portion of the blankets tented near his groin. “My God, you were right. He is a sexy English panther.”

  Or mayhap they preferred only male collaborators in their wanton romp through debauchery. Caedmon scowled. For all the tits in paradise, what disturbing revelations were next? A growl of warning vibrated the lining of his throat as he slung an arm backward around his love and inched them toward the hall. Friend or foe, these men dared pursue such liberties at their own risk.

  Jon clasped his hands before his chest. “Oh, and he purrs!”

  Oliver narrowed his eyes at his companion. A tense moment passed between the two men before he swung his head back around and searched Rowena’s face. “My God, doll, you look fabulous.” He crossed his arms. “Now, would you care to tell me where the hell you’ve been?”

  * * *

  Oliver’s jaw hung slack, his gaze darting between Caedmon and Rowena from across the kitchen table. Although how this sterile room qualified as a kitchen, Caedmon was hard pressed to fathom. There seemed to be no source of heat, and the lone fireplace located within Oliver’s chambers was a bizarre monstrosity stationed along one wall of a gathering space known as the “living” room. It required neither wood nor the touch of a flame, yet produced warmth at the mere flip of a switch.

  “Then what happened?” Oliver asked.

  Rowena spared Caedmon a quick glance, her hand tightening around his, resting on her thigh. She shrugged. “Then we leapt through the mirror.”

  Jon sighed, fingers laced under his chin, a dreamy smile perched below his heavily-lidded eyes. “That has to be the most romantic story I’ve ever heard.”

  Oliver sprang forward in his chair and Caedmon quickly leaned back. Though they’d finally been clothed—each of the men in a pair of loose fitting drawstring breeches, his lady dressed in a white cotton shirt and a diminutive undergarment referred to as “boxers”— Jon’s continued languid perusals had done nothing to curtail Caedmon’s unease. The more distance between the three men, the better.

  “You just jumped through the mirror, easy as you please.” Oliver aimed a sharp finger at the table. “Not a single thought to what might’ve happened had you not come through on my side?”

  Irritation prickled Caedmon’s skin and he leveled a fierce glare at his lady’s lanky friend. The man would be wise to remember he addressed a princess of the Austiere realm, not to mention a sorceress of the highest order. If he valued his current wellbeing, Oliver had best well treat her with respect.

  “There was no ‘easy’ about our arrival,” Caedmon snapped. “Or did you miss Her Radiance’s apt description of how we combated our way through Seviere’s men?”

  “I just love it when he calls her that.” Jon placed a hand on his chest, crinkling his nose at Rowena. “Doesn’t your heart just melt when he calls you that?”

  “That’s exactly my point!” Oliver tossed his hands in the air. “I can’t believe you would let her do something so dangerous. Good God, man, are you insane?”

  “Ollie,” Rowena whispered an admonishment, yet Caedmon simmered under the potency of such an ill-aimed accusation. Apparently Oliver had naught a clue regarding the determined female to whom he referred, nor did he believe the strength and precision of her battle-won talents.

  “If you think for one heartbeat I willingly conceded she charge into such peril, you are the one whose reasoning is faulty.” He placed his palms on the table and closed the distance between them, meeting Oliver scowl for scowl, his misgivings be damned. “My objections held no more sway over her decisions than that of yours.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Oliver scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I don’t really give a hot damn how much training she’s had. The woman can’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds. You couldn’t tie her to a chair? Hold her down and try talking some sense into her?”

  “Whoa, hold up. Tie me to a chair?”

  “And then what?” Caedmon spat through clenched teeth. To employ such tactics was ludicrous beyond measure. “Perhaps deny her food and water until she consented?”

  “Okay, guys, that’s enough.”

  Oliver wagged a finger at Caedmon as if he addressed a disobedient child. “Listen, you…you big, hairy, medieval—”

  “I said that’s enough!” His lady jumped from her seat and spun, plucking knives from their slots inside a wooden block and apples from a bowl. She tossed one after another into the air, the blades embedding with meticulous accuracy, each discordant twang pinning a piece of fruit to the far wall.

  Oliver squeaked and ducked low, shielding his head with both arms. Jon gasped, and then clapped. The last of the fruits firmly skewered in place, Rowena whirled and reclaimed the chair she’d occupied only moments before.

  A dull thud echoed off the metallic surfaces in the room and Oliver flinched as she planted the final blade in the table between them. “Now, you got any more questions?”

  Excellent. That should do the trick. Caedmon eased back in his chair and crossed his arms, a pleasant smile in place and his heart aglow over his lady’s ability to stem the tide of any residual discontent.

  “I have a question.” Jon tentati
vely raised his hand. Caedmon shifted his focus to the young man, though Jon’s awe-filled gaze remained affixed to Rowena. “Has Caedmon ever tied you to a chair? And if so, what happened?”

  Oliver’s shoulders dropped. “Can you please try to focus, Jon?”

  “What?” He frowned at his male counterpart. “That’s a perfectly legitimate question.”

  Oliver sighed and shook his head, glancing at Caedmon. “I apologize.” He peeked askance at Jon. “For both of us. Obviously, I didn’t realize she’d become a knife-wielding circus performer in her absence.”

  Rowena cleared her throat, nudging Caedmon’s thigh with her knee. A quick scan of her firm lips, the way she tipped her head toward Oliver, and Caedmon released an exasperated breath. Yet he could no more ignore her request than he could fault Oliver’s erroneous assumptions. Merely a span of days earlier, he’d believed much the same, and not until he’d nearly lost the love of his heart, had he come to accept her size and femininity had naught to do with her ability to protect herself.

  Moreover, he and Oliver seemed of an accord when it came to her safety. If nothing else, Oliver’s vigorous defense of her proved his legitimacy as an unwavering friend. “Apology accepted.”

  “Good.” Rowena smacked her palms to the tabletop with finality. “Now for the real reason we’re here. Caedmon and I need your help, Ollie.”

  “Of course, doll. Anything you need, you know that.”

  Her eyes softened at the corners and his lady reached past the protruding knife for her friend’s hand. Caedmon’s brow twitched when Oliver laced their fingers together and held tight. Though the pressure in his chest was not accompanied by the taint of jealousy, the ease of their familiarity ushered in a shadow of regret. It was plain they’d missed each other. And rightly so. At one time, the two of them had been thick as thieves.

  “The information we need relates to the history of Caedmon’s country, if such information even exists. Everything from his father’s reign forward, including anything we can find out about his brother, Prince Braedric, the reigning King Seviere, and a wizard by the name of Gaelleod.”

  Oliver propped his elbow on the table, his fingertips drumming a rhythmic cadence atop the glossy surface. Lips pursed, he squinted at the smooth gray cabinetry hung about the room. “We may need to call in reinforcements. This kind of research sounds right up Violet’s alley.”

  “Right.” Rowena dipped her head in agreement. “But does she know? About me, I mean?” She offered her other hand to Caedmon and he firmly clasped it in his. “About us?”

  “I’m not sure what she believes.” Oliver refocused on Rowena. “After your disappearance, things at the shop got a little…strange.”

  She released Caedmon and sat forward, covering Oliver’s hand with hers. “What do you mean?”

  He searched her face, a hint of anxiety pleating his brow, and Caedmon’s apprehension returned thrice fold. Certainly, a woman in her position would have been sorely missed, and in this realm, who knew to what extremes the higher powers had persevered to search her out? Likewise, if the veil had been discovered during such a quest, chances were high that Jon and Oliver had faced dire circumstances indeed.

  “Well, when you didn’t show up at work, I knew right away something had happened. You never missed a day at the shop. At least, not without calling. So I went to your condo and used my spare key to get in.” Oliver studied their hands on the table, his thumb sweeping a gentle caress over her knuckles. “That’s when I saw the armoire and the broken mirror. I figured out what had happened, of course, but I knew no one in their right mind would believe me. I mean, come on. Telling the police my best friend teleported through a magic mirror? That would’ve only made me a prime suspect in your disappearance.”

  How very peculiar. Caedmon narrowed his eyes. In his realm, traveling through a mystical portal would be easily received as truth. Yet in her world, where light was summoned by a clap of the hands and fire sprang to life with the mere flick of a switch, the veil was suspected as false? That Oliver had been compelled to misrepresent such an event made no sense, and frustration tightened Caedmon’s jaw over the subterfuge his lady’s friend had been forced to exact on their behalf.

  “Oh, Ollie, I’m so sorry.” Rowena reached across the distance and cupped Oliver’s cheek, blinking past the tears in her eyes. “I’ve put you through hell, haven’t I? I’m so sorry.”

  “As am I.” When Oliver shifted his focus to Caedmon, he nodded. The man had more than proven the validity of his character by going to such depths to protect their secrets. Whatever Oliver asked of them, Caedmon would do his utmost to honor their debt.

  Understanding floated through Oliver’s blue eyes and he returned Caedmon’s nod before facing Rowena. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the backs of her fingers. “It’s okay, Ro. I knew wherever you’d gone, whatever you were doing, you’d made the right choice.” He glanced at Caedmon a second time. “The best choice to make you happy.”

  He sat back from the table and shrugged. “So I did the only thing I could. I called the police and reported you as missing. Thankfully, soon after they looked into your disappearance, they dropped the case.” He lifted a shrewd eyebrow. “Your note, doll. Remember? It said you may or may not be back, and once the handwriting expert confirmed you’d written it, the matter was closed.”

  She fell back in her chair, lips parted in surprise. “But what about the key? Weren’t they concerned it had gone missing? And how did you get the armoire?”

  Jon stood and pushed his chair to the table, dropped a kiss to the top of Oliver’s head and approached the wall. He worked one of the knives free, slid the apple from the blade and polished it along the collar of his dressing gown.

  “The police assumed you’d sold the key and used the money to go wherever it was you went.” Oliver dipped his head as if the remainder of his tale was easily surmised. “Everything else was left to me, so I put your things in storage, swept the mirror into the armoire and had it delivered here.” He leaned forward and spoke softly as if they shared some privileged insight. “The joke was on me, though, because once the piece arrived, I couldn’t get the damn door open.”

  Rowena chuckled and nodded.

  A hearty crunch split the silence and Caedmon swiveled around as Jon swiped a droplet of juice from his lips. He paused in his second bite and lifted his brows, offering Caedmon the apple.

  He grimaced and shook his head. The man was thoroughly odd, and exhibited qualities far more fae than human. A pair of hooves, two small horns and a laurel wreath, and Jon would embody the perfect depiction of a satyr.

  “Now tell her the best part.” He used the apple to point at Oliver and the blond man grinned at his dark-haired lover.

  “The Tribune ran an article about the key and your subsequent vanishing act, and the story went viral. The shop became famous, doll. People from all over the world showed up to visit the place where a mythical golden key straight out of legend had resurfaced.” Oliver twiddled his fingers in the air and oohed much like he’d just relayed the details of a haunting tale.

  “All he needs is a whip and fedora, and Ollie is the next Indiana Jones.” Jon broke off another hunk of the apple, smiling as he chewed.

  Rowena and Oliver both laughed, though Caedmon failed to find the humor behind such an obscure reference.

  “You’re a rich woman.” Oliver smiled. “We’ve got locations all over the city. Five storefronts, in fact, and Violet and I have become the most sought-after antiques dealers in the country.”

  Caedmon carefully studied his lady’s cheerful grin upon hearing this extraordinary bit of news, though he was not surprised to learn she retained both fortune and notoriety in this realm. Her shrewd wit, intelligence, and sheer force of will ensured as much, regardless of what plane of existence she inhabited. Still, his heart beat heavily, and a wary restlessness made him shift in his seat. Oliver offered a great deal of wealth on her behalf. Additionally, he was
her trusted friend and could provide a level of safety which far exceeded the dangers she stood to contest upon her return through the veil.

  He frowned down at the table. Mayhap a true man…a better man than he would forego their betrothal in deference to all the luxuries she could easily possess in this place.

  “So you’re still working with Violet? She can help us?”

  “As long as we’re careful to keep your presence under wraps,” Oliver jerked his head toward Caedmon, “especially as it relates to Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding over there, and avoid any meddling questions, I don’t see why not.”

  Caedmon’s frown deepened to a scowl. In typical selfless fashion, his lady thought naught of her own comforts, but that of his kingdom and the actions she could take to ensure its survival—even more reason their time in this place warranted his sincerest deliberation. At least one of them could give due consideration to her best, utmost secure future.

  “You’re forgetting something.” Jon opened a lower cabinet and tossed his apple core into a tall metal bin. “Violet’s out of town this weekend for the Autumn Equinox, remember? She does that Pagan, wiccan thingy in the woods with her husband every year.”

  Ah. So, the elusive Violet was a witch, then. No wonder they sought her aid. She would indeed provide useful knowledge, and perchance added protection in Fandorn’s absence.

  “Can you stay until she gets back on Monday?” Oliver asked. “That’s three days from today.”

  “Two days, actually.” Jon jerked his chin toward a numbered disk hanging upon the wall. “It’s officially Saturday morning.”

  Rowena sighed and shook her head. “As much as I love the idea of spending time with you, I’m not sure we can wait that long.” She nibbled her bottom lip, and Caedmon braced for whatever devious plan was formulating behind those emerald eyes of hers. “Isn’t that celebration a costumed affair? What if we went to Violet, instead? If we dressed up, maybe we could sneak in to the event undetected, talk to her and no one would be the wiser.”