The Golden Key Chronicles_A Time Travel Romance

by AJ Nuest

  But, for once, his failure had nothing to do with Braedric or striving to prove himself useful to the Council. This time, his frustration stemmed from a much deeper place.

  Above all else, he’d always been forthright. Honest in his intent. ʼTwas his one quality none had been able to disavow. Yet, the admiration of the court was like mire under his boots in comparison to her approval.

  A tentative bond had formed between them. She’d shared with him a glimpse inside her troubled past. To find their progress could be so easily cast aside was a strain the likes to fray his very nerves. “How can I prove to you my integrity? Name your desire and I will strive to fulfill your demands.”

  She stared into his eyes, her gaze fraught with a despairing need for the truth. Her lips compressed into an unyielding line, and she crossed her arms. “Okay, fine. Take me on a tour of the castle.”

  Muscles shaking, he growled and paced toward the hearth. Already she asked for something he could not provide. “I cannot. During the Gleaning, I am locked in my rooms and a guard has been posted outside the chamber.”

  “Uh-huh.” One of her brows rose. “How convenient.”

  Glancing around, he wracked his brain for something to attest to his character. His gaze landed on the window and an idea struck like a thunderbolt from on high. “But the moon is yours, my lady, the stars and the sky.”

  Seizing the grand mirror, he carried it to the window and tossed open the latch. A frigid gust blew his hair back from his brow, but he climbed onto the ledge and stood within full view of his father’s kingdom.

  The glow of Selene’s pearlescent face cast a wide, blue swath over the countryside. “See the forest? The swirling snow and torches from the village? Surely, you believe me now?”

  She was silent so long, Caedmon finally turned the mirror to take in the measure of her face.

  Her sigh was quiet. Filled with the same frustration beating in his chest. “That’s not gonna work. You and I both know this outside view could’ve easily been set up to trick me. I appreciate the effort, but projecting a video on green screen isn’t going to fool me.”

  Of course. Her world assuredly held wonders far beyond his reckoning. The tension eased from his shoulders and, with it, all hope was lost. “Then I have failed.”

  “I’m sorry. And strangely enough, I really mean it. Nothing would be cooler than finding out your kingdom is real. Trust me on that.”

  “The fault lies not with you, Sorceress. As I had feared, I was not the one best chosen for this task.” Tucking the mirror under his arm, he hopped from the ledge and secured the latch. His boot heels were heavy as he retraced his steps, intent on replacing the mirror from whence it came.

  “Whoa, hold on a second. Back up, back up.”

  Hefting the veil, he held it at arm’s length. Narrowing her gaze, the sorceress twirled her finger in the air. “Turn me around so I can get a clear shot at your room.”

  He did as she asked and waited.

  “Now sweep left, but move slowly.”

  Once again, he followed her command, allowing her a wide survey of his sleeping quarters. The bed, the door to the corridor, the far wall, his wardrobe—

  “Stop.” The rustle of her clothes drifted through the glass. “This can’t be happening. What in the hell is that?”

  He frowned. “My closet, Your Radiance.”

  “I know it’s your closet, Caedmon. I’m talking about the small compartment in the upper left-hand corner. Above the hinge.”

  Ah, yes. He’d forgotten to close the rosette after retrieving his mother’s ring. But what did such a small thing matter? For all his efforts to prove elsewise, the sorceress doubted his every word.

  Striding nearer the wardrobe, he used the tip of his finger to swing the door to and fro. “Fandorn gifted me this after I’d come to live at the castle. He said that all young princes deserved a sly hiding spot to secret their treasures. The release is very clever. If I press this—”

  “Caedmon.”

  The grave weight in her tone bade him pause. He turned the mirror and his balance was pitched off-kilter.

  Centered within the glass…stood his very armoire.

  The sorceress appeared, lifted onto her toes and depressed the oval to release the rosette. A push of the door, and she jerked her head toward the same hiding spot he’d kept private since he was a boy. “Inside this compartment is where I found the key.”

  He stumbled back and collapsed onto a chair, the frame digging into his thighs. What was this? The way all color had drained from her face such a peculiar coincidence was not of her devising. Yet his wardrobe remained stationed against the wall in his bedchamber, never once moved since the day Fandorn had commissioned its delivery. “This…is an impossibility, my lady.”

  “What are you saying?” She set her hand upon the slender curve of her hip. “You don’t believe me?”

  He cocked a brow. Quite right. ʼTwas ill-advised for him to ask as much from her without offering the same trust in return. “’Twould seem we’ve reached an impasse, Your Radiance.”

  “’Twould seem.” She pressed her lips together though a smile rosied the apples of her cheeks.

  Somehow, the two of them were connected. By far more than mere duty, alone, could dictate.

  Her form disappeared to nothing but an enticing pair of bare feet as she came forward. The view of her world reeled, and she huffed, lifting the veil to the edge of her sleeping pallet. The angle altered, and her lovely face finally returned, arms shoving and hands steadying the frame amongst her pillows. “Good grief, this thing is heavy.”

  She tossed the tail of her golden hair over her shoulder and shrugged. “So then, I guess moving forward we agree there’s a chance this…whatever this is…might actually be real?”

  His grip instinctively tightened on the frame. “Nothing would make me happier, Sorceress.”

  She fondled the key between her breasts and her dressing gown parted. Need tore through his gut and diminished the fulfillment of his previous dalliances to an inconsequential wisp of smoke. “And we promise to always tell each other the truth?”

  His cock thickened at the thought of cupping the gentle curve just outside his reach. He’d trace her with his lips. Suckle the nipple to a tight peak.

  Shifting in the chair, he cleared his throat over a low groan. “As a warrior prince of the Austiere Realm, you have my solemn oath.”

  She frowned. “Caedmon, what happens after the third day of Gleaning?”

  He hesitated but a moment. Had he not just pledged her the truth? “The veil will splinter, my lady. Never to reopen.”

  The tip of her tongue appeared as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. His blood heated, and he widened his thighs to ease the steady ache. If ever offered the fortune to dare kiss her, would she allow him a nibble of that tender morsel, as well?

  “Would it seem silly if I told you hearing that makes me sad?”

  A single taste would be his undoing. He’d be more prone to plunder her mouth. Hold her down as he drove inside her with his tongue. “My place is not to judge the mysteries of your heart, Your Radiance, but recognize the thought saddens me, as well.”

  He studied the pensive shifting of her eyes. She was, in some ways, less…and, in others, far beyond what he’d expected. A sorceress, yes, and yet she was more an innocent than the conniving witch Fandorn had cautioned him against. An unwitting victim of these torturous circumstances, much like him.

  He lifted his finger to the mirror and drew the line of her jaw, so refined, like a piece of the finest china.

  She gifted him a gentle smile before meeting his finger with her own.

  The veil shimmered and hummed at the contact. His brows lifted in surprise, and she gasped as the pulse point quickened along her throat.

  Blessed tears of the Nine, she was a marvel. She understood him with a depth akin to no other, and yet she remained mystified by his presence. She’d willingly admitted her eagerness to trust hi
m and yet her suspicions kept her compliance at bay.

  Such was a rarity in his realm, where secrets and lies were more oft used as weapons than the sharpened steel of a blade.

  “Do you feel that?” She placed her palm flush against the mirror and he followed suit.

  Warmth flooded his skin. A shallow vibration hummed the length of his arm. “Like Helios’ golden rays, full on my face.”

  “The buzzing is almost metallic but, I swear, I can sense the pressure of your hand.”

  He was one step nearer his goal. Another breath closer to losing that which he valued most. “The barrier between our worlds weakens.”

  She withdrew her hand and understanding flitted across her face. Her shoulders fell, and she resumed toying with the key between her breasts. “Seems you were the right choice, after all.”

  Shaking her head, she lay down along the span of a lace coverlet. Her hands disappeared beneath her pillows and the gentle waves of her hair spilled a golden pool about her face. “Hey, Caedmon? Can I ask you a favor?”

  He would obey her every command, and once she slept, he would stand guard over her to ensure she remained safe. “You have but to speak, Sorceress. I would willingly move mountains to give what you ask.”

  She smiled and scooted farther down the mattress. “Then call me Rowena, and now I want you to tell me everything you remember about your mother.”

  Chapter Five

  A clang echoed through her bedroom. Rowena’s eyes popped open, and she waited to see if the noise were real or just an offshoot of her dreams.

  God, she’d been nearly catatonic. Rolling onto her back, she scrubbed her hand over her face. Caedmon might not be able to sing or play the lute but, hot damn, the guy knew how to tell an amazing bedtime story.

  Stretching her arms over her head, she wiggled her toes for the end of the mattress. Color her surprised, the man had the heart of a poet. She couldn’t think of anything better than falling asleep to the gentle rhythm of his voice.

  It was the way he phrased things. The constant reassurance of his low murmur in her ear. She released the tension in her muscles with a satisfied slump.

  His descriptions had been so vivid, she’d spent the entire night envisioning a beautiful gypsy, red ribbons braided in her raven hair, a skirt of multi-colored scarves twirling around her ankles as she danced. Just inside the perimeter of adoring spectators, a laughing boy sat cross-legged at her feet, head covered in a wild tousle of chocolate curls and small fingers tapping out a beat on a tambourine. In the distance, a white castle stood high in the dazzling sunlight, blue and gold pennants snapping in the crisp mountain air.

  A chink and zing sang through the mirror, followed by a rattling crash. “Say it!”

  Okay, what in the heck was he doing? And even more important, who was he talking to? Wasn’t the whole point of the Gleaning for them to be alone?

  Holding the blankets to her chest, she pushed to sitting. The frame shifted against her pillows and she was jolted more awake than if she’d repeatedly chugged four shots of espresso.

  Dang. The strap of her nightgown slipped off her shoulder, but she ignored it in favor of trying not to spontaneously combust. It really was a complete waste she couldn’t hit record like she did on her DVR.

  Lazily twirling a sword in one hand, Caedmon stood stripped to the waist, the ties of his leather breeches hanging lose along the dense arc of muscle on either side of his hips. His honey-brown skin glowed in the sunlight, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Raised veins trailed down his arms, and his ribcage was a full-blown eight-pack of rippling tendon framed by the flex of two thick obliques.

  He squared off against a man she would’ve guessed twice his age. Shorter than Caedmon by at least four inches, leather armor molded to his stocky build. His gray goatee was trimmed to a sharp point and glistening sweat beaded along his shaved head.

  A sneer twisted his lips, contorting a gristly scar that started under his left eye patch and zig-zagged down his to his jaw. “All this loafing about has made you soft, Your Highness. Like one of Braedric’s dandy handmaidens.” Curling his fingers and thumb near his groin, he pumped in a universal hand gesture that, quite frankly, ticked her off. “Now, come here, eh? Give us a kiss.”

  Caedmon growled and thrust forward. Sparks flew and she flinched as their swords clashed. Backs bowed, thighs straining, the two men vied for the top position in a standoff of brute-force strength.

  A quick spin, and he drove his hilt into the older man’s stomach. The dude huffed, but recovered and swiped his blade in a wide arc.

  Leaping onto a chair, Caedmon pushed off the high back. His dark hair flew through the air. He tucked his knees to his chest. Landing on both feet, he whirled and the sharp edge of his sword streaked like a flash of death.

  The warrior ducked onto his left side and jutted his legs forward. His boot heels nipped Caedmon’s ankles. The prince hopped and raced up the man’s body. Stomach to shoulder, to the top of his bald head. A dive for the tall rail at the end of his bed, and her jaw dropped as he swung around on one arm, landing in a crouch on the floor.

  A roar split the air as his opponent scrambled to his feet, twirling his sword in a series of dizzying spins. Caedmon countered each stroke. Dodging and weaving. His hair stuck to his neck. His chest muscles pumped with exertion. Pivoting with his sword held high, he glanced toward the mirror and hesitated.

  Aw, crap. Rowena clamped her hand over her mouth. The man drove his shoulder into Caedmon’s stomach and propelled them both into a tumbling heap by the fireplace. Seizing his shoulders, Caedmon pinned the guy in place with his legs.

  “Say it.” He dug in so deep his hips rose.

  The warrior’s face turned a scary shade of red. He grappled with the stranglehold of Caedmon’s thighs. “I do not yet yield.”

  Caedmon arced like a bow, using his arms as leverage. Sinew strained across his pecs as he crossed his ankles over the dude’s chest and squeezed. “You can declare it now or after you wake. Makes no difference to me.”

  The guy gasped and sputtered, clawing at the air. “She’s the fairest in the land. I cede. I cede.”

  The ladder of Caedmon’s ribs stood out in stark relief. One tier popping after the next. Sweat trickled down his forehead to his jaw. “Now say it again and mean it, you deflated, old windbag.”

  “Sorceress Rowena is by far the fairest of them all.”

  Wait, what? Screwing up her face in a grimace, she shoved her hair away from her brow. All this because of her? What was the matter with those two? That made absolutely no sense whatsoev—

  Her shoulders fell. Their little sparring session flipped on a dime in her head. Oh, okay. A small chuckle slipped out. Though, for a few seconds there, she’d actually believed some armed stranger had busted into Caedmon’s room.

  “All right, you guys. Knock it off before someone gets hurt.” She rapped her knuckle against the glass. But she couldn’t deny it was kinda nice waking up to find Caedmon defending her honor. No one had ever done that before. “Point taken. Even though I don’t have any idea what you were trying to prove.”

  Caedmon collapsed onto his back and his chest rose. Cheeks expanding, he loudly exhaled toward the ceiling. “We were merely settling a difference of opinion, my lady.”

  The warrior chuckled and tossed Caedmon’s leg off his neck. “No fear of this young whelp harming me, Your Radiance. I taught him everything he knows.”

  Caedmon’s husky laugh nearly had her squirming against the mattress. Dear God, what she wouldn’t give to have that sound tickling her ear.

  Rolling onto his shoulders, he snapped to his feet. A bend at the waist, and he swept the tip of his sword across the floor in a formal bow. “Good morning, my lady. From your rosy cheeks, I trust you slept soundly?” A sly wink, and he opened his hand toward the man on his right. “Allow me to present Denmar Emsworth, Captain of his majesty’s Royal Guard. Denmar, as you so accurately declared, I present the most heavenly creature know
n to man, Sorceress Rowena of the Veil.”

  The heat rushing her cheeks was downright embarrassing. Someone please tell her she hadn’t just blushed.

  Denmar stumbled forward as if he’d suddenly grown two left feet. Waving his hand in the air, he performed a poor imitation of Caedmon’s bow. “I am forever your humble servant, Sorceress.”

  Seriously. Rowena lifted a brow. All this chivalry made the renaissance fair seem like an episode of Tom and Jerry.

  “You two should really sell tickets.” Faking a dramatic sigh, she placed the back of her wrist to her forehead. “What damsel wouldn’t swoon at such a heroic proclamation of her beauty?”

  Caedmon grinned and her pulse spiked as tossed his sword aside and jogged closer to the mirror. “Are you hale and well this day, my lady?”

  He placed his hand on the glass and, having him so close for the first time in the morning light, she paused to better study his smile. His two front teeth overlapped the smallest bit but, instead of bothering her, the slight flaw made him more handsome. Made him seem more real somehow.

  “You told me the sword was your instrument of choice.” She met his palm and the mirror sparkled and hummed to life. Her breath caught and, for a split second, she could’ve sworn he’d twined his fingers through hers. “You never warned me you played so well.”

  Again with the rough chuckle that had her core temp simmering near broiling. “I’ve grown restless locked in my chamber. My thoughts run wild with visions I no longer care to control.”

  Oh-h-h damn. Pursing her lips, she blew a slow, heated breath. If only she could reach through the glass and run her palms across the smooth skin of his shoulders. Would those rock-hard muscles tremble under her hands? Would his skin taste like salt?

  Need throbbed, and she clenched her thighs to try and ease the deep ache. She’d dart her tongue along the grooves of his ribcage. Drag her lips through the downy line of hair near his waist.

  Her nipples beaded and every nerve ending fired at the thought. Ten minutes alone with him, and she would crawl up those long legs and straddle him until she had her fill.