by May Sage
She sincerely hoped these words wouldn’t come back to bite him.
Chapter 14
It took another two days, but finally, Rupert had five pieces of paper in front of him. Everything about the state of the kingdom, summarized in five pages.
They were rich. Seven kingdoms owed them a debt. Education could use some work. Healthcare was too expensive for the working class. They sucked at sports, but they’d patented more inventions than all the other kingdoms combined. More importantly, their relationship with Alenia was sensitive—as Aurora’s father had probably killed the previous king. As Ferren and Alenia were the two principle kingdoms of Europa, it meant the continent was at the brink of war. Again.
Basically, nothing had changed as much as his bathroom.
“How did you leave things with Daniel De Luz?” he asked Rory, forcing himself to sound casual.
Truth was, he wanted to throw her onto his shoulder and thump his chest every time he thought or spoke of either of her previous fiancés.
Aurora winced. “Not well. He had reason to think that my father might be responsible for his father’s death, and I didn’t want to believe it.”
“Any other friction?”
He really didn’t want to know about their friction.
“No, not really.”
“Good. We’ll invite them for dinner, privately, without anyone else. Unofficially. I need to get a read on him. See if we’re dealing with a man or a bloodthirsty boy.”
She came to his defense, and Rupert himself felt a little more on the bloodthirsty side of the scale. “Dane isn’t a fool. He would have attacked years ago, if he’d wished to. But let’s have dinner, if we must.”
And alas, they must.
“Would it pain you to see him with his wife?”
She shook her pretty head. “Trust me when I say I have no feelings for Dane. And I’ll be pleased to have a chance at apologizing for the way we parted ways.”
“Good.” Then, remembering their eerie resemblance, he added, “How are you related to Ella De Luz, exactly? I don’t want to seem like an opportunist, but if you’ve been close, our meeting is more likely to be successful.”
Rory frowned. “We aren’t related at all.”
A second passed, and another one.
He felt some tension from the beautiful woman at his side. She found the subject sensitive, obviously, however much she professed to be indifferent.
In another life, he would insist. Ask her to explain what was happening in her conflicted heart. Really work out whether he ought to make her face her ex like this.
But he needed to meet Daniel De Luz, and he needed Aurora Stephenson by his side, so Rupert tried his best to smile.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll call.”
Things were starting to make more sense now. He’d worked with local governors to set up electronic elections. The palace was once again fully staffed.
Still, it felt too easy. There had been no public defamation, no attacks coming from the nobles he’d demoted wordlessly. Rupert wasn’t so naive as to think they could have simply moved on quietly. They were scheming. And this certainly did make him sound paranoid.
Paranoid kings lived.
“Any news from your father?” he asked Rory.
She always looked a little sad when he mentioned him.
“He’s tried to call every day. I haven’t picked up yet. Call me a chicken if you must.”
He smiled, glad of it, for no doubt the man intended to be difficult to her. Rupert had seen his look before he’d left the Council. Rupert felt incredibly protective of his Rory, wishing to plant himself between her and any sorrow.
So, he did just that.
“We’ll also see him for dinner. I’ll get an invitation sent out, and pacify him as best we can. I don’t want him back amongst my advisors”—he wasn’t budging there—“but there’s a principality up north, not far from his home. He may like to be a prince of the realm.”
“He’d like that, no doubt.”
She left it at that.
“But it won’t be enough.”
“No, it won’t.” She explained, “My father has always been severe, and honor was very important to him. My aunts say that it has a lot to do with my mother running out on us. That I could—” She gulped. “—betray him like this won’t be easily forgotten.”
“He betrayed me,” Rupert said. “His king. The only reason I make any effort toward him is because I happen to like his child.”
“Yes, well, I doubt he’ll see it that way.”
Rupert doubted it too, which was one of the reasons why he couldn’t say he was particularly surprised when, four hours later, when he got out of his bathroom ready for bed, his regent, the old Hand’s grandson, appeared armed and flanked by a dozen men.
He’d expected it, sooner or later. Now it was showtime.
Rupert smirked. He didn’t attempt to fight, not when what he needed right now was to show them exactly how pointless their little rebellion was.
“Rupert Evermore, King of Old, for the good of this kingdom, we relieve you of your duties.”
He smiled. “Of course you do.”
He’d expected exactly this, and it was the only reason why he hadn’t publicly made his intentions toward Rory known. She wouldn’t be involved now.
“Take him away,” Stephenson ordered.
Someone covered his eyes, but he knew just where he was led: left, then downstairs, then left again, and at the very end of a corridor, before going up eight flights of stairs. To his dungeons.
Good. They weren’t heading out of the castle. Stupid of them, but good. It made things much easier for him.
He heard heavy metal bars open and close. Then, they removed the useless piece of cloth over his eyes.
Stephenson stood before him. His resemblance to Rory was so faint. Just the eyes. But it was enough for Rupert to hesitate. Could he—should he—destroy this man?
“Now, let’s get straight to the point. You don’t know this kingdom like we do. You can’t hope to be a good ruler just because of the blood in your veins. When things got tough, you ran last time. You let your people die of the plague and saved yourself.”
Wrong, and wrong again.
He’d heard about the theory that he’d been frozen to escape a plague—Rory had told him. But it hadn’t happened when he’d left; he’d sent plenty of physicians across the land to cure the ailment a good year before the event that had unfolded because of his stupid wife and a goddamn silver plate.
Chapter 15
Then
Five years. How quickly the time flew. He’d just blinked and his baby was a little girl now. A mini-lady who called him Daddy. There was no love between him and Marina, but he’d forever be grateful to her for giving him this.
The queen was quite put out with him since he’d made Mal Aurora’s godmother, bypassing all of her friends. But he’d long ceased to listen to anything she had to say, so he ignored her and went to inform his friend of her new station.
Mal sighed and asked, “Must I accept?”
“You must, for I don’t trust anyone else with Aurora’s well-being,” he’d replied. If anything happened to him, Mal would see to the child. Of that, he had no doubt. And something could befall him; he wasn’t blind. Marina was scheming and conspiring, whispering in the ears of his weakest knights and most corrupt councilmen.
They were at the dawn of a rebellion, he could smell it.
“I need to ask you a favor.”
“Another one, you mean,” the fay retorted.
“One you might like more. You know of the protection placed around the castle and around all of Ferren?”
The fay nodded slowly.
“Tell me.”
She took a minute before answering. “It was a selfish act, born of fear, and dooming thousands of men in the process. The first Evermore wasn’t fay-born like the kings of other great nations. He wasn’t immortal, didn’t have a drop of blessed blood. That made him vu
lnerable. What he had was technology—great robots the size of mountains. He could have conquered the whole continent with them, if it hadn’t been for the magic of Alenia and the brutality of the wild beasts in Ennom. At last, there was peace, but he’d seen war, and he didn’t want to face it again alone. To ensure that he, and his family, would be cared for by the men of Ferren, he laid a terrible fate on you all. A curse greater than I’ve seen. This is why I have made my home here—why there’s other fay north, east, and south of your kingdom.”
“Do tell,” he prayed.
“The massive statues at the gates of Ferren and at the gates of your own home? They’re not exactly made of stone. These are the last twelve war machines of old. They’re programmed to protect your line—and should they fail, to destroy Ferren. The fay elders posted some of the best amongst us where we live, to ensure that the damage is contained to your lands.”
He’d digested that. Mal was right of course. It had been selfish. But somewhere at the back of his mind, he couldn’t help liking that piece of information. “Who knows this? Why didn’t I hear of it?”
“The head of each noble family. It would be clearly written in their ledgers. And I suspect that you didn’t hear of it because you didn’t bother to read yours.”
Rupert conceded that point. “That doesn’t protect her.” Mal lifted a brow. “Aurora. Should there be a revolt, as I fear, these things might take care of me, but if they’re programmed to answer only to my genetic code, it won’t acknowledge Aurora as my child.”
Mal bit her lip. “I’ll build a chamber,” said she. “Something no magic or force can destroy or penetrate. Just your blood.” Catching his surprise, she added with a shrug, “Well, if I’m supposed to be a godmother, might as well act like one.”
So, in the highest tower of their highest dungeon, she came in secret and created the room where Aurora now lay.
And then they’d gone downstairs to celebrate the child’s birthday.
Mal sat on his left, closer to him than even Mark Stephenson, his advisor, just in front of Marina, who was on his right. Aurora had eaten earlier, but she was on his lap, a pretty gold diadem upon her head.
They chatted animatedly, of everything and nothing, and then the first course was served.
His plate was the first to arrive, and it looked delicious. Scallops and ham on a bed of crisp apples, all on a gold plate.
Then, the queen was served the same dish, and every guest followed.
Mal came last.
Her plate was silver. And what laid upon it wasn’t scallops at all.
He didn’t recognize the meat, but his gaze snapped to Marina nonetheless. His wife was smirking.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded coolly.
It had been a long time since Marina had provoked Mal.
“Why, I don’t know. Perhaps the kitchen has run out of scallops.”
He wordlessly exchanged his plate with Mal’s, but the woman didn’t thank him. What he’d done didn’t register at all. She was staring at Marina, shaking with rage, her entire aura darker than he’d ever seen.
“What have you done?” she demanded, her voice breaking.
A yell might have been less frightening than that low, emotional whisper.
“Why, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“This,” she cried, “is dragon flesh.”
Oh, fuck. No. She couldn’t have. Surely. He was beyond believing Marina smart enough to not desire to poison everything she touched, but even if she’d had the will to do so, how could she have hunted a dragon?
With your knights, Rupert guessed. The perfectly well-trained knights she fucked and manipulated to her will.
He’d met Mal in his youth, because he’d been a curious boy fascinated with the world of immortal creatures—dragons, gods, elves, and fay. Straying off the path where he was allowed to ride, to follow a trail of midnight flowers that he believed to be what unicorns ate, he found her singing in the woods.
Mal’s songs weren’t pretty and cheerful; they were dark, like everything about her. Edgy. No little ten-year-old boy had ever been luckier.
“You’re a fay!” he cried, pointing at her. She’d sighed and turned to leave, so he’d followed her, talking her ear off until she begged him to shut it. “Only if you meet me again!” had been his reply.
And he’d stuck to her until she’d ended up liking him enough to call him a friend.
Over the years, he’d come to understand her. Understand why she was sad and angry. Her power, her essence, was born of the immortal world, a world that had been practically destroyed, reduced to nothing. She cared for and protected all of its creatures—it was her main, if not only, purpose in life.
Above all, Mal admired dragons. “They’re rare now,” she’d told him. “In this world, in any case. I saw one not long ago, and he swore to me that there are other worlds in the cosmos where his kind are more prominent. They’ve got no home on Gaia.”
“You speak to dragons?” he’d questioned with a laugh.
She’d lifted her hand, and a great green fire came out of it. One wave and it disappeared.
“They’re shape-shifters, you know. And they care to speak to those with fire in their blood.”
Rupert wondered how Marina knew that this was the biggest offense, the one thing Mal would never forget. Killing her kin.
The fay’s hand reached out toward Marina and curses crossed her lips.
Rupert did nothing to stop it.
When the curse hit the red pendant at Marina’s throat, some of it bounced and fell on him and—to Mal’s despair—on Aurora.
The rest was history.
Chapter 16
“Miss Stephenson.”
Aurora opened her eyes. She’d been trying to sleep, quite unsuccessfully. The foreign and slightly metallic voice calling her name wasn’t waking her up, but she was still startled. She turned left and right. It sounded close, yet no one was around, as far as she could see.
“Voice confirmation required.”
She frowned. “Where are you?”
“Subject confirmed. Aurora Stephenson. All commands transferred to subject.”
It was a good thing that she’d been lying down, or she would have fallen on her ass. She blinked, and the next instant, someone, something was standing next to her. It had the shape of a man—or a woman, she couldn’t quite tell—but it was entirely made of smooth metallic plates and held together by cords. A machine, the likes of which she’d never seen before.
Its iron face had no expression, no mouth to speak off, but it certainly could speak.
“Commands?” she repeated, confused. “I don’t understand. What is this about?”
“I’m afraid there’s no time to explain now. Hostile subjects coming—two minutes away at their current pace. We advise you to hide on the balcony and climb down. And take a coat, as the temperature is quite chilly outside.”
She was dreaming. Wasn’t she? She dismissed that opinion right away, because she honestly didn’t have the imagination necessary to come up with a story like this.
A noise outside her room, coming from the corridors, alerted her. She only took a second to realize that it wasn’t Rupert; there were many footsteps, all of them too hurried and heavy.
What the hell? Looked like she was going to have to listen to that weird robotic thing.
Forgoing the coat, as the men sounded too close, she rushed out to the balcony. The machine stuffed some pillows under the covers, then followed through, floating soundlessly next to her. It didn’t have legs—its body, a simple legless bust, hovered around in midair.
Aurora saw it close the curtains behind them. Her breathing quickened, and she could hear her own heartbeat racing like wild drums.
She peeked and saw silhouettes advance toward her bed.
“Dammit. Where is she?”
She knew that voice—old Viola Edwards from the Council.
“I say let’s go back and ch
eck Rupert’s room. The bitch was probably warming his bed.”
Another Councilman—Lork Tadar this time.
“Careful that her father doesn’t hear you speak of her that way, Lork. He was clear that, while she’s the best way to get through to Rupert, unless we find the princess, she isn’t to be harmed or disrespected. He doesn’t have any spare children. Aurora Stephenson will be heir to the throne once Rupert cracks.”
Her bones froze. So, her father was involved and it was some sort of a coup. She couldn’t really pretend to be that surprised.
Aurora’s attention was called away silently as the machine lit up twice next to her, its eyes flashing dimly.
Catching on, Aurora advanced toward the edge of the balcony and cursed. Oh God, was she really doing this? She was on the second floor. The fall might not kill her, but it certainly could make her break a leg. Or two.
She put one leg up and pulled herself on top of the balustrade, her heart in her throat.
She’s the best way to get through to Rupert, they’d said, and they were right. If they threatened her, there was a good chance he’d cave and do whatever they wanted him to do. It was just a matter of time before they’d think to check outside.
She crouched and reached out to attempt to grab the closest pipe.
The robot’s metallic arm met hers, securing it in its grasp. She exhaled in relief. Looked like it didn’t expect her to get herself out of this mess alone. It then held out its second arm, and catching its meaning, Aurora grabbed it.
The machine proceeded to pull her up and float toward the ground. She couldn’t say it had been a comfortable experience at all. Her arms seriously hurt. But it didn’t last long. Soon her feet hit the ground. Plus, she didn’t break her neck. There was that.
“There she is!” someone yelled from upstairs.
Aurora turned to her machine. “What now?”
“Now,” it said, “would be a good time to run.”
She hated jogging. Hated it. Always had, always fucking would. For one, her boobs were too big to attempt that sort of torture without a bra designed like heavy armor. When Aurora felt it necessary to exercise, it was by doing yoga or Zumba. Jogging was for masochists.