by R. K. Ryals
“A crown,” Maeve breathed.
“We are one and many,” I said, the sound loud, louder than I could have ever spoken on my own. “And this girl is our voice, this girl who bears the blood of your nation and hers, who bears your stigmas and the stigmas of her people. We see no shame in her. For it is the mighty who fall, the weak who rise up to become kings and queens. You dare question us? You threaten each other, you make alliances, and you fight a thousand wars. In Medeisia, there lies an ancient forest full of our oldest ancestors. It, like the rest of Medeisia, is threatened. Remember this, human queen, it would take only one mighty wave, one mighty storm, to destroy your kingdom. Question us no more.”
And with that the vines unfurled, releasing me. Gasping, I fell to my knees, my arms suddenly supported on each side by Lochlen and Cadeyrn.
“Impressive,” Cadeyrn breathed.
The dragon snorted. “Show offs.” Small plumes of smoke billowed from his human nose.
I dragged in a breath, my gaze traveling to the queen’s face, my hands grasping Cadeyrn and Lochlen’s arms. “Was that enough show?” I asked. My voice was hoarse, and I let my head drop, my words too low for the people on the dais to hear when I whispered, “I’m just a girl.”
Even I didn’t believe that any more.
Cadeyrn lifted me, no strain on his face. “It’s time to plan a double wedding,” he said. “First I marry, and then we march on Medeisia. There is no more time for games.”
The king stared at the retreating vines, his gaze landing on my face before moving to his son’s.
“We’ll meet with the council.”
Chapter 4
Night found me in a forest green dressing robe standing in front of a wooden door with a full moon carved into its surface. As I did every night, I traced the design, my fingers completing the celestial orb just as the door swung inward. I never knocked. I never needed to. As always, Cadeyrn stood on the other side, his chest bare, his gaze going to the guards over my shoulders. He nodded at them, and they fell back along the walls, their lips thin with disapproval.
Ducking under Cadeyrn’s arm, I entered his chamber. It was different tonight, our rendezvous. The chess board was set up, but it didn’t beckon.
The door clicked shut behind me, and for the first time in three months, for the first time since I’d started playing chess with the prince, he spoke.
“The goal of chess is to capture the king,” he said.
I stood still, watching as the flames within the hearth cast an orange glow over his room, throwing corners into shadows. Papers rested in a haphazard pile next to the prince’s bed. His sword lay on the mattress, unsheathed, the metal gleaming.
I eyed it. “The king is the most important piece,” I breathed. The prince approached me from behind. “But it is also one of the weakest.”
We weren’t talking about chess, and we both knew it.
“And the queen?” Cadeyrn asked.
He paused behind me, his hands going to my shoulders. The feel of his warm skin through the robe stole my breath. It bothered me that Cadeyrn affected me in odd ways. Kye’s passing half a year before dragged me down. It weighed on me. I could still see him sometimes in my dreams. My heart hurt.
“The queen,” I answered, “is the most powerful piece. It can be moved in any one straight direction.”
Cadeyrn’s hands tightened on my shoulders, and I exhaled, the sound shaky. With little effort, the prince turned me, his grey-blue gaze peering down into mine. The flames from the hearth highlighted his features, hollowing his cheeks and sharpening the planes of his face and chest. “You did right today. You used two future queens, moving them into a position that would protect a king. It solidified two alliances while opening your country up for aid. First rule of leadership: never question your decisions.”
My gaze searched his. “And you think I question it?”
Cadeyrn’s lips twitched. “You question everything.”
For a long moment, we stared at each other, our chests rising and falling with each breath, my gaze sliding to the pendant around Cadeyrn’s neck. He was right. I felt bad for suggesting he marry two women, one of them his wife’s sister.
“I never meant to tarnish the memory of your wife,” I whispered.
Cadeyrn’s hands dropped. “You sully nothing. What’s expected of me now has nothing to do with my past. It’s about solidifying power for Sadeemia, strengthening this country against attack. It’s business.”
“There can be no love in war and politics,” I whispered.
They were Cadeyrn’s words, said to me once in a desert. He said nothing, his shuttered gaze moving to my shorn hair. It was growing back, but it still only came to my chin. There was heat in the prince’s gaze, heat I hadn’t noticed before.
His hand lifted, his palm gripping my elbow before sliding down to my hand, leaving fire in its wake. “Your power overwhelms you. Today in the Hall of Light, you gave your power control. It should be the other way, Aean Brirg.”
I shook my head while tugging on my hand. My stomach churned. “You can’t control nature. You can only channel it.”
Cadeyrn’s gaze caught mine. “Do you really believe that?” He motioned at his bed. “I could channel my power, allow the steel to control me, use me as a conduit. But if I did, I wouldn’t be standing here now.” His gaze went once more to my hair. “The vines gave you a crown today, made you a queen of the forest. It’s a harsh world, ruling. They’re giving you permission to control them. They trust you.”
I stared at him, his hand on mine no longer bothering me. My fascination overrode it. “Show me.”
His hand tightened on mine, his free hand sliding up into my hair to cup the back of my head. It startled me at first until I felt his power, a distinct hum that ran just beneath his skin.
“I control my power,” he told me. “It does not control me. Look at me.” His hand tightened on the back of my head, his fingers digging into my skull. My eyes met his. The blue depths had faded to grey, like steel. I could taste metal in my mouth, and I gagged.
The prince’s jaw tensed. “Steel is power. It is strength and endurance. It has weaknesses, but it’s a brutal strength that can overcome much. It is honest strength, a power that can discern lie from truth.” The metal taste in my mouth grew, causing my stomach to tighten, nausea sweeping me. “In this moment,” the prince said, “you are steel. In this moment, you could lift anything, slice through anything, or overpower anything. You do not doubt your strength. You embrace it. You give it confidence.”
Cadeyrn pulled my face closer to his, the grey in his eyes fading, taking on a turquoise hue that frightened me. I tried pulling away, but his strength was too much. “Now feel your power,” he commanded. “Your power comes from something much deeper than steel. It is life, rebirth, and passion. The vines came to you today, giving you aid when you needed it. For a moment, they controlled you. Control them now.”
His hand turned my head, causing my gaze to fall on the potted plants that sat on the side of his room. His lips lowered, stopping just beside my ear. “Control them, Aean Brirg.”
I felt it then, the power of the forest. It consumed me, filling my mouth with a different taste, with a sweet taste that reminded me of berries. It chased away the metal. I could see the connection between myself and the plants, as if lines of thread had been strung from my body to their leafy figures. The leaves on the plants unfurled, turning so that they faced me, their usual whispering rising in volume, becoming loud and distinct.
“Ah, little one,” they breathed, “we feel you.”
They grew, lifting toward the ceiling before crawling to the floor. There was a voraciousness to their movement, as if they were desperate to touch me. It was something I’d never felt before with the trees or foliage. I summoned them, and they answered my call. I nearly forgot Cadeyrn, his hand on mine, his palm in my hair, and his breath next to my ear.
The foliage approached me, wrapping itself around my bare
ankles, and my skin tingled. I made it stop there, their crawling stems and leaves remaining at my feet.
“Your power feeds off many things, Aean Brirg. Embrace it,” the prince whispered.
He let go of me then, and the plants released me, slithering back to their clay pots. I stumbled backward, my chest heaving, the sweet taste of berry still heavy on my tongue.
Leaning against Cadeyrn’s bed, I stared at him. “Does your power speak to you?” I asked him. “Does it actually communicate?”
He looked at me. “It speaks to me, but not with words, not in the same way yours communicates with you.”
There was space between us now, and I inhaled, the sound loud in the quiet room. “Did you hear them?” I asked him. “When you were touching me? Did you hear the plants?”
Cadeyrn’s gaze moved to the fire. “No. It seems only you have that advantage.”
I exhaled, relieved. It seemed selfish not to want to share that part of my power, but I didn’t want to share it, didn’t want anyone to feel that powerful connection. The forest, the ocean, the sky, the animals … it was all my family. It was what had kept me from falling apart when I’d lost Kye. I was never alone and always loved.
“Never alone,” the plants echoed.
I glanced at them before staring once more at Cadeyrn. He was leaning against the hearth, his gaze on the flames. The muscles in his back were tight; his tattoo covered in crawling orange and black shadows. I’d been afraid at first when he’d touched me, afraid he’d been trying to be intimate. It made me wonder if I would have stopped him if he had been. There was something extremely companionable about sharing grief and loneliness with someone else. There was something companionable about being around someone who had a power people feared, who had duties that kept him from truly living his life. We shared that, the prince and me.
With one final glance, I stepped toward the door, my gaze on the exit. The plants whispered as I moved past them, reaching for me.
My palm was resting against the wood when Cadeyrn’s hand suddenly covered mine again, his warm chest against my back, his skin hot. We fell into silence, neither one of us saying anything. We just stood there, our hands resting against the wood, our breathing in sync. My heart rate slowed, evening out until I was flooded with calm. In truth, this is what I always came to Cadeyrn’s chamber for, his calmness, and it was what he gave me now before he pulled open the door and stepped aside.
It was while I was walking down the hall, two guards at my back, that affection flooded me. I had a true friend in Prince Cadeyrn, a Sadeemian man and ruler I could trust. I’d allowed him liberties a woman only allowed a man, but it wasn’t love. It was a deep rooted affection built from circumstance. From loss. Our powers seemed to feed off each other. It was a gift, his calm confidence, and I took it. I didn’t have time to wonder what it was he gained from me.
I had the sudden fleeting thought, The king is the most important piece in chess, but the queen is the most powerful.
Chapter 5
For a week, there was the constant sound of arguing from the Council hall in the palace. Brown robes mingled with blue as royal mages and scribes came and went, their heads down, their hoods cloaking their faces. There was an attempt on Prince Cadeyrn’s life. It was a hushed affair, an incident that transpired in the Great Hall. Poison. It killed one of his servants, a man hired to die for the prince. I never found out what kind of poison it was, or how it was administered.
I continued to go to Cadeyrn’s room. We played chess, but he never spoke of the attempt on his life. It was, as I was told, a common occurrence.
It was on the seventh night that I was turned away. I stood outside the prince’s chamber, but his door never opened. I traced the full moon in the wood until my fingers fell to the grains of wheat surrounding it, and still the door didn’t move.
I stared.
“You should return to your room,” Ryon coaxed.
The guard’s voice was insistent. I wanted to argue, but it would have done no good. My entry into the prince’s life was frowned upon in the palace. I was the bastard daughter of a nobleman raised by a Medeisian man. Princes weren’t friends with bastards, even powerful ones.
“Yes,” I answered finally, my back to the guard. “I should go.”
However, I didn’t move. I stood for long minutes, my gaze on the wood, on the carving. “The moon?” I asked Ryon. “Why is it a harvest one?”
The guard coughed. “It’s no secret, I suppose. It was under a Harvest Moon that the prince was born.”
I froze, a cold chill traveling up my spine. “The Kiarian Freesonalay.”
I had been born under a Harvest Moon. It was something I’d always known, something Aigneis had always made sure I’d known. The prophecy talked about the Harvest Moon and a girl, but it didn’t say anything about a prince.
“You should return to your room,” the guard insisted.
I turned to look at him, my eyes traveling his features. Ryon’s short blond hair was clipped close to his head, his clean-shaven cheeks sharp in the dim, lantern lit hallway.
“You all hate me, don’t you?” I asked.
Ryon’s gaze searched mine. “Not the guards, rebel. We respect you. You’ve fought with us. We’ve seen what you are capable of. But in the end, you mean only tragedy for our leaders.”
“Because of an excerpt in an ancient book?”
Ryon’s lips quirked. “You’re Medeisian. You live in a country cloaked by superstition and magic, and you ask me if I believe in an excerpt in an ancient book?”
I inclined my head, my gaze going to the gaping dark hallway before I finally left the prince’s door. It amazed me how powerful words could be, how fearful they could make people.
Oran met me at my room, his silver fur muted in the glow from the guard’s lantern. “You return too soon, Phoenix,” he noted.
I didn’t spare him a glance. The wolf knew too much; he saw too much in my eyes. It was disconcerting how perceptive the animals in my life were.
“It is the way things must be from here on out,” another voice interjected, and my gaze flew to my open bedroom door, to the reptilian eyes that peered out at me from the frame.
Ryon hissed, “You walk unguarded, Dragon.”
It was a warning, and we knew it.
Lochlen grinned, his white teeth flashing, his eyes dilating. “Do you think I need guarding?”
There was the faint smell of smoke and Ryon stepped back. “I’ll be in the hall,” he said crossly.
I nodded at him, my teeth scraping my lips to keep from smiling.
Turning back to Lochlen, I chided, “You shouldn’t do that, you know. You scare them.”
Lochlen moved aside, his green tunic and brown leather breeches black in the darkness until we passed into the lit room. A bath stood waiting, but I ignored it. I would bathe in front of Oran, but not Lochlen. I didn’t care if he was a dragon. Right now, he wasn’t in his proper form and it was enough to keep me clothed.
“I enjoy being terrifying,” Lochlen pointed out, winking.
I ignored him. “You said it was the way of things now. What do you mean by that?”
The dragon sauntered to my bed, his hip leaning against the mattress. He looked uncomfortable. I often wondered if he was. Fitting his draconic shape in a human form must be like trying to fit a man into a stocking.
“The council has met. The mages and scribes have concurred, and ambassadors have been notified. Messages have been dispatched to the kings of Greemallia and Henderonia. It is all formality now. New papers have been drawn up, but it is within reason that the kings will agree with Freemont’s offer. With the risk of war hanging over his head, the marriages must be quick. Once the king’s pigeons return with replies, the next move will be a wedding, a double wedding followed by two different consummations.”
Oran snorted. “I’d say the prince was a lucky man if one of the human women wasn’t Gabriella and the other wasn’t his deceased wife’s sister.”
My hand went to my stomach, the churning there deep and unsettling. I leaned next to Lochlen on the bed, my lips parted. No words escaped, but they didn’t have to.
“One of the conditions of his marriage was that there could be no contact between you and the prince,” Lochlen murmured. “It seems the Greemallian princess is unsettled by you. War is a different matter, but while you are here at the palace, there is to be no contact.”
I exhaled, my hand going to Lochlen’s elbow. I grasped it, and he opened his arms to me, my cheek going to his chest.
“It shouldn’t matter,” I whispered.
Lochlen’s human chest wasn’t the same as his scales. It was cool, because even in human form, he was never warm, but it wasn’t as comforting.
“It shouldn’t, but it does,” he answered me.
He sighed, and it stirred my hair.
“Keep your fire contained,” I warned. “I may have cut my hair, but I still want some of it on my head.”
His chuckle shook my frame, the might of it much greater than his own body. “You are a strong one to be so little, Stone. Remember that.”
I glanced up at him, his auburn hair tickling my cheek. “I led a man to his death, and now I’m leading another man into two marriages with women he could never love.”
Lochlen’s brow rose. “Never? Are you sure?”
Oran jumped onto the bed, his head going to his paws. “You didn’t lead a man to his death. You led him to his destiny.”
“Be damned destiny,” I cursed.
Lochlen chuckled again. “And that’s why you are the forests’ chosen. You respect nature, but you aren’t afraid to question the gods. You’ve done well. Don’t let fear and guilt cripple you now. The Sadeemian prince knows his place. He’s a strong one. I often wonder if there isn’t more to him than the prophecy reveals.”