Birth Stone

by Kate Kelley

  “I am your King. You will always obey me, or suffer the consequences.” His voice frosted the air, body still as stone.

  As if a spell snapped, Lyra’s head cleared and she was aware of the power flowing from him. Fear took up residence in her gut. It was almost as if she kept forgetting that he was her king. The natural reaction was to cower in his presence, and she had been outwardly arguing with him any chance she got.

  Her stomach flip flopped. She lowered her eyes to the floor in front of his feet. “I beg your pardon, your Majesty.”

  A second later, Terrin strode toward her. Fluidly, Lyra side stepped him and Terrin disappeared out of the door, leaving her alone to ruminate over the mystifying events of the past twenty four hours.

  Chapter 8

  Lyra spent the rest of the day roaming the castle with Poppi. Although she was a new maid, she had a thorough knowledge of all the wings and rooms of the castle. They ended with a tour through the ground’s expansive gardens. Most other servants were busily darting this way and that, lighting fireplaces, polishing windows, carrying linens. They kept their business to themselves and avoided eye contact. Other important, finely-dressed people spoke closely together, wandering slowly, and not giving a passing glance to Poppi and herself. Not a friendly bunch. Poppi and Lyra were reserved as well, but their conversation was amicable. They spoke of Lyra’s village and her school, and Poppi informed her of daily life at the castle. Poppi was close-mouthed about her own family, but Lyra assumed she was unused to speaking about herself so she didn’t push it. She thought of asking about her education, but decided against it.

  Is it even a proper thing to discuss?

  She wondered if there were formal schools in Gem. Normally only wealthy people could afford an education. In the past, if your family didn’t have money to provide a governess or send you to school, you would find work as a servant, seamstress, laundress, or continued your family business of blacksmith, farmer, merchant, and the like.

  Lyra’s parents had high standing in the village, and had opened the school just before they died. Lyra took over as a teacher as soon as she was of age and had accepted every child who wanted to learn, even the ones who couldn’t pay. Her parents left all of their money to the school, so the extra funds could cover the ones who couldn’t pay. Their school wasn’t the finest, and she was surely overworked, but she wanted to give the gift of education to every child. It was her parent’s dream.

  The tour of the castle took longer than expected, and a few hours later, Lyra’s legs felt heavy. The sun was beginning its descent and an orange glow washed the countryside as thoughts of the earlier part of the day fought for precedence in her mind.

  When they finally returned to her room, Lyra was exhausted and conversation left her completely. Despite the finery, the room felt cold. Even with the bath drawn and steam curling with lavender fragrance, she felt no comfort. A cavern of loneliness opened inside of Lyra.

  As if sensing Lyra’s mood, Poppi suggested she dine by herself tonight, in her room. As Poppi left quietly to retrieve dinner, Lyra tugged her boots off and contemplated her situation.

  She stripped her gown off her shoulders and over her hips. The amount of new information coursing through her head threatened to break her. Her mind felt frazzled, ready to split in two. The past week had been the strangest time in her life. She needed to talk to someone who cared about her, who was familiar. Stripping off her remaining chemise and undergarments, she made her way to the large chest of drawers. Upon opening a drawer, she found a thin white nightgown, with thin straps and lace at the edges. The front was cut low, and it formed to her body more than her normal nightgowns would, but it felt cool and soft against her flushed skin. Letting out her braids, she combed her fingers through her curls until her hair was loosely flowing past her shoulders. The tension at her temples eased slightly.

  Glancing at the mahogany desk under the window, she knew she should write to Edwin. Edwin was the only one who would understand. Even though he didn’t try to save her when she was taken, she knew he really couldn’t have done anything to those Knights. Edwin wasn’t malicious like the King and his knights. He was a man of brain, not brawn.

  We are all powerless against his Majesty. But just as that thought bubbled in her head, a new one started. Maybe there is a way to escape. Setting the fountain pen to the parchment laid out, she began to write to Edwin.

  Dear Edwin,

  The King is a brute. I cannot stay here. I thought I could at first. I tried to work with him, but he proves too difficult.You must come get me. Please. I fear he won’t let me leave. Luckily, I am not being held captive, yet. Reply promptly so we can construct our plan.

  I miss you.

  Sincerely Yours,

  Lyra

  A knock sounded at the door. Lyra hurriedly folded and dribbled the thick vermilion wax onto the fold, then stamped it carefully with the royal insignia.

  “Coming, Poppi!” Setting the stamp down carefully, she rose and answered the door.

  A large man stood, dressed in black was standing in the door frame. Lyra froze, spine stiff.

  “Your majesty,” came Lyra’s delayed response. His eyes looked black in the shadows of the hall. Golden light from the candelabras reflected the dancing flames in his eyes, making them look even more dangerous and otherworldly than usual. His muscled arms were bare in a black short-sleeved tunic. His hands came up to rest on either side of the door frame. Wide-eyed, Lyra waited, holding her breath.

  Does he know about the letter? How would he know?

  Terrin’s eyes strayed from her face, roaming down her body in a calculating perusal. Heat blossomed in her as his eyes fixed for a few beats too long on her chest and hips. She was sure her breasts were visible through the thin material. His jaw clenched and he met her eyes again.

  “I see you are dressed for sleep. I apologize for intruding.” His voice was the same deep rumble as always, but something was strained there as well.

  “It’s your castle, is it not?”

  There I go with my mouth again. Mentally berating herself, she returned her eyes to the floor.

  “Right. Well….” His voice trailed off and his eyes flicked over her body again, eyes snagging on her legs this time. He visibly swallowed.

  Damn it, this gown is too short.

  “Why don’t you dress, and then we will talk. I apologize again for interrupting.”

  “There is nothing that quite fits me in these closets. I think they were made for ladies who are of a more petite form. They are entirely too small,” she snapped. She fidgeted with the lace at her cleavage, attempting to pull the snug material upwards, to no avail. She instead let her hand rest there.

  Again, with the word-blurting. Where is Poppi? I need her to send out this letter as soon as possible.

  “I, uh….will speak with my man about that--” He cut his words short, eyes suddenly sharp and staring into hers. He then glanced behind her, to the desk.

  My letter.

  Stepping closer to him, she attempted to block his line of sight. Which was a useless endeavor, as he was well over a foot taller than her. In her attempt, she overstepped and stumbled into his chest. It was like running into a warm stone wall. His hands caught her arms and stilled her. She was flush against his chest, her curves pressed into his solid form. Warmth flooded her body and she attempted to take a step back, but his hands were like chains, keeping her pressed to him. Suddenly his hands were gone and she was able to take a step back, and another one for good measure. His face looked flushed when she glanced back to him, and he walked into her room, stalking toward her as a predator would its prey.

  What the hell is going on?

  Nervously licking her lips, she tried to maintain her blocking of the desk so he didn’t see the letter. His eyes zeroed in on her mouth, as if mesmerized. His nostrils flared.

  “Why are you here?” She blurted. Maybe conversation would distract him from the letter.

  He blinked a
nd let out a long breath as he combed his hand through his hair, smoothing it out of his face and behind his ears before letting his hands rest folded behind his head. It gave her a great view of his muscled arms. Shaking that thought off, she challenged him with her stare.

  “I was wondering if you would--” He cleared his throat, looking away from her, then cut to the point, his voice taking on a commanding tone.

  “We need to see a third mage. Tonight. He lives in the village. It shouldn’t take long but it’s important that we visit him tonight.”

  “Tonight?” She was incredulous. The night through the window was pitch black already.

  His gray eyes were trained on her again. “Yes, tonight.”

  Lyra thought of the letter. She needed Poppi to come now.

  “I cannot--” Lyra started but he closed in on her, peering down at her with intent. She looked away, the heat of his stare too much. Shock coursed through her when she felt his gentle hand under her chin, turning her head to face his.

  “It’s not up for discussion. Meet me outside in front of the palace doors in ten minutes.” His hand lingered and Lyra swore she felt him stroke her jawline, but his hand was soon gone. His eyes closed and and he shook his head, then reopened his eyes. “Now get dressed.”

  Lyra’s face heated and rage bubbled in her gut. This man was insufferable.

  A soft knock at the door saved her. The King opened the door and Poppy stood wide eyed holding a tray of food. She bowed and the King nodded curtly, moving past her and out of the door. Poppi lingered in the bow for a beat too long before entering the room cautiously.

  “Everything alright, miss?” Poppy was clearly alarmed that the King had been in her room.

  “Everything is fine. I need you to do me a favor, Poppi.”

  “Yes, miss, of course.” She set the tray down on the table. Lyra walked over and grabbed the envelope, thrusting it toward Poppi.

  “I need this delivered to my friend in my village. Can you make that happen?”

  “Yes, of course. There's a letter delivery service that goes weekly from the court. As a constituent of the royal court, and the King’s guest, there's no cost to you.” Relief flooded Lyra and she smiled brightly when Poppi pocketed the letter.

  “Thank you, Poppi.” She hesitated before continuing, “Poppi, there isn’t a median who checks the mail is there? I don’t want this letter to be read before it’s sent out.” Poppi gave her a wide stare before replying. “All mail coming in and out of Gem must be checked by the King’s security to intercept any dangerous communications.” Lyra clenched her fists. She thought so. She licked her lips, thinking.

  “Is there any way to bypass that?”

  Poppi’s eyebrows pinched together, unsure. Finally she answered. “There’s a way. I can deliver it to the postman’s box myself first thing in the morning. I’d have to go all the way to the shore, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem...as long as I’m not seen.”

  Lyra breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Poppi. Truly. This means a lot to me.”

  Poppi inclined her head before taking her leave. Lyra stopped her before she reached the door.

  “Poppi, do you mind staying and helping me pick out a dress? I have a meeting with the--” Tyrant. She took a deep breath and continued out loud, “--King in fifteen minutes.” Her contempt was hardly missed.

  “Yes, of course, miss.” Poppi’ smiled brightly and her eyes lit up. She went to her closet, surveyed for a few seconds before pulling out a midnight blue silky dress with fine lace sleeves and a plunging neckline. Poppi’s eyes shone bright. Was that a slit up the side? Lyra balked.

  “That’s not really what I had in mind, Poppi,” she said with a frown.

  Poppi’s flinch was barely perceptible but Lyra noticed it. Poppi’s cheeks flamed and her head lowered. “Of course, miss, I apologize.”

  I wonder what kind of life Poppi had led. Clearly she was a sensitive girl.

  Lyra’s guilt hit her like a brick as Poppi hung it back up and began to rummage through the dresses to find a different one for her.

  “No, Poppi, it’s--it’s perfect. Of course I’ll wear it.” She found the dress again and slid it off the hanger, laying it out on the bed before undressing. Poppi awkwardly stood to the side, her expression blank. Lyra stepped into the dress and asked for Poppi’s help to button it up. Poppi complied, and smoothed her sleeves. Lyra stood in front of the mirror and gasped. She looked like a different person. A sophisticated, worldly woman.

  “People don’t dress like this where I’m from,” she murmured.

  Poppi smiled lightly, her eyes shining again. “You’ll fit in here now.”

  Lyra glanced at Popp’s plain white dress and apron. “You don’t dress like this.”

  “I’m just a maid. I’m not supposed to fit in.”

  Oh.

  “You look absolutely stunning, miss. The gown is exquisite.” Poppi eyed the dress with pure appreciation. The material’s inky blue color shone like the night sky, and the silkiness of it felt like a cool breeze. The neckline plunged to the middle of her breastbone, showing far more skin than she ever had publicly. Luckily matching lace covered two inches of the neckline, though it was still see through. The torso of the dress clung and lifted her breasts, and clung to her stomach before swooping cleanly down to brush the floor. Lyra shifted on her feet, eyeing the gown with apprehension. There was a slit on the side of the dress, following her right leg all the way up to her mid-thigh. Lyra inwardly groaned. Poppi began brushing Lyra’s hair and she felt the gentle tugging as Poppi braided, twisted and pinned with expertise.

  “There,” Poppi finished and took her image in the mirror. “Wow, miss.”

  She had left half of her hair down, the natural golden curls reaching her waistline. The top half of her hair was braided and twisted to resemble a loose crown against her head. Her eyebrows pinched together for a moment before smoothing out. She didn’t want to look like royalty, but she didn’t want to hurt Poppi’s feelings again. Clearly the girl enjoyed this kind of frivolous thing.

  “Thank you, Poppi,” she said warmly, before eyeing the clock and realizing she was a minute late. Her stomach rumbled and she realized she hadn’t eaten.

  “I’m late,” Lyra heaved a heavy sigh, then tugged her ankle boots on before grabbing a sweet bun off her plate and biting into it.

  Poppi was already at the door, opening it and motioning for Lyra to come. “We don’t want to keep his majesty waiting, miss.”

  Lyra rolled her eyes and followed, taking another harsh bite of her bun.

  I’m pretty sure I could live without ever seeing his Majesty again.

  Chapter 9

  Knights stood guard on either side of the castle doors and Lyra tried to calm her nerves as their hard eyes watched them pass through. On the other side of the doors the night was as deep blue as her dress, and a full moon hung above them in the sky, leaving their skin iridescent in its glow. A dark hooded figure stepped into view a few feet in front of them and Lyra nearly jumped out of her skin. Poppi let out a squeak and covered her mouth. The King was wearing all black again, tight black breeches tucked into knee-high boots, a black tunic and a dark heavy cloak around his shoulders. A dark hood shrouded his features completely. But Lyra knew it was him by his size...and something about an earthy scent she caught in the air…at least she thought it was the King. Perhaps it was a stranger.

  Lyra took a cautious step toward him, her eyes glued to his face that was till shrouded in darkness.

  “Hello, sir?” Her body was almost touching his before his features came into view. His eyes were still shadowed but she caught his serious, wide mouth in the moonlight. Yes, it was him.

  “Your majesty,” Lyra offered blandly, backing up a pace. He inclined his head.

  “Your lady’s maid will need to stay here.” Poppi bowed quickly before turning to take her leave but Lyra grabbed her arm, turning her back to the King and huddling close to Poppi, her voice low. />
  “I thought you were going to deliver the letter. I need it sent out as soon as possible. I was hoping you could send it out tonight.”

  Poppi’s eyebrows pinched together and her hand came up to her pocket where she held the letter.

  “I--miss, I--it’s not fitting to walk alone at night. I promise to send it out at first light--” Poppi was sputtering, a panicked expression taking over her countenance. That familiar guilt rose in Lyra again, mingled with annoyance. She took a breath through her nose before reaching into Poppi’s pocket and snatching the letter before stuffing it down the front of her dress. She hoped it wouldn’t be noticeable. “Don’t worry about it, Poppi. I will send it myself. Where do I take it?” She heard a rough clearing of a throat behind her. Poppi’s eyes were about to pop out of her head and she squeaked her answer, “There’s a small shack with three painted royal insignias cresting the top. It will be locked. If you push the letter under the door, it could be assumed the letter fell out of the box, and they’ll send it anyway in the morning.”

  “Okay,” came her clipped response.

  Poppi shook her head but held her tongue. “Please be careful,” was her only reply before she disappeared into the lighted castle.

  Darkness came again and Lyra turned to face the King again. He stood still as stone.

  "Follow me,” he ground out before turning and stalking quickly down the cobbled path in the direction of the bridge. Lyra had to jog to catch up to his side. The night was cool and Lyra was cursing the dress Poppi had picked for her. She might as well not have been wearing anything at all. She wasn’t wearing undergarments. Not proper ones anyway. A silky, tiny undergarment was all she had underneath covering her backside. No corset or chemise added a layer of protection from the cool winds.

  They walked in silence, the sounds of the night getting louder the farther away from the castle they walked. The song of crickets and owls and other night creatures floated on the wind. The rushing creek sounded in her ears as they approached the small bridge. Walking over it, her boots thudded against the wood. Once over it, Lyra glanced at the King.