The Kingmaker Complete Trilogy (The Kingmaker Trilogy #1-3)

by Gemma Perfect

  EVERLEIGH IS READY, dressed in her most beautiful dress – the crown pin from Archer fastened on – head held high, her mother’s crown on her head. Queen in her own mind and heart and in those of her supporters, who follow her through the castle corridors.

  They head straight to Millard’s rooms first, Ceryn and Archer holding their swords ready just in case. Ceryn pushes open the door. Weaver is pacing, the room is empty other than him.

  “No sign of Millard?”

  Weaver grins at the sight of her. “None yet. Did you find Everleigh?”

  “Yes, I did and someone else.”

  Ceryn pushes Archer through the doorway and then laughs at Weaver’s whoop of delight. “Archer!” he screams his name and then launches himself at him and the two men laugh, hug and cry, slapping each other on the back. Weaver keeps hugging him, then pushing him away so he can look at him before pulling him back for another hug, before pushing him away to get a proper look at him again. “How?”

  “Long story,” Archer says, his voice thick with pain.

  “Have I hurt you?” Weaver is contrite, pulling back from Archer.

  “I’m a bit beat up, but I’m alright.”

  “I can’t believe you’re alive. Everleigh – can you believe it? Ceryn?”

  He cannot stop grinning, looking more foolish than Will when he’s in full fool mode.

  “Where’s Will?”

  “Gone to his rooms. I think he needed peace and quiet.”

  “We’ll fetch him on the way. We’re going to go to the great hall. Show everyone that Everleigh is safe and well.”

  Weaver nods and throws his arm around Archer’s shoulder. “Still can’t believe this. Archer!”

  They stop at Will’s door to collect him, but his room is empty. “Where is he?” Everleigh looks upset, sure something bad has happened.

  No one can answer her. Weaver who saw him last tries to reassure her. “He seemed fine when he left me.”

  “We need to find him.”

  “Let’s go to the great hall. Maybe he’s there. If not, we’ll look for him. He won’t be far away.”

  Unhappy but willing to see if he is in the great hall, Everleigh walks ahead of the little group. At the door, the guards step aside silently, shock on their faces at the sight of her, and she sweeps past them. The call of Kingmaker is taken up by the commoners and castle visitors alike and Everleigh beams at them all. Her subjects.

  She walks to the dais and takes Millard’s seat, the one that belonged to her father, and she sits down to applause. Addyson sits on one side of her with Della next to her, and Finn beside his sister. Archer sits on her other side, with the teacher next to him. Ceryn and Weaver choose to stand guard.

  “He’s not here. I need to know where he is,” she whispers to Archer, keeping the smile on her face and her eyes on the people filling the great hall. “I don’t like not knowing where he is. I want us all together again.”

  “We’ll look for him as soon as we’re done here. He won’t be far away.”

  More people are arriving; they’ve heard the news that the Kingmaker is safe and well. “I need to see Ginata too and plan my coronation. I have to be Queen, officially.”

  Archer nods and puts his hand over hers. “I will do whatever you want me to. I’m here to serve you.”

  “I like that.”

  They grin at each other and Everleigh stands up. In only seconds, there is complete silence. “Thank you for my lovely welcome.” A cheer goes up and she laughs. “My brother, the King, is absent from the castle at this time. I shall take his place. Please, eat, drink and be merry. Very merry.”

  She mentions nothing of being Queen or not allowing the King to come back. Now is not the time or place. She gives instructions to the little maids to bring food and drink enough for everybody, and Cook herself brings out the first dish.

  She sets it in front of Everleigh and bows low to her.

  “I’m so sorry about Lanorie,” Everleigh says, but Cook waves her hand, shaking her head.

  “I am glad to serve you, Queen.” She whispers the word, Queen, and bows again before backing away and returning to the kitchen.

  One of the little maids serves Everleigh from all the plates and platters. She eats a little and smiles as she watches over her court. This is how it should be. How it will be.

  WILL IS CALLING EVERLEIGH’S name, weaving in and out of the trees near the river, searching for his friend and Queen. He hasn’t seen Ceryn, Finn or Ginata but they will hear him if they are anywhere close. The guilt is a physical weight he can feel inside him, like a block of something heavy sitting in his stomach and lodged in his throat, making it hard to breathe. He has to fix things, he has to find her, or at least try to.

  The throbbing in his head increases as he walks faster, until he has to stop. He bends in half, breathing deeply, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He shakes his head to clear it, rubs at his eyes and sets off again. He cannot rest until he has done something useful, until Everleigh is safe again.

  If he was a warrior instead of a fool, she wouldn’t have been taken in the first place. He wouldn’t have stopped behind the wall, to catch his breath and make a plan; he would have had more stamina and he would have instinctively known what to do and how to protect his Queen.

  MILLARD RIDES AWAY from the castle on his horse, alone and unsteady, and, unusually for him, afraid. Since he was a little boy he has been ready to rule the Realm, to take over from his father, and in his opinion, do a better job. His father was a good King, but he wasn’t a great King. He didn’t inspire fear or respect. He didn’t have women throwing themselves at him or men trying to prove their valour to him. He didn’t change the Realm for the better or the worse.

  It was as though he hadn’t even ruled in the first place.

  Millard knows he will be a great King. Renowned. Feared. Adored. He also always knew he couldn’t leave it to chance.

  The legend of the Kingmaker is all well and good but it also left things to fate. He had to be King. There was no way he could have drunk his sister’s blood and risked dying. He had to rule.

  Of course, as it turned out, his brother had the same idea.

  He had known Wolf for a long time and while he was originally his father’s man, Millard saw something in him that he liked, something he recognised, something like himself. They had struck up a quiet friendship, a low key one and when the time was right Millard tasked Wolf with befriending Macsen, watching him, keeping an eye on him, and reporting back to Millard.

  And what Millard had learned had been so interesting. Macsen had the same idea – how similar they were – he would live and rule and not leave things to chance. He had ordered a death draught from the village witch and he planned to kill Millard on the day of Everleigh’s sacrifice; pretending to drink her blood but lacing Millard’s cup with the poison and then standing back while his brother died.

  Macsen had also found out that Everleigh would live, before Millard did, and then his plan changed again. Still determined to get the throne, he decided to kill their father and Everleigh. Without the King or the Kingmaker, the old law would come into play and the first-born son would rule. It wasn’t the best way to find a true King but there would be no other choice.

  Millard was happy to sit back and go along with all his brother’s plans, until the day of the coronation, when he killed him and found out that Everleigh wasn’t dead, but alive and after the crown herself.

  What a pest.

  If only people would let him get on with things and stop interfering.

  And now, Everleigh, or someone acting on her behalf, has attacked him and tied him up and someone else has set him free. His head hurts with all the mystery and intrigue and he just needs to find a safe place to rest.

  Through the fog in his head, an idea comes to him. Ginata lives at the castle now and no longer needs her little cottage. He’ll head there and hide until he feels better. Then he’ll gather his troops and take back his thr
one and his crown and finally rid himself of his aggravating sister once and for all.

  FOOD EATEN, TOO MUCH wine drunk and Everleigh is feeling better than she has in days. Archer sits on one side of her and her sister on the other. Could life get any better? Yes, if she knew where her brother was and could end his life, she would feel better.

  She would also feel better if Will was with them. She calls Weaver forward and asks him to look for him. She’s hoping he’s back in his room, sleeping off the knock to his head.

  Ceryn is still standing, watching the room and all the people in it. “Don’t go yet,” she says to Weaver, as he passes. The two guards at the door have their heads together and keep glancing over at Everleigh; Ceryn doesn’t like it. She catches Archer’s eye and nods for him. He leaves Everleigh’s side, touching her arm as he goes.

  The three of them huddle at the foot of the dais.

  “What’s up?”

  “I don’t like those guards.”

  “You don’t like anybody.”

  “Not funny. They’re whispering together and they keep looking at Everleigh.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Maybe.”

  “The King’s men?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Stands to reason. Millard might be missing but he won’t have taken every guard with him.”

  “Weapons ready?” Ceryn asks, mentally counting her own arsenal: a dagger in each boot, her sword on one side and a knife on the other. Ready to go.

  Archer and Weaver nod. Archer heads back to Everleigh’s side and takes his seat.

  “What’s wrong?” Everleigh asks him and he shakes his head, a huge smile on his face. Barely moving his mouth, he keeps his voice quiet and calm. “Tell Della and Addyson to slip out of the door behind us and go straight to her room. Lock the door. Send Finn and the teacher away too.”

  “Why?” Everleigh has frozen, turned white.

  “Smile.”

  She does as she’s told, but her hands are sweaty and her heart is hammering in her chest.

  “We think there might be trouble from Millard’s men.”

  She closes her eyes and Archer touches her cheek. “Come on. You didn’t think this would be easy, did you?”

  Ginata

  WHEN SOMEONE DIES, and you wake up from a perfect sleep and you are blissfully unaware for a second; you’ve forgotten, you’re happy, and then you remember that they are dead, and you want to join them. That’s the feeling that comes over me when I awake from my potion-induced sleep.

  Everything is fine, life is good, I am happy. And then I remember that everything is not fine, life is not good, I am not happy. I am a horrible person and I betrayed someone sweet and lovely, who trusted me implicitly.

  My insides start squirming again and all the peace that I had in slumber is gone.

  I find a jug and take a drink before splashing cold water on my face, straightening out my hair and my clothes.

  I have no idea what’s going on in the castle, if Millard is back or if Everleigh’s been found and I need to know, but first I find another tonic and take a quick drink.

  Sitting in front of my fire, I try to centre myself, calm my squirming insides and relax. I do not want Everleigh to see the truth written over my face. Sad as it makes me to admit, I must hide what I’ve done from her, at least for now, until I can make it right. I must hide me.

  Does one bad deed really make me so terrible? One bad deed? Or two? Where is the line and who decides?

  I think back to my little cottage and all the people who came to see me.

  Women whose husbands hit them and hurt them, who desperately wanted to be loved regardless, who would buy love potion after love potion, hoping they could change their men and wondering what was wrong with them, what was lacking inside them that made them so unlovable, that made someone want to hurt them. Were those women bad for forgiving such crimes? Were those men so bad that they couldn’t be saved, couldn’t change? If they did hurt their wives, did that mean they were bad people, that couldn’t give love or receive it?

  What about people who came to see her ill-wishing their neighbours or friends, coveting what they had or what they did. Were they bad people? People who steal, lie, hurt.

  Who gets to decide?

  Am I bad because I’ve done a bad thing? What about all the good things I have ever done or will do? Did they outweigh the bad? Could it work like that – I may have murdered three people but I was nice to seven hundred people. No.

  Bad is bad and good is good and I need to stop trying to excuse what I did.

  By helping Millard and deceiving Everleigh I have set back her quest for the throne. It’s not what I was supposed to be doing. It’s not right.

  I am ready to face the others. Find out what’s happening. Has Everleigh been found? Is she alright? Is Millard back? Does he know that it was me who rescued him, saved his life?

  I want him to know it was me. Ridiculous. As I think one thing, I contradict myself and think something completely the opposite. Will I just argue with myself until either Millard or Everleigh is on the throne and then make my choice?

  If Everleigh is Queen, then I serve her and always did.

  If Millard is King, then I serve him and always did.

  What a duplicitous little thing I am. I never even realised it till now.

  8

  A TRIO OF SINGERS BOW before Everleigh and ask permission to perform. She nods her agreement and they take up their places below the dais. With all eyes on them, Della can slip away with Addyson. “Just go straight to her room, lock the door. Please, keep her safe.”

  Della nods, her face is pale with fear but full of determination; she will not let Everleigh or Addyson down. She gestures for Finn and the teacher to follow her and they quickly flee the room.

  Everleigh isn’t sure if there is a real threat or if Ceryn is worrying over nothing, but she has to trust her new friend’s instincts. Even though she was wrong about Brett, she was right too. He had been on Millard’s side and he had attacked both her and Archer in the past and he had knocked Will out and taken Everleigh. It wasn’t really Ceryn’s fault if all those facts led her to kill him. That she didn’t know he had changed his ways. How could she have known?

  Keeping her head high and a smile on her face, beating her hand on the table in time to the music, trying to calm her heart, Everleigh looks around. Would Millard’s men attack her? Even without his say so? If they knew he was still alive, then possibly. Probably.

  Once he’s dead. Maybe not.

  Archer is sitting by her, seemingly unconcerned, but she can see that he’s not relaxed. He’s primed, ready to go, to jump up. His knuckles are white and when he reaches for a dagger from his boot, her stomach flips again.

  “How many men did your father have?” His voice is quiet, serious, but his face is a mask of happiness.

  “More than five hundred.”

  “How many serve Millard?”

  “Less than that. Many of my father’s men were old. They retired after his death. His murder.”

  “Fighters?”

  “Not all. Most are guardsmen. Able to bar a doorway with a sword. Real fighters? Less than fifty.”

  “Less than fifty.”

  “A match for you? Less than ten.”

  “Less than ten.”

  He’s nodding as he assesses the room. He thinks Ceryn is right. The guards who should be stood stock still and guarding, are slipping in and out of the room, whispering, nodding, stealing supposedly furtive glances at Everleigh.

  “You cannot be captured. Take this.” He passes her the dagger. “I don’t need it. If something happens, flee, and if anyone tries to stop you, stab them and then run. Go to your sister. Lock the door.”

  Everleigh nods and she’s not sure if it’s the anticipation of trouble or because she has a weapon in her hand but suddenly the air is full of tension; the hairs on her arm and the back of her neck stand up.

  Ceryn has paused and Weaver ha
s his head cocked to the side. Archer pushes himself to his feet and joins them. The three of them confer for a second and then fan out. Ceryn – who to outsiders appears the easiest to defeat – heads to the door and Archer and Weaver walk either side of her, but head off at an angle.

  Her intuition is spot on, three seconds after the three friends split, the door is banged open and a rush of men storm in. The commoners and castle visitors scream and the sound of stools being pushed back is ear splitting. The little maids join in with high pitched shrieks.

  Ceryn heads straight towards the first man and splits him in half with her sword, before ducking to the left and running another guard through. She spins in an arc lifting her sword as she goes; slashing one guard through his stomach and taking the head off another.

  Weaver and Archer barrel in from the sides and with swords aloft and daggers out they start taking out the remaining King’s men alongside Ceryn.

  Everleigh cannot move. So far not one of Millard’s men has got through the general throng of people and fighters to get anywhere near her, which is a lucky thing, because she cannot take her eyes off the three of them: her new protectors. They are amazing to watch, slashing and severing, ducking and pirouetting. It’s almost like a dance. A bloody dance. It’s fascinating to behold.

  And frightening.

  And reassuring.

  If these three choose to continue to serve her, she will be safe; she has no doubt. She’d love to see her brother try to go up against any one of them.

  And Ceryn. She is a masked warrior. She is quick and sure footed and fast and sprightly. She can leap while slashing with a sword and stabbing with a dagger at the same time. She is no better with one weapon or another, one hand or another. She is fierce and frightening; a true fighter.

  Everleigh knows she needs to get to safety but her feet are rooted to the floor. Still no one has passed the trio of fighters to reach her, or get close. Now that the castle visitors have cleared out, the commoners have started fighting amongst themselves and the little maids are lining the edges of the room like witnesses under duress.