The Golden Key Legacy

by AJ Nuest

  He’d strode straight for a chair near the fireplace and assigned himself guard duty, settling in for the duration. In response, Faedrah had paced, worrying the key around her neck, anxiety stretched across her pretty features and exhaustion hollowing out her eyes.

  Seeing her so stressed while being unable to do anything about it had nearly killed him, and Rhys knew his next move without having to be told. Even though the thought of leaving her ranked somewhere in the vicinity of getting repeatedly run over by a cement truck, his first priority was to do everything in his power to make sure she was comfortable. Being locked in the same room with her dad didn’t exactly create a tranquil atmosphere, and the continuous glares they traded like she was the all-or-nothing hand in a game of high-stakes poker were shared at her expense.

  He couldn’t do that to her. The last thing he wanted was to be just another fucked up problem for her to solve. Faedrah getting some honest-to-God sleep was all that mattered… and, besides, it wasn’t like he had to go far. With a parting kiss to her cheek, he’d turned for the exit, reassuring her he’d be right outside the room the second she needed him.

  A door softly closed behind him and he turned from the window to find Faedrah’s mother coming toward him down the hall. She smiled in greeting and he nodded a hello as she stopped near his right side.

  “She’s resting easy.” The queen sighed, crossing her arms. “At least, for now.”

  Thank God. Though how long that shaky condition might last was anyone’s guess. “I appreciate you coming out to let me know.” He squinted, pausing a second to scour the night for any inkling of Leo’s laughter, the slightest hunch that bastard was getting ready to pounce.

  “I fear it should be her father and I who are offering our gratitude to you.”

  He flinched, scowling at the queen like she’d lost her damn marbles as her warm chuckle echoed down the corridor. “Gratitude for what?”

  “Your leaving the room was a difficult sacrifice, I’m sure, though I’m not surprised you put Faedrah’s wellbeing ahead of your own.” She faced him, a hint of empathy softening the corners of her eyes. “You have done so at every turn since your arrival, Rhys. A true testament to the strength of your undying devotion.”

  He tipped his head to acknowledge her compliment, and something about the way she held his gaze a second or two longer than necessary told him she’d been quietly cheering in his corner from the get-go… which was actually pretty damn cool. Her silent acceptance offered him a glimmer of hope the shit mess Leo had dumped in his lap might one day change for the better. Everyone else in the castle always looked away whenever he came within range, as if terrified they might catch some contagious disease just by breathing his same air. And the one time Fandorn had called it quits and Rhys had left his training session early, the maid he’d found cleaning his room had keeled over in a dead faint right at his feet.

  Not that he gave a rat’s ass if everyone viewed him as a pariah. After all, none of those people were the one standing in his way. “Any idea if the king will ever see me as anything other than a leper?”

  The queen wrinkled her nose, hissing in a breath. “What you must keep in mind is Faedrah’s father has a tendency to be a spot overprotective.”

  Rhys cocked a brow. “A spot?”

  “And I tend to understate the obvious.”

  A chuckle shook his shoulders as he carefully assessed Faedrah’s mother. He’d be smart to be careful. The woman’s wit was every bit as quick as her daughter’s.

  Slipping her arm through his, she turned him from the window and started them down the hallway at a slow stroll. Still, to him, Faedrah’s family situation came across as just plain weird. On one hand, growing up in a stable, safe environment had most likely been nice for his muse. Based on his knowledge of Nate, good things happened when a person matured in a loving home, knowing their parents would always be there for them without fail. On the other, to have every move scrutinized, the constant strain of continuously being judged against some unachievable standard had to be like living in a pressure cooker.

  Jesus H. Christ. He expelled a sharp breath through his nose. After spending a good portion of his life trying to live up to Leo’s expectations, he could only imagine Faedrah’s frustration… and his father was only one man. Carrying that same weight under the strain of an entire kingdom? No fucking way. By now, his room would’ve been lined with padded walls.

  He rolled his eyes. Of course, this was Faedrah they were talking about. A woman who had jumped through time and space on the off-chance she’d get to bitch slap Satan, fully prepared to put her life on the line if need be. Given the choice, could he honestly say he’d have made that same leap?

  His brow twitched and he lowered his gaze to his feet. Didn’t matter, because Faedrah had already made the decision… for all of them. She’d willingly shouldered the back-breaking responsibility of saving not only her world, but his. He lifted his focus, jaw clenched as he stared at the far wall. And he’d happily go straight to hell before he let one god damn citizen in either realm deny his muse had been born with an iron-clad set of balls. “Faedrah’s a lot stronger than her dad gives her credit for.”

  “Oh, to be sure.” The queen smirked. “And after this evening’s tirade, I’ve more than a smidgen of certainty Caedmon will twice consider his words before inviting his daughter’s wrath, as well.”

  Well, then, what was the fucking problem? Only a complete idiot could’ve missed how the king refused to stand when Faedrah had asked for his consent to go after Gaelleod. Her dad obviously loved her… he believed in her… but he snubbed her request for support?

  He stopped them in front of the last window and faced the queen. “I just don’t get it. Then why is he so hell bent on disagreeing with Faedrah’s decisions? Doesn’t he see how doing that is like jamming a knife in her chest?”

  “You misunderstand.” The queen grasped his upper arms. “’Tis because of his profound love for her, Faedrah’s father deters his endorsement of her perilous path. He would no more willingly sanction her confrontation of Gaelleod’s evil than he would cast her into the fiery pits of hell.”

  Releasing her hold on him, she placed a hand on his chest. “You must believe here, in your heart, our king holds only the utmost care and concern for his daughter. No doubt his boundless love for her… and for the future of our kingdom… is the one thing which also stays his consent you pursue Faedrah’s hand in marriage.”

  Wait, what? He shook his head to rearrange the bearings. Marriage? His shoulders fell. Then again, it wasn’t like he ever planned to let Faedr—

  A creepy chill lifted the hair on his nape and Rhys hesitated, turning his head to search the night. “Hold on.”

  She backed away a step. “What is it?”

  The sickening-sweet scent of rot blew in on the breeze, and he pinned Faedrah’s mom with a frown. “Do you smell that?”

  “No.” She sniffed. “What—”

  He took off like a shot down the hall. The fucker was back. God dammit, any second now, Gaelleod would infect Faedrah’s dreams.

  The guards scrambled out of his way as he flung the door back on its hinges. The knob slammed the wall and rebounded as he burst into the room. The king flinched, blinking and glancing around like he’d fallen asleep, dropping his heels from a padded ottoman to the floor. “Has something happened?”

  A shrill scream drilled through Faedrah’s bedroom door and Rhys sprinted past her dad, grabbed the handle and shouldered into the room.

  Sheets tangled around her legs as if she’d been thrashing, she flailed her arms, fighting off an invisible enemy. Sweat dampened her hair near her scalp, the front of her nightgown glued to her chest.

  That motherfucker! Three long strides, and Rhys scooped her into his arms, gritting his teeth to cap the roar of hatred lodged in his throat. He carried her to the nearest chair, spun and sat with her on his lap, cradling her head on his chest. “I got you, baby. I’m here, I’m here.”
<
br />   Her lashes fluttered. She gasped and clutched his shoulders, burying her face in his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, thank you for waking me.”

  Smoothing a hand down her back, he held on tight, rocking her as her frazzled breathing subsided. God dammit, this was literally a fucking nightmare. He’d never fought such a useless panic his entire life. He locked onto her parents, standing just inside the door. Somehow… some way… they had to do something to stop this never-ending bullshit from repeating.

  “Thank the nine, you reached her in time.” The queen placed a hand on her chest, exhaling a harsh breath.

  “No, I didn’t,” Rhys snapped, but that was about to change. From here on in, he wasn’t going anywhere. Not even into the god damn hall. He’d watch over her all fucking night if he had to, stay awake and hold her in his arms to make sure she stayed safe. “The asshole still got in. Most likely, because I was distracted.”

  Faedrah’s body gradually went slack in his arms, her hold loosened on his shoulders. He gently lowered her from his chest to find her eyelids were closed. Thank God. At least his being here had offered her some security, however small.

  “Yes, but look.” The queen nodded toward her daughter. “For Faedrah to return to slumber so quickly is unheard of. These past three nights, her torment has been much, much worse.”

  Worse? Aw, Christ, he would never sleep again. His grip on her instinctively tightened. Not until he’d figured out a way to stop Leo dead in his tracks.

  “Come, Caedmon.” She wound her index finger around the king’s pinkie and tugged. “Let us leave Faedrah to Rhys’ safekeeping. ʼTwould seem he is the perfect remedy to soothe her aching heart.”

  “Alone and without chaperone in her chambers?” The king scowled, crossing his massive arms. “I think not.”

  No way had he just fucking said that. Rhys’ heart rate spiked as the intentional jab hit right where it counted most. Obviously, the king believed his moral fiber ranked lower than a bottom feeder, but he wasn’t about to let that insult slide. “If you’re insinuating I plan to take advantage of your daughter while she’s practically in a coma, you and I are about to have a serious problem.”

  “Of course he is implying no such thing.” The queen stepped forward, a heated glare aimed at her husband. His jaw dropped like he was gearing up to disagree, but she shoved a big ol’ talk to the hand in his face. “Propriety be damned, Caedmon. I care not what rumors trickle through the court over the outcome of Rhys occupying Faedrah’s chambers. Our daughter has not slept in three nights.” Her nostrils flared and she extended a rigid finger toward the receiving room. “You order one hundred guards to patrol the hall, you insist she take Fandorn’s potions and rail against the heavens and, still, she does not sleep! Rhys and none other has been able to circumvent Gaelleod’s cruel spell. Goddesses wept, he sensed the dark lord’s appearance whilst standing in the hall!”

  She propped her fists on her hips and Rhys’ eased back in the seat, covering the side of Faedrah’s head with his hand. Oh shit. If the dude knew what was good for him, he’d best get ready to tuck and roll. Rhys swallowed the chuckle pressing against his breastbone. And here, all this time, he’d assumed Faedrah inherited her scrappy spitfire attitude from her dad.

  “The boy is staying. And you and I, my stubborn king, are off to find our own well-deserved sleep. Now come.” She jerked her head toward the door. “Or I shall be compelled to use more than mere words to get your regal backside moving.”

  Rhys rolled his lips to curb a smile, dropping his focus to Faedrah. Throughout her mother’s rant, she didn’t so much as twitch but, even still, he didn’t dare glance at Faedrah’s dad. Not as his boots stomped toward the exit or the door swung closed behind them. If he did, not even a visual of Leo would keep his laughter from exploding. By God, the queen had her husband by the balls.

  Yeah, right. He grunted. That comment sorta reminded him of another relationship, all up close and in his face. Shit, if they ever got the chance to work through their differences, maybe he and the king could commiserate over a couple of beers.

  Faedrah shivered, shoving her toes between his thigh and the chair, curling her hands in a ball under her chin. Glancing around for something to cover her with, Rhys finally scooted to the edge of the seat and stood, carried her to bed and tucked her snug inside the covers. The dying embers in the fireplace pulsed orange and red, but they weren’t emitting much heat. Kneeling before the grate, he stacked a few more logs on top, arranged them with a poker until the flames caught and then stood, brushing his hands down his leather pants.

  Her low moan made him spin toward the bed. No way. For fuck’s sake, it hadn’t even been five minutes. He slumped as she writhed, disrupting the blankets. The way she moved was like that possessed kid in The Exorcist. Next, she’d be levitating off the fucking bed.

  Hopping first on one foot and then the other, he tugged off his boots and tossed them aside, climbed onto the bed and spooned her with his body. Faedrah settled, going limp in his arms and, a few seconds later, her breathing deepened then slowed.

  Huh. Weird. Earlier in the day when they’d been out on the balcony, she’d said sleeping with him wasn’t the answer to protecting her dreams. As much as he wanted to believe the opposite, he had to admit, she was right. She would never have had that horrible nightmare at Oliver’s condo if that were the case. So, then, what was the difference? Why no bad dreams when he held her now? And even more baffling, why none when she’d slept at the warehouse?

  He sighed and flopped onto his back, tossing an arm over his face. Other than the obvious lack of fine furnishings and a slight difference in geography, the only discrepancy between his place and Forbes’ were Faedrah’s pictures. They covered every square inch of free space along his walls. So, was she somehow the answer?

  The edge of his silver vambrace dug into his cheek and he grumbled at the distraction. Sitting up, he wrapped a hand around his wrist and forged a wide line down the inside of his forearm by focusing on the minerals in the metal. A repeat down his other arm, and he pried off both vambraces and set them on Faedrah’s nightstand.

  Her legs jerked beside his and she whimpered. One of her hands flew through the air and flopped onto his thigh. Frowning, he turned back to the nightstand. Okay, what had just changed? Not two seconds ago, she’d been fine.

  He squinted at the metal, the orange firelight flickering in the polished silver. The swirl of his signature winked at him like some seductive invitation and his shoulders snapped to attention. A fast shuffle toward the edge of the mattress and he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  Shit, maybe that was the answer. He snatched up one of the vambraces and turned it toward the light. Faedrah’s pictures all held his signature. Fuck, there were hundreds of them at the warehouse. What had Fandorn called it? A sigil of utmost… protection.

  Son of a bitch!

  Shoving to his feet, he lifted the silver arm band toward the ceiling, muscles tight as he shook both it and his fist in the air. God dammit, he finally had it! And, even better, he knew exactly what came next. In just a few short hours, that fucking asshole Gaelleod was about to meet up with the castle’s solid stone wall.

  Glancing left then right for something… anything he could use to draw, he strode straight for a desk in the corner and then pulled up short as Faedrah moaned. Oh, no. Not on his watch. This plan was a slam-dunk, but he wasn’t about to sit here and paint while she suffered.

  An evil smirk twisted his lips, and Rhys stared down at his hands. The vambrace liquefied at his command, floating upward in a glistening pool so he could bend and shape the metal. The links formed, a long silver thread fit for a princess. The pendant flattened and twisted, a shiny medallion styled in the firm hard lines of his signature.

  Snagging the necklace from the air, he marched straight for the bed and, brushing her dark strip of hair aside, he placed a kiss on her cheek… and lowered the solution to Faedrah’s nightmares around
her neck.

  * * *

  A languid yawn cracked her jaw and Faedrah stretched beneath the comforting warmth of her blankets. Sweet goddesses wept. The last she’d encountered such resplendent slumber, she’d awoken in Rhys’ chambers and succumbed to the blissful talents of his artful love-mak—

  Inhaling a breath past her dry throat, she sprang to sitting then froze. What in all of Helios’ bright reign… She frowned. Had her soul joined the goddesses in paradise?

  Myriad colors adorned her four walls, the ceiling and floor, merging and blending in a vast array of shimmers and swirls. Helios’ bright diamonds twinkled in the shape of silvery stars, the heavens beyond a mingling wealth of rich hues rendered to embody the cosmos. Pillars of stardust, their towering height illuminated by glittering jewels, shone vast and deep over the posts of her bed. Nine glorious sun gods floated amid the roiling tempest, depicted in human form, their legs outstretched and bodies reclined in a posture of tranquil repose. A muscled physique defined each deities’ appearance, long hair a wild maelstrom coiled in the wind, arms encircling the slender waists of nine naked goddesses and clasping them to their chests. Sun spots burst behind each fated pair, a symbol of their divine adoration, heads angled and lips parted as they perched on the edge of a kiss.

  The quiet rasp of a brushstroke whispered past her ear, and she slowly faced the southern wall. High overhead, Rhys stood stripped to the waist, standing atop a strange contraption comprised of roughly hewn planks and a series of iron pulleys. The board swayed precariously as he stepped to the right, each end suspended by ropes that dangled down the wall to the floor. A variety of uncorked paints littered the tarp spread beneath him; gold and silver coins winked in the sunlight amongst a pile of assorted gems. Discarded brushes and stained rags awaited his use in a tangled heap.

  Muscle rippled down his side as he swept the tip of his brush across his pallet. Her body tightened as he stretched his arm to blend a series of yellow rings around the glowing arc of a celestial orb. The same colors decorating her walls were smeared over his hands and the black etchings on his forearms, splattered atop his bare feet and the leather cords laced up the sides of his breeches. Speckles of gold dust highlighted the glossy thick strands of his hair. Yet ʼtwas the essence of magic which sparkled and danced along his skin that held her spellbound. The iridescent play of light coating his hands; the glint of uncapped power flowing down the brush from his fingers.