The Golden Key Chronicles: A Time Travel Romance (The Golden Key Series Book 1)

by AJ Nuest

  His feet tangled with her rotation. The world slanted strangely off-kilter a moment before his back slammed the table below.

  A groan of empathy unfurled from the crowd under the rattling clash of swords pounding steel.

  Sweet tits, she had spoken true. He blinked at the pristine blue sky. That hurt like a whore.

  Bracing his hands near his ears, he rolled to his shoulders and sprang to his feet. The table keeled as a flash of gray streaked across his vision. She sprang past him, hands over heels and vanished feet-first through a hole in a freestanding wall.

  He stared slack-jawed at the empty space. A glance toward Master Denmar and the proud smile creasing his cheeks, the musing stroke of his beard, and Caedmon narrowed his eyes in warning.

  The captain had grievously downplayed her strength.

  Well, more’s the better. Retrieving his sword, he rotated his shoulders to relieve the resonating ache. Now that he understood her approach, he would not be fooled a second time.

  If he could lure her close, engage her in hand-to-hand combat, mayhap he could unearth an indication of her limitations. Or, at the very least, eke out some small advantage to counteract the relentless volley of her blades.

  “You ready to give up yet?”

  A silver spike thudded into the wood near his boot and he leapt back to avoid having his toes impaled. “But we have only just started, my heart. Come, let us have another go. The fun has yet to begin.”

  A roar erupted a moment before she vaulted through the opening. A tuck onto her shoulder, and she landed in a low crouch, one knee braced on the table, arms extended and wrist blades seated in her palms. “This is all a joke to you, isn’t it? You play a game as if it’s not only your right, but your duty to tell me what I should be doing. Well, guess what? You and all the rest of your pals can go straight to hell. If need be, I’d be more than happy to escort you there myself.”

  He tsked, shaking his head. “Such harsh words from one who is soon to be a princess.”

  “What?” Her eyebrows shot up, thighs bouncing as if she’d nearly sprung her feet. “We’re not engaged, Caedmon. Get that crazy idea out of your head right now.”

  He tightened his grip on his sword. This woman was sure to incite him to the very brink of madness. To dissolve their agreement went against everything he believed in. Everything he desired. “I petitioned, you consented. Our betrothal stands.”

  Her jaw dropped as if he’d just confessed to possessing a third arm. “What in the world is wrong with you people? I don’t remember agreeing to any such thing.”

  She raised her haunches, one booted foot slightly in front of the other, zeroed in on him and sprang forward as if she’d been launched by a catapult.

  Sprinting at high speed, she closed in before veering right. But this time he stood ready.

  A slash of his blade, and he arrested her route to the wall. Dropping to her knees, she slid beneath the edge, back bowed and the tail of her hair dragging along the floor.

  Three lunging strides, a pivot on his heel and he towered over her. Her inner thighs skimmed the sides of his boot. A downward stroke, and the tip of his sword screamed toward the skin of her throat.

  She turned her face in a grimace and crossed her wrist blades near her neck. Steel clanged. A jarring vibration traversed the length of his arm. She collapsed to her shoulders and swiveled her hips, hands stationed on either side of her head.

  Her legs coiled to her chest, and she pistoned her heels into his stomach. The breath shot from his lungs. He stumbled back, quickly regrouped and charged as she scrambled to her feet.

  A whirl, and she fended off his attack. A jab, and she countered.

  By all the goddesses, she was fast.

  He parried and danced, a flurry of motion led by instinct. She bowed and swayed, each of his thrusts met by the counterstrike of her attack.

  His muscles wearied. Sweat beaded on his brow. A damp sheen glistened along her neck and her labored breathing became an exact match to his.

  A minute switch of his aim, and he prodded her left-side defenses. She hesitated, and the small opening gave him the advantage. Another press to the left, and she faltered. Twisted, miss-stepped and inched back.

  A smile broke free. His victory was within reach.

  With his next press, he easily swiped her blades aside, encircled her waist and hauled her lithe body to his chest.

  The width of his sword hovered between them, the sharp edge perched at the fluttering pulse point of her throat.

  “You favor your left side, my love.” Each breath he drew brought her deeper into his lungs. His cock stiffened against the cradle of her belly, and she froze. “’Twould seem this bout goes to me.”

  Sliding his hand lower, he cupped her ass. She gasped and placed both hands on his chest.

  But she did not thrust him away. And as desire swirled in the depths of her gaze, the eternal craving to claim her lips surged within his soul.

  Angling his sword, he heeded her siren’s call and brushed his mouth lightly across hers. “Now enough of this folly. Let us cease these needless brawls and submit to one another. Sword to sword, heart to heart. My freedom for yours.”

  She softened against him, but not a heartbeat passed before a rigid tension filled her form. “You may think you have beaten me.” Though her words were fierce, her breathlessness conveyed much more lay hidden beneath her threat than mere bluster. “But there’s no way I’m going down alone.”

  A slight shift of her weight, and his mouth dried. Dread leached into his gut and his cock shriveled as the sharp tip of her dagger pricked the tender underside of his balls.

  “I suggest you back off.” She darted her lips near. “Or your ability to have kids is about to take a serious nosedive south.”

  “Ho! Hie!” Denmar jumped onto the table and slapped a hand to each of their shoulders, easing them apart. “Under the constructs of the Gantlet, I declare this contest a draw.”

  The crowd roared amid the rattle of armor and resounding applause.

  “You two need to secure a private chamber.” The master spoke from the side of his lips. “Mayhap work out your disparity before someone retains an injury.”

  Caedmon chuckled at the blush tinting the fair skin of his lady’s cheeks, though she frowned and darted a fearsome glance between them. “And what of my title? What do your constructs say about that?”

  Denmar opened a hand toward the king. “In the event of a draw, His Majesty determines the outcome of the games.”

  Caedmon swiveled his head toward his father, an anxious breath lodged in his throat. If the king ruled in her favor, any chance at his future happiness would disappear like so much water seeping though his fingers.

  “Denied.” The king flicked his fingers to the side. “The sorceress shall remain at the castle and reacquire the tasks due her station.”

  Relief flooded Caedmon’s chest, and yet one glimpse at his lady’s face and his unease resurfaced in a rush.

  His love held her jaw tight, hands fisted at her sides. Tears flooded her eyes as she slowly pivoted and pinned him with her gaze. “You bastard. You ever come near me again and, I swear to God, I’ll kill you on sight.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Her leaving wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

  Swiping at a tear, Rowena crammed the last of her bundled blades into her satchel. Every step she’d taken toward independence, every aching joint and hard-won bruise she’d suffered in silence had just been dumped straight into the crapper.

  A scream of full-on rage knuckled her chest, and she gritted her teeth until the ache subsided. Her fingers trembled as she cinched the drawstring on her pack and tied a tight knot.

  The big, dumb jerk. Showing up with plans for their future as if she had no say. Insinuating himself into her final test and throwing her entire existence into turmoil.

  Well, screw him. Screw the king, Denmar and anyone else who thought they had the right to tell her how she should li
ve. For all she cared, the entire Austiere Kingdom could kiss her lily-white ass.

  Swinging the loaded bag onto her shoulder, she spun for the door. A bunch of chauvinistic pigs, every last one of them. Two years, she’d been fighting to meet some imaginary criteria. Just so she could breathe free air. Two years, she’d bitten her tongue bloody and conformed to their rules.

  And what had she gotten for her troubles? What great prize had she won?

  No money in her pocket. Stealing a horse and sneaking out in the middle of the night. Creeping around like a criminal in order to gain something that should have been hers all along.

  The hinges creaked as she pulled her chamber door open and peeked through the crack into her receiving room. Gertie sprawled on a padded chair before the dying fire, eyes closed and her breathing slow.

  Rowena’s shoulders fell. She couldn’t even say goodbye. She couldn’t share a hug or kiss Gertie’s cheek before leaving. Another tear tumbled past her lashes, and she closed her eyes.

  Dammit. Her leaving wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

  Stealing across the room, footfalls silent, she approached the door into the hall. One last fleeting glance at Gertie, and she twisted the knob and slipped across the threshold.

  The four guards stationed outside her room turned with a frown. She quickly put a finger to her lips and pointed down the corridor toward the stairs.

  Lowering to one knee, she clasped her hands under her chin. They only needed to give her head start, keep her disappearance quiet until sunrise. By then, any news of her escape would be too late. She’d be nothing but a memory in the wind.

  Ulrich searched her face for several beats before glancing at the other guards. The whisper of the wall torches seemed overly loud as a wordless nod passed between them.

  Gripping her upper arms, he lifted her to her feet. A quirk of his lips, and he jerked his head for her to get going.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed and pulled him into her arms for a hug.

  She thumped a solid fist to the chest plates of her remaining three brothers and walked away backward, covering her white hair with the hood of her cloak and tugging the gray material around her shoulders.

  From here on in, she’d be a ghost hiding in the shadows. With a final smile to her comrades in arms, she whirled and flew toward her first moment of freedom.

  Her route from the castle had been plotted, as had her plans once she made it past the outer walls. Based on the map she’d stolen from Denmar’s chambers, several small towns were located a few leagues to the south. There, she could trade one or two of her weapons in exchange for additional supplies before making the long journey to the southern-most shore. And once in the large port city of Albion, passage aboard a ship could take her to any number of distant locations.

  The months she’d spent exploring each nook and cranny, memorizing the castle’s myriad switchbacks and hidden doorways, served her well. Sticking to alcoves, she breathed deep and steady, checking each passageway as she scurried down flight after flight to the castle’s lower keep.

  She needed to get below ground, past the dungeon and Fandorn’s workshop. With a little luck, his door would be closed. She could sneak along the corridor and gain entrance to the secret tunnel leading to the stables.

  The moment the sole of her boot hit the last riser, she clapped her hand over her mouth. Good Lord, what noxious recipe was Fandorn cooking in his laboratory? The pungent stench of burnt—Dear God, what was that?—oily metal and rancid fish guts made her eyes water. Coupled with the acrid tang of body odor and excrement from the dungeons, she had to turn her face to fill her lungs.

  Holding her breath, she crept toward Fandorn’s open door—dammit. Hopefully, whatever potion accompanied that vile aroma would keep him occupied until she flitted past.

  “What are you saying? Her memories are linked to the key?”

  She hesitated, her chest tightening at the familiar timbre of Caedmon’s voice. Geez, why, oh why did the man always have to get in her way?

  “I cannot state for certain. However, if you are as desperate as you say, ’twould seem to me returning Lady Rowena the key would, at the least, grant you a small measure of her gratitude and, at best, restore her memories.”

  Oh, shit. She jerked her chin up. Could that really be true?

  Her lungs burned. A headache flared behind her left eye as she searched the lobes of her brain. The first visual she could recall was standing in Prince Caedmon’s bedchamber, a group of armed guards pushing him backward through the door. His chest was bare, muscles straining…and around his neck hung a thick golden key.

  Of course. Fandorn had once told her she’d brought it with her through the veil. When she arrived, she must have given it to Caedmon, and that’s when her memories had disappeared.

  If she could somehow get her hands on it, maybe she could finally get her life back.

  Bottles clinked and rattled, Fandorn no doubt searching his shelves for whatever horrifying ingredient came next. “Yet you must use sound judgment, my boy. Breaching Seviere’s inner sanctum may secure you nothing but another lengthy stay in the dungeons. Or worse yet, a short trip to the executioner’s block.”

  “I’ve stolen everything from her, Fandorn. Everything. I cannot now beg her forgiveness without offering some proof of my devotion. Returning her the key, the possibility of restoring her memories is the only chance I stand at regaining her affections.”

  Like hell. Rowena rolled her eyes. Even after admitting his guilt, the man was still scheming to get on her good side. But if he thought offering her the key would help talk her into some ridiculous engagement, he’d better think again.

  If he truly loved her, he’d stop trying to mess with her head. He’d trust she knew what was best for herself and quit sticking his nose in stuff that was none of his damn business.

  These were her memories they were talking about. Not his. And if anyone was getting them back, that person was her.

  A loud percussion punched the air, and she tensed. Seconds later, an eerie green smoke slithered through Fandorn’s door and crawled toward the rounded stone ceiling.

  Choking coughs and wheezing came next, growing louder as hurried footsteps neared the hall.

  Crap, she’d officially run out of time. Flying down the corridor to the dead end, she grabbed the nearest torch from its bracket and twisted the metal stand on her left. The rasp of stone grinding against stone vibrated her teeth. She shouldered through and shoved her palm against the metal plate just inside the dirt passageway.

  The door immediately reversed and grated to a close behind her.

  Bolting through the dark, she fought off the spider webs tickling her face and held the torch high to light her way. What seemed like an eternity later, several slivers of light danced in the distance and she slowed, panting as she arrived at the wooden door which led to the field behind the stables.

  She dropped the torch and kicked some dirt over the end to extinguish the flame. Shoulders hunched, knees bent, she stole through the low opening in the castle wall and snuck through the tall grass toward the stable’s back entrance. A peek over the wooden half-door and the air left her lung in relief.

  All seemed quiet. Easing the hinges open, she held the handle to guide the door closed and inched into Belial’s stall.

  The stallion nuzzled her shoulder as she fitted his bridle. The long lashes surrounding his pale blue eyes blinked at her as she seated and cinched the saddle. The soft thud of his hoof beats tamped the earth as she led him from his stall and into the panorama of the star-studded sky.

  Selene shone full and bright, and Rowena couldn’t help but send up a prayer that the moon goddess would bless her departure. She mounted the saddle and Belial danced to the side, anxious to sprint for the border of the forest. Tightening her grip on the reins, she wheeled him around to face the castle proper.

  Everything she knew was contained within those stone walls, and the disappointment over how things should’v
e been…how they would’ve been…sat in her stomach like a hot rock.

  Over and above her personal goals, she’d wanted to show them. Become a living testament that a woman could do just as much. She’d wanted to lead by example. Prove to all the young maidens they didn’t have to kowtow to a man or live within some patronizing set of rules.

  No. Her jaw tightened. She wouldn’t disappear into the ether. For the time being, everything she’d been working toward had been taken. But that was not where things were going to end.

  Narrowing her eyes, she reined Belial back toward the trees. Let them breathe easy. Let them believe the Sorceress was no longer their problem to solve. She would be back, her memories in tow, and she’d prove to everyone once and for all exactly how strong a woman could be.

  With a glance toward the shadow of falcon wings canting across Selene’s glowing white face, Rowena hunched over her stallion’s neck and spurred him north toward the realm of Seviere.

  Part 3—Caedmon’s Curse

  Chapter Sixteen

  Someone was coming. Rowena shot to her feet. And based on the thundering hoof beats and thrashing branches, whoever it was couldn’t have cared less about sneaking up on her from behind.

  Dammit. All night and late into the next evening she’d ridden as if a battalion of palace guards were hot on her tail. She’d purposely stayed off the roads and had even stopped several times to backtrack her way out of false trails.

  It wasn’t until the sun had dipped toward the western horizon she’d happily made camp inside this thick copse of evergreens. Her body aching so damn bad it was all she could do to lay out her bedroll and build a small campfire inside the trees.

  The pummel of incoming hooves grew louder, and she kicked some dirt over the flames and rushed for the nearest fir. A flick of her hand, and Dart disappeared into the forest, wings skimming the branches just above the spot she’d wicketed Belial.