Tied to the Crown

by Neha Yazmin

  “I can take care of myself!” Wyett almost snarled.

  “If the rebels ambush us, Your Majesty, I don’t know if I’ll be able to protect Lady Rozlene and the Prince—”

  Again, Wyett told her, “I can take care of myself.” With a glare that usually made his father’s Courtiers tremble, he added, “I don’t need you to protect me.”

  But she was still only talking to his father. “Your Majesty, if this a trap to capture the Crown Prince, and Micah has enough men, I think I should go alone.”

  “As I assured you the other day, my nephew’s forces are depleted. He hasn’t had enough time to recruit men for an ambush. I think he really just wants his sword back. But I appreciate that you would risk your life for my sons.”

  Wyett wanted to scream. Seth had definitely inherited his naivety from their father. Or was ‘gullible’ the right word?

  “This is my fault, Your Majesty. I should be the one to rectify it.” Her eyes flicked, once again, to the lock of hair on his father’s desk.

  “I thought you’d say that,” the King told her with a smile. “That’s why I’m sending you to make the trade in the first place. And I also knew that Wyett would hate me if I didn’t let him visit his cousin’s lair. He will be nothing more than a tour guide.”

  “Since it’s going to be that safe,” Seth said, a moan in his tone, “then why can’t I come, too?”

  “Because,” the girl said before anyone else could respond, “if I detect the slightest of threats to your life, Seth, I will not hesitate in killing your cousin. And His Majesty will not be very pleased with me.”

  Everyone was visibly shocked by what she’d said. No one could doubt that she meant every word.

  After a long silence, Seth said to her, “And if you detect that Wyett’s life is in danger—”

  “Seth, I can handle myself—”

  “Will you kill Micah?” Seth asked her as though Wyett hadn’t tried to intervene.

  The girl took a long moment to think about Seth’s question. “No,” she finally replied, “because your brother will kill me for ending a life that he wants to take himself. But he won’t begrudge me for killing Micah for your protection.”

  Then, throwing one last look at Rozlene’s hair, she left the room, no bows to anyone. It was clear from her body language that she was off to retrieve Micah’s sword from wherever she’d stashed it away.

  Before the two Princes left their father’s office, Wyett to get ready for the mission, Seth to sulk in his chambers, the King reminded them, “Aaryana didn’t kill any of the rebels in the forest. She simply took them out of action and tied them up for arrest. I don’t think she has ever taken a life. But she will kill for you.”

  The last part was uttered in Seth’s direction, but was meant for Wyett. Trust her, Wyett, his father seemed to urge him.

  Not if my life depends on it.

  Chapter 4

  Thankfully, the guards’ training hall was well-stocked and no one seemed to monitor who took weapons from there. They were probably cheap and of poor quality, only meant for casual practice. Any type of weapon in the hands of someone that was a weapon herself… They would do just fine. Besides, Aaryana had her new—Wyett’s old—crossbow with her, too, and her fingers twitched on the grip at the thought of using it in a fight.

  Micah’s blade—stuffed into a scabbard from the training room—was strapped to her back as she set off for the stables. Everyone’s eyes flick to the pommel. They seemed to recognise the blade.

  When she reached the main doors of the Palace, she saw Wyett coming from the eastern wing. And the sword that hung from his weapons belt… She halted to take a longer look. Yes, Wyett’s sword had an identical hilt to Micah’s. The Crown Prince hadn’t used it during their duel, probably because he’d deemed her unworthy of facing such a blade. These swords clearly only belonged to members of the Royal Family, like Crowns and rings that bore the Royal emblem of a Kingdom.

  The King’s sword had been very different, she remembered, an older, more elaborate piece of work, but the designs on its hilt were reminiscent of the ones on the sword that she’d been hiding under her bed. If Micah had one of these swords—well, he’d get it back by the end of today—did that mean he was accepted as a Prince of Roshdan? Why had he turned traitor and rebel? Why did people like Jeena and Seth refuse to discuss it? As Wyett stopped in front of her, Aaryana’s lips quivered with the longing to ask him about it. But she kept quiet; he wouldn’t answer.

  Bowing to the Crown Prince, she turned and slipped out into the dimming early evening light. She heard Wyett following. The rain had stopped and left the air smelling of mud and wet grass. It was going to be a messy ride to Micah’s lair. Why they referred to it as a hideout if its location was an open secret, she didn’t know. How a King could order his subjects to leave the rebel leader alone, she couldn’t fathom. Her father—or Leesha—wouldn’t continually spare the life of the person that wanted to kill them. Even if they were blood relatives.

  At the stables, she asked one of the stable boys to prepare her warhorse and the Crown Prince’s. She kept her back to Wyett as she slung the strap of the crossbow on her shoulder, acting as though she didn’t know he was behind her. But she could almost feel his breath on her neck. He was standing closer to her than she would have thought possible for him.

  There was a split down her mind now. The Aaryana that had planned to seduce the Heir to the Roshdani Throne, thought it would be a good idea to take a long step back and bump into Wyett. The other Aaryana wanted to act the way she would have done if Wyett had visited Adgar and been his cold, rude self. Which was: Not give him the time of day. She had liked Prince Tyross of Khadak, and befriended him, because he was a good person, nice.

  Wyett might be good, too, but he was not nice.

  In the end, she didn’t need to choose; Wyett started to talk to her in a low voice. “Seth doesn’t need you to pity him.” It was almost the hiss of a snake.

  Now she decided to be the Aaryana that hadn’t been banished from her home and was being snarled at by a foreign Prince. Spinning on the spot, she snapped, “He doesn’t need every act of friendship towards him to be seen as pity by his own brother.”

  Wyett’s nostrils flared. “You are not his friend. I told you to stay away from him.”

  “And I have,” she said in a calm voice. It was so calm that it sounded dangerous. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t care about him.” Her voice softened as she added, “I feel very protective of him, like I would for a younger brother.”

  She felt the same way for Myraa, Malin, and the boy Princes back in Adgar. Rudro, too. The number of people she’d threatened because they’d been cruel to Myraa or Rudro… Aaryana had never been able to tolerate people maltreating her loved ones. Somehow, Prince Seth of Roshdan had become dear enough to her that she wouldn’t hesitate to risk her life to save his.

  It was so irrational—she hardly knew the boy—but the thought of Seth getting hurt wasn’t one she could entertain.

  “And before you say it,” she said—Wyett had opened his mouth to protest, “I know he’s not my brother and I will stay away from him because you told me to, but if anyone dares to try and hurt him, they better have an army to hide behind. Even then, I will find them.”

  “All very nice words, Princess, but there’s nothing you can do about the biggest threat to his life.”

  Both Aaryana and the Prince were surprised by his words. She gasped and his face paled. Wyett had called her Princess, even if it was in a derogatory tone and accompanied by a sneer on his lips. And he’d shown genuine sadness when he referred to Seth’s mysterious illness. The threat to his life. He hadn’t intended to do either of those things.

  She found herself saying, “I wish I could.”

  Aaryana averted his gaze and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that their horses were ready. “Shall we?” she said to Wyett and hurried to her warhorse. It was almost identical to Wyett’s one.

&nbs
p; Did his horse call out to him the way hers had when the King told her to pick one? From her saddle, she saw that Wyett was just standing there, glaring at her black horse.

  “Is everything alright, Your Highness?”

  “This is the horse that Father gifted you?” he asked with gritted teeth as he mounted his own.

  “Yes. Back in Sidkat,” she told him. “He,” she added, petting the horse, “seemed to be asking me to pick him. So I did.”

  The Prince frowned before taking off. She took off after him.

  This definitely wasn’t what she’d been expecting. When she thought of the term ‘rebel hideout’—even if it was the lair of a traitor that was more or less under the King’s protection—she didn’t think ‘beautiful stone cottage on a lush green hill’. But that’s what it was.

  When she halted her horse beside Wyett’s, she couldn’t stop the words, “He lives here?” from leaving her mouth. The place wasn’t even that long a ride from the castle. Micah lived in the King’s backyard!

  “Unfortunately,” Wyett said under his breath.

  She was surprised he was interacting with her. He hadn’t uttered a single word during the short trip up here. Maybe he was so overwhelmed by the emotions elicited by being in his enemy’s doorstep that he needed to release some of it through speech?

  “It’s too close to the Palace,” she said with disapproval. “He shouldn’t be allowed to live here.”

  For once, Wyett didn’t disagree with her. “At least we can always watch this place. Watch him.”

  “And he’s always watching you.”

  Wyett didn’t respond. His teeth were clenched as he stared at the cottage ahead of him.

  The anger emanating from him wasn’t directed at her, so she asked, “How hard is it to keep from sneaking up here at night and killing him in his sleep?”

  “Very hard,” he breathed. He could do it, she knew he had the ability and the motive.

  “But your father would never forgive you.”

  “No. Let’s make the trade.” He jumped down from his horse and she copied him.

  “How are we doing this?” Aaryana asked as they walked up the gravelled path to the homely cottage.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I would suggest that I do the talking. I have no history with him, so I can keep a cool head. He knows nothing about me, so he can’t get under my skin.”

  Wyett looked at her as though he wanted to say that she shouldn’t be so sure of anything when it came to Micah, but he kept quiet.

  At the door, he told her, “Fine.”

  Then, he knocked on the door of the cousin that wanted his father’s Crown and his head. A middle-aged man with bright orange hair opened the door almost immediately. The rebels were expecting them; they’d been watching. The man showed no sign of fear or acknowledgement of the fact that the Crown Prince was on his doorstep and simply turned around and walked down the narrow hallway.

  Wyett made to step inside and follow the man, but Aaryana blocked his path with her arm.

  “I will go first.” It was more of an order than a statement. “On the way out, I will take up the rear.”

  Wyett, surprisingly, didn’t argue. He let her enter the dim hall and shadowed her to the threshold of a large room lit by candles and lanterns. It had no windows, but four doors leading to other rooms, armed men positioned in front of them.

  The orange-haired man stood directly opposite her at the other end of the room, behind the chair that Micah was lounging on. And it was the sight of him that led her to betray any emotion. When she’d fought him in the forest, she’d thought that he looked like King Keyan so much that he might have been his son. Now, as he sat in his dark tunic and pants, a lazy grin on his lips, Aaryana realised that he looked more like Seth than Wyett did. He looked like a future version of the youngest Prince. Four or five years from now, this was how Seth was going to look.

  She sent a quick accusing glance at Wyett over her shoulder. How could he think about killing someone who looked so much like Seth? If Seth was here, and in danger, would she be able to kill his twin?

  Micah’s smile vanished when his gaze landed on her, so she took that to mean that he’d recognised her. His mouth tightened when he finally registered his sword strapped to her back.

  “You!” Micah jerked to his feet. He didn’t mean, “You from the forest” but rather, “You took my sword”.

  “Yes, me,” she replied with a shrug. “You know my companion, Prince Wyett.” She stepped to the side so Wyett wasn’t behind her anymore.

  As though he’d only just seen the Crown Prince, Micah spread his arms our towards Wyett. “Wyett!” he exclaimed, surprised and ecstatic. “My good friend, my dear cousin!”

  He walked up to the Prince, arms still spread as though to embrace him, but Wyett pulled out a dagger from his weapons belt and brought it up to keep the rebel leader from coming any closer.

  Sighing dramatically, Micah dropped his arms. He shook his head and laughed indulgently. Aaryana was disconcerted by the fact that Micah had called Wyett his ‘good friend’. He hadn’t sounded sarcastic, and although he’d clearly been trying to annoy the Prince, Micah’s words seemed to have some truth in them.

  Picking up on her confusion, the rebel leader asked her, “He didn’t tell you that the two of us are best friends?”

  Best friends. She would think about this later. Add it to the list of facts she’d collected about Micah.

  Aaryana opened her mouth to say that the Crown Prince didn’t need to tell her anything when Wyett snapped, “Were.” The two of them had been good friends once; not anymore. “Associating with you is treason,” Wyett added, looking around the room at Micah’s supporters. “And I am not a traitor.”

  “I know,” Micah said as he went back to his seat. “I am not a traitor, either. I am simply fighting for my birth-right.”

  Wyett stepped forward, a retort ready on his lips. Aaryana grabbed his wrist and he stopped still. Because Wyett had his back to her, she couldn’t see the expression on his face; he was most likely livid at the fact that she’d touched him. Without permission.

  Micah appraised his cousin, narrow-eyed and calculating.

  Dropping Wyett’s hand, she said, “We have come to trade your sword for Lady Rozlene. Let us be done with it.”

  She pulled out the sword and held it up for Micah, the tip of the blade pointing down. The rebel leader rose to his feet and made to come over to collect it, but she withdrew the weapon and sheathed it across her back again.

  “First, Lady Rozlene,” she said, lifting her chin. A Princess’s command. “When we see that no harm has come to her, Prince Wyett will escort her out. I will stay here with your sword until I can hear the Prince and the Lady ride away. Then, you get your sword.”

  Wyett whirled on her. “We all leave together,” he said through clenched teeth, enraged by the decision she’d made without his input.

  “My duty as a guard is to ensure your safe return to the Palace,” she told him. “The sword stays with me until I’m sure that you and Lady Rozlene have left this place without incident.”

  “You think they won’t be able to take it from you?” Wyett snapped.

  She grinned crookedly. “I’d like to see them try.”

  The Prince shook his head.

  Aaryana stepped close to him and whispered, “I have to put yours and Lady Rozlene’s safety first. I don’t want to let Lady Erisa down.”

  When Wyett just stared at her, she took a step back from him. She jerked her chin at the man standing by the door that was to Micah’s left.

  “Is Lady Rozlene in there? Bring her out.”

  The man turned to his leader. Micah nodded, his eyes wide with surprise—surprised that she’d guessed correctly which room Rozlene was in. The man spun on the spot and slipped inside the room, opening the door just enough to let himself in.

  When the door opened again, Erisa’s mother walked out. Her hands were tied behind her
back with rope and her face was puffy from crying, eyes bloodshot. The man that had been guarding her room was behind her, a knife in his hand.

  “Cut her loose,” ordered Wyett, furious.

  Micah gestured to the man to set Rozlene free. She ran up to Wyett and he held her to his side.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked her, trying to get a better look at her. But her face was in her hands.

  “I’m fine,” she said with a shaky voice. “I just want to get back to my Erisa.” And she broke down into sobs.

  “Please take my horse, Lady Rozlene,” Aaryana said in a soft voice, “and leave this place.” She looked at Wyett until he met her gaze. “Go, Your Highness.” She pointed down the hallway. “I will watch your back.”

  Finally, Wyett nodded and began guiding Rozlene backwards towards the hall, not turning his back to the rebels. Aaryana took backwards steps, too, as she followed them into the dim passage. They moved swiftly down the hall and the front door opened easily, letting them out into the night. There weren’t any rebels outside, nor on the roof of the cottage, and as she kept watch, the Crown Prince and Lady Rozlene mounted the horses and rode away. Surprisingly, Wyett gave her a nod before leaving.

  She knew the exact moment that Micah walked up to the front door, but she turned to him only when Wyett and Rozlene were tiny dots in the distance.

  “You’re not going to invite me in?” Aaryana asked—the rebel leader was blocking the entrance.

  He had a dagger in his hand and a look of concentration on his face. He wasn’t going to attack her or order his men to do it. He had fought and lost to her already and didn’t want any more blood to be spilled from his remaining followers.

  “Not great hospitality.” She shook her head, tutting at him.

  “Just hand over my sword and be gone,” he said, a plea in his voice.

  With Wyett no longer present, Micah wasn’t pretending to be cool and calm. He was terrified of her.