by K. M. Shea
It didn’t matter, though. He would stay with her. For while Briar was never his, Isaia had always been hers.
Isaia stared at the stone wall opposite him and ignored the young lords and nobles who trooped through Briar’s bedroom. He wore his anti-magic armor, had his sword strapped to his side—which drew a few gapes from younger lords—and did his best to imitate a statue.
Though he did not agree with the king’s decree, he let no emotion leak through his guard, even when the young lord who had so insulted Briar her first night in the Sole courts kissed her cheek, almost brushing her lips.
A new possible suitor—the well-to-do firstborn of a count who wore more jewelry than Briar’s ladies-in-waiting—slipped through the open door, crouched at Briar’s bedside, and kissed her forehead.
Briar did not stir.
The young lord frowned and leaned forward, as if to try again.
Isaia unsheathed his sword as the cold edge of anger prodded him.
When the count turned towards him, Lady Delanna cleared her throat and gave the lord such a scorching, imperious look, he left more hastily than he entered.
The next lord was a young boy who couldn’t have been older than eleven. He dragged his feet and had to be bodily shoved into the room by his rather formidable mother.
The young lord screwed his face up and kissed Briar’s hand with the same enthusiasm as he would a toad. “Yuck.” He wiped his mouth off on his hand and bolted from the room. His mother caught him by the collar of his doublet and looked expectantly at Lady Delanna.
Lady Delanna glanced at Briar and shook her head.
The boy gleefully skipped away, his mother sailing serenely after him.
Isaia watched him go, a shade of desolation coloring his heart.
The entire event was depressing, for it was certainly not what Briar would want, and it wasn’t the way she deserved to find her true love. If he had been anything less than a magic knight, he would have snarled this at her father and grandfather, but now the greatest good he could do was to guard her—and forcibly remove the worst of the lords from her room when they revealed their foul natures.
Briar had been unconscious for over a week, and no one’s kiss had woken her. King Giuseppe had first paraded the young, handsome sons of the men who supported him through Briar’s room and was only slightly aggravated when none of them succeeded in waking her. Slightly less eligible men—nobles who were quiet and bookish, not the sort of man Giuseppe looked for in a king; and lords who were a little younger or older than Briar—were then given the chance. None of them were Briar’s true love either.
The royal family started to panic after lords from the outskirts of Sole finally arrived, and none of them succeeded either. Finally, old bachelors, young boys barely old enough to care for their own horses, lower nobles like barons and viscounts, and even enemies of the d’Avalas family were invited.
And Briar slept on.
Isaia’s heart began to beat wrong. He loved Briar with his very being. He loved her so much that he would stand by her even after she was married. But what if she never woke up?
He twitched and clenched the hilt of his sword.
Briar will wake up. She has to.
He drew hope from one thing: out of all the men who were paraded through her rooms, Isaia didn’t think any of them could quite match her—in spirit or cleverness. True, she hadn’t woken up, but it was because the man who could love her and rule with her would be a rare sort indeed. (Briar was special, after all.)
“Isaia?”
Isaia blinked and looked away from the stone wall that had borne his scrutiny for the entire morning. Franco—also dressed in his anti-magic armor, though he held not a sword but his halberd—smiled at him. “I’m here to relieve you.”
“Thank you.” Isaia shifted, granting relief to his stiff muscles. He glanced at Briar—white and still on her bed.
“I’ll watch her,” Franco promised. “The Prince Consort and Princess Alessia want a report, though, before you join the other knights for training.”
Isaia nodded and slipped out of the room just after the next candidate—the third son of a duke who was known to be something of a flirt—entered.
He strode down the quiet hallway of the palace, making his way to the assembly hall. Most government discussions were held there, and the king, princess, and prince consort had all but lived there for the past week.
“Excuse me, Sir Isaia?”
Isaia sighed internally, but he stopped and turned around. “Can I help you, Lady Delanna?”
The pretty lady-in-waiting walked quickly to catch up with him. “Yes. You could break Briar’s curse.”
“It is impossible,” Isaia said.
“How? You have nothing to fear. The princess and prince consort care only about waking Princess Rosalinda—they do not care who does it. Even King Giuseppe is desperate. For all he speaks of only allowing titled nobles attempt it, I do not believe he would stop you from kissing her.”
“My kiss will not awaken her,” Isaia said.
Lady Delanna frowned. “Did Briar not have a chance to tell you?”
“She did,” Isaia said. “But she is mistaken.”
Lady Delanna’s frown turned sharp. “I have kept my peace because I thought you would always have her best interests in your mind, but you cannot fool me, Sir Isaia. I know you adore her. Keeping yourself from kissing her does not make you a tragic hero; it makes you a giant fool who will be the cause of chaos and disharmony in our country!”
“My feelings have nothing to do with the situation.” Isaia kept his voice dispassionate. “I may be what she thinks she wants, but I am not what she needs.”
“So you are willing to let her sleep for all eternity because you don’t think you are the best choice?”
A bit of resentment escaped Isaia’s grasp. “No,” he said, his voice dark but even. “I refrain from kissing her because I don’t wish to trap her!”
Lady Delanna blinked rapidly.
“She may love me now when she has seen so little and knows no one of her status. But if I chain her to me in this way, she will surely come to regret it once she sees more of the world and of her peers—and it will be too late for her to escape.”
Isaia cut himself off before he could go further. Briar was meant for great things, for great people. Right now, she wasn’t even accustomed to living in the palace. While he was certain she would always be Briar, he knew she would mature and grow and become the unique sort of princess only she could achieve. He could not hold her back and entrap her in marriage before she settled into herself, before she could grasp her full potential and see how small his destiny was compared to hers. Briar would need someone who could match her greatness.
Yes, he might be able to wake her—he still wasn’t certain on this point—and if he spoke to the king, he might make arrangements for a cover story to be told so Briar wouldn’t have to marry him. But if Isaia knew how soft her skin felt, what it felt like to have her pressed against his chest…he wouldn’t be able to release her, and he wouldn’t be able to stomach seeing her with another.
Isaia couldn’t kiss Briar. It would be their end.
He closed his eyes, then bowed. “If that is all, Lady Delanna.” He began his retreat to the assembly hall.
“You’ll lose her forever if you don’t act, Sir Isaia,” Lady Delanna called.
Though Isaia wanted to shake his head, he restrained himself. I lost her the moment I knew I loved her.
Isaia paused outside the assembly hall. Although the doors were closed, he could hear raised voices, muffled shouts, and angry curses.
The guards posted outside the door wore the same expressions as a stone, but he could see the slight wrinkle of worry around their eyes.
If the outlook for Briar was poor, the government was in an even worse state.
When Isaia nodded, the guards opened the doors, releasing the full volume of the vehement argument taking place.
The
assembly hall was long and rectangular in shape. Though it lacked the palace’s ornate decorations, the three chandeliers and crown molding marked it with elegance.
“You are sun-struck if you think anyone but a d’Avalas will sit on the throne,” King Giuseppe said.
One of his advisors shook his head. “But, Your Majesty, if Princess Alessia appoints a cousin as her heir, they will be a d’Avalas!”
“If they are not in the direct lineage, they should not rule.”
No one took notice of Isaia’s entrance, and only a few government employees glanced his way as he edged around the room.
The advisor leaned forward in his chair. “Be that as it may, you might not have a choice.”
At the dark look in the king’s eyes, another advisor added, “We are not saying the appointment must be permanent—it is merely in case the princess does not wake. We fully expect her to become queen and rule, but for the sake of stability, it would be best for Princess Alessia to appoint another heir.”
“No.” King Giuseppe shook his head. “To do so would cause unnecessary chaos and friction.”
“For whom?” the first advisor asked, his frustration growing in his voice. “Livestock? Both your court of nobility and all governmental employees have agreed to accept whomever you choose. The people are frightened due to Carabosso’s march of terror through the country, so they will welcome the steadiness. It will be as stable an appointment as any history book could hope for!”
“As long as my granddaughter breathes, I will not abide replacing her,” King Giuseppe said sharply.
“Then, Your Majesty,” an older man started—Isaia recognized him as the Chief of Finances, “you must open up the opportunity to break Princess Rosalinda’s curse to governmental workers and the Magic Knights of Sole.”
Isaia had almost managed to reach Princess Alessia and Prince Consort Filippo, but he paused in surprise.
“I will not allow anyone less than a noble to set their hands upon Rosalinda,” said the king.
“Most of the Magic Knights are sons of nobility. Sir Artemio, a legendary knight you swore in, would have been a duke,” said a skinny, nervous looking man who sweated profusely.
Isaia quietly slipped behind the princess and prince consort, placing himself in front of the wall at their backs. Princess Alessia smiled at him but shortly returned her attention to the discussion. Isaia stood by the wall and waited patiently.
“They are not nobles. They are knights. They gave up any right to nobility the second they accepted the knighthood,” King Giuseppe said. “And only a noble is fit to marry a d’Avalas.”
“Might I remind you, Your Majesty,” the Chief of Finances said, “that your greatest ancestor, the Queen of Hearts, married one of her Magic Knights.”
“Princess Rosalinda is my granddaughter,” King Giuseppe said. “It will be my decision to allow men to attempt to break her curse, and I have determined I will only allow nobles!”
The first advisor threw his hands up in the air and shook his head in frustration.
The Chief of Finances calmly folded his hands and placed them on the pillow of his belly. “Then, Your Majesty, we are at an impasse. You must either allow new candidates a chance to awaken the princess or appoint a secondary heir. We cannot sit idly by and do nothing.”
King Giuseppe looked like he was ready to throw the Chief of Finances out on his rear, and he likely would have if Princess Alessia had not intervened. “We are not without hope,” she said. “We have sent word to our allies. We expect that the princes of Arcainia, the second princes of Erlauf and Ringsted, and more might agree to come and see if they might awaken my daughter.”
Another one of King Giuseppe’s advisors propped his arms up on his desk and rested his chin on his hand. “That is very well, but how long will it take for them to arrive? What do we do with Carabosso in the meantime? He has disappeared for now—when the princess set off her curse, the magic seemed to harm him—but it is likely he will return.”
“We have already sent word to the Veneno Conclave,” Prince Consort Filippo said.
“It will take them time to respond,” the first advisor to speak said. “These are all long-term goals. The odds that they will succeed are quite low. We need to take action now.”
“You will do as I command,” King Giuseppe growled.
“Your Majesty,” another advisor protested, “think of the economic repercussions…”
The prince consort shook his head and stood, joining Isaia at the wall. “Any changes? Did she move at all?”
“No,” Isaia said.
Prince Consort Filippo sighed and rubbed at the dark circles under his eyes. He seemed to have aged twenty years in the past week. “Thank you, Sir Isaia. I will tell my wife.”
Isaia bowed slightly at the waist. “Sir,” he murmured. When the prince consort left, he edged his way back around the room, straightening with relief when he slipped out and the guards closed the doors behind him, shutting out the arguments of King Giuseppe and his advisors.
Isaia brushed the hilt of his sword for reassurance, then made his way through the palace’s twisting hallways. He firmly steered his mind away from the repercussions if the Chief of Finances got his way and allowed lesser officials to kiss Briar, and instead pondered the argument itself.
He didn’t have a mind for politics—it was why he had chosen to become a knight instead of staying to work for his older brother, who would inherit the title of viscount. He was more interested in battle, in protecting those who could not fend for themselves, in bringing about justice, and in helping his country any way he could. However, with as little as he understood about the workings of the government, Isaia knew the charged air of the assembly hall did not bode well for Sole.
When the Queen of Hearts had taken her throne, the rulers of the country were the courts of nobility—for in addition to running their own lands, most of the lords held powerful positions in the government. Corruption was rampant, and the royal family held very little sway. So the Queen of Hearts separated the governmental workings from the nobles—an unusual move, as almost every other country had moved to unite them—and founded the Magic Knights to serve as a sort of emergency response team.
She had not, Isaia was certain, meant for the royal family to swallow all the power, which was the way it was now. The Magic Knights of Sole were less independent than they wished to admit; the government could not move without King Giuseppe’s say-so, and the nobles had no power outside their lands.
It hadn’t been a problem before. Though King Giuseppe had been, perhaps, a little heavy handed with Briar, he was a wise man.
I don’t understand why he is acting so…intractable.
Isaia left the palace and glanced up at the cloudy sky with a heavy heart. He started for the training grounds, then paused. Firra and Donaigh…he hadn’t spoken to them since Briar was cursed, but when they visited her, they both wore bittersweet expressions.
Changing his mind, Isaia made his way to the stables, saddled Valor, then rode through the palace gates and joined the whirling chaos of the city of Ciane.
Hawkers calling out their wares and the clucks of chickens eased the knot in Isaia’s chest. The city air was sootier and smelled of mud, but it was also dotted with the scent of fresh bread, fish, and the zest of herbs. Watching out for small children helped keep his mind off Briar sleeping back in the palace.
After a short ride, Isaia reached the city gates, where Firra and Donaigh had taken up residence, watching for Carabosso.
They sat on cushions just outside the city gates. Isaia would have expected to find them playing cards or something diverting, but Firra frowned at the ground and played with flames in her hands while Donaigh stared grimly at the surrounding farmland.
He cleared his throat to warn them of his arrival.
Firra smiled. “Why if it isn’t young Isaia! What a delight to see you again.”
“Any change?” Donaigh asked.
Isaia sh
ook his head.
Donaigh sighed deeply and rocked to his feet. “We shouldn’t have told her,” he said.
“She had the right to know,” Firra said. “And we had no reason to think old Giuseppe would react as he is.”
“It was a miscalculation,” Donaigh said.
Isaia glanced back and forth between the two mages. “What are you referring to?”
Firra glanced up at him and patted the cushion Donaigh had abandoned. “Take a seat,” she advised.
“We told Little Rose that Carabosso was using her.” Donaigh turned around so he could meet Isaia’s eyes.
Isaia couldn’t recall any other time he had ever seen the war mage so serious and grim.
“As long as Carabosso kept pressure on the kingdom, reminding King Giuseppe of her impending curse, Giuseppe wouldn’t involve himself with politics outside of Sole.”
“And that is a problem?” Isaia asked.
“Kind of, yes,” Firra said. “You see, the land seems to be imploding on itself, and we don’t have enough magic users in the Conclave to see to every threat.”
“The Conclave won’t risk dispatching us all, lest we are spread too thin,” Donaigh said. “Another mistake.”
Firra’s eyes took on a sharp edge, and she shook her head at him. “Normally, the Magic Knights would be dispatched to help allies—you are a rather unique fighting unit, after all. The only one to come close is Prince Rune of Arcainia, and he is only one man and lacks the equipment and organization you knights have. If the Magic Knights were dispatched, it would greatly ease the pressure on the surrounding area. But Giuseppe was worried about Briar, and so he held everyone close to Ciane.”
“You told Briar this?” Isaia asked.
Firra winced. “Yes.”
“And she must have thought it was her duty to set off her curse and get the anxiety over with.” Donaigh held onto the brim of his hat when a gust of wind threatened to carry it off.
“It is strange,” Firra said. “Briar is smart and logical. I don’t think she would have activated her curse if she didn’t have an escape route in mind.”