Seize the Crown

by Gemma Perfect

  “Anyway, we had some help then, to get Lanorie out. But then she was caught again.”

  “Who helped you?”

  I look at Archer. He’ll be upset to think his friends thought he was dead but pleased to know they helped us. I think. I do not know him as well as I would like to. Not yet.

  “We had two very capable helpers.”

  “That’s good. We’ve been so worried about you.”

  “It was your friends, Archer, they came looking for you when you didn’t go home. Weaver and Ceryn.”

  “Weaver and Ceryn? Really? Are they alright? Do they think I’m...”

  He trails off as tears fill his eyes. I wipe them away with my fingers. “They’ll be so happy you’re alive.” Especially Ceryn, I can’t help but think. Ceryn has told me she is in love with Archer. Will this still stand? Probably more so now he’s back from the dead. I know that’s how I’m feeling.

  Like I won’t ever let him out of my sight in case I lose him again.

  4

  ONCE THE VERY PUBLIC dining is over, Della and Addyson go to her room and Will slips off to his. Weaver agrees to leave them alone, if they bolt the room from the inside. Before they do, Della orders provisions, which Cook brings herself. “Darling girl!”

  She showers them with food and drink and exclamations of all sorts before going quiet. “Can I ask you something, your highness?”

  Addyson nods.

  Cook takes a big breath as though steadying herself. “Lanorie?”

  Della holds onto Addyson’s hand, reaching out her other hand to Cook and answering on Addyson’s behalf. “The King murdered her. I’m so sorry. I take it you were close?”

  “Well I hadn’t seen her for a bit, since she’d been in the tower. I was hoping she was alright. She was like a daughter to me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  She leaves the room, grief evident in the set of her body as she walks away.

  Della bolts the door, and puts another log on the fire.

  “Listen little one, there are too many bad thoughts and bad deeds going on and you are only young. Let’s think of only lovely things tonight.”

  Della hands Addyson a tiny cake and brushes her hair for a long time before plaiting it gently, talking of her life and Finn’s, filling the room with her soft, melodious voice.

  WEAVER DOESN’T WANT to leave Addyson alone but doesn’t want to babysit a little girl either. He needs to be of use, and with Millard missing in action he’s not sure she’s in that much danger.

  Either Millard has been taken to whoever has Everleigh or whoever has Everleigh doesn’t know Millard has gone from the castle and they’ll bring her back to him.

  He’s well-armed and able to fight and so heads to Millard’s rooms.

  He can wait.

  WILL NEEDS TO BE ON his own. Since waking up in Ginata’s work room he’s not had a minute alone. He curls up on his bed and cries. Lanorie is dead – he can remember Millard taking her now, and Everleigh is missing because he didn’t look after her.

  No one would understand the guilt he’s feeling. He has always looked after Everleigh, been her best friend, her silly fool in the making. Needing to make her laugh, make her happy. He loves her. She’s a sister to him and after all she’s been through since she learned that she would live, he lost her.

  He was in charge of the most precious thing, his Kingmaker, his Queen, and he let her get away. He cannot remember running or being hit, he can remember the noose around his neck when Millard threatened to hang him to draw Everleigh out of hiding, but nothing more.

  How could he have let someone take her? Why didn’t he keep her safe? And if she’s alive, if they find her, will she ever forgive him?

  CERYN SHAKES HER HEAD. Finn is not Weaver. When she’s with Weaver, and when Archer was alive, they just knew what the other was thinking. They worked together, and bounced off each other. Basically, with Finn, she is telling him what to do, where to go, where to look, to be quiet, to be careful. She would be quicker and more efficient searching on her own.

  Ginata is even more useless than Finn, and that’s really saying something.

  Impatience taking over she sends them back to the castle. The look of relief on both their faces is palpable and Ceryn grins as she rides away from them.

  GINATA CLIMBS SILENTLY onto the back of Finn’s horse, holding loosely on to his waist. She has the sickest feeling in her stomach and no way of knowing how to fix it.

  Finn rides quickly back to the castle, he will be glad to have some ale and a rest in front of the fire.

  ARCHER IS STILL VISIBLY upset. “I know how you felt now, when we pretended to send your body off the island. You didn’t want your sister to think you were dead. My friends must be...” He trails off and Everleigh finishes for him. “Heart broken, traumatised, unable to get through the day.”

  Archer can’t help but grin. “Hopefully. I mean I don’t like to think of them being sad, but I’d like to know my death meant something.”

  “You goose, you’re alive.”

  “Yes, but they thought I was dead.”

  She wonders whether she should tell him about Ceryn, but thinks better of it. If she still loves him then she can tell him. Everleigh just hopes it doesn’t make him rethink his feelings for her. She stares at him then, his shock of red hair, calm blue eyes, so handsome. She can only hope that he doesn’t want Ceryn, or anyone else.

  “Tell me about them. I mean I know them a little bit. Ceryn is spiky but nice and Weaver seems lovely. And they helped me set Lanorie free.”

  Archer shifts and groans in pain.

  “You need more pain relief,” the teacher says, reaching for something off the floor. A vial of green liquid. “Drink this.”

  Archer does as he is told without question and then turns back to Everleigh.

  “Well, they are my two best friends in the whole world. Ceryn is spiky. She’s got good reason though.”

  “I’ve seen her mark.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, she showed us all.”

  “Who’s us all?”

  “Me, Will, Addyson, Ginata and her old neighbours, Della and Finn.”

  “Wow. She never takes that mask off.”

  “Well, she does now. Indoors anyway.”

  “That’s good to hear. I think she needs to know that people will accept her.”

  Archer is silent for a minute and then grins. “So, anyway. Ceryn is spiky and you know why. Weaver is lovely. The nicest person you’ll ever meet. He’ll do anything for anyone and usually does.”

  “How do you know them?”

  “I met them in the village near where I live. I live in a nice house – or I did – thanks to Halfreda. She knew a family who needed a squire to train up to be a knight and it was all I ever wanted to do. I worked in the stables and got to look after the horses, that was my main duty when I wasn’t training to fight. I took out my favourite horse one day – Ink – she’s mine now, and I met Weaver down at the river. He’d tripped and hurt himself. I helped him to get back home, and we laughed and talked the whole way. It was nice to talk with someone my age. We started meeting every week to fish down at the river. He would catch a hundred fish in an hour, or so it seemed. I would laugh and ask him why he didn’t throw them back in. But he told me that he took two fish home for him and his family and the rest he gives out to the villagers.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Ah, he is nice. I liked his idea and started helping him too. We would hunt as well and give out our spare meat or game. It was good. We came across Ceryn one afternoon while we were hunting. I shot a rabbit at the same time that she did and she was furious. Came at the two of us like a wild woman, mask covering her face, eyes shining with anger. We laughed at her and she got so mad, started ranting and raving at us, swearing like a soldier. I don’t even remember how we started talking, laughing, getting along. She was scary.”

  I remember the first time
we met. The way she screamed at me. Came at me on the path by Ginata’s little cottage. I’ve never been so scared of another person, especially not a girl. I didn’t feel the protection of being a princess that day. “She is pretty scary. She screamed at me too the first time she met me.”

  “Screamed at you? Why would she scream at you?”

  “She thought I got you killed.”

  “Right. Sorry. She is a frightening old thing when she’s mad.”

  “She is. But we’re fine now. Addyson loves her.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Addyson is the cursed princess, Ceryn’s got the devil’s mark.”

  “That’s not what it is.”

  “I know that. I know. But that’s what people call it.”

  “Yes, people are stupid.”

  “True. But they’ve bonded over it. They really seem to like each other.”

  “Well she doesn’t like many people.”

  “But you’re friends?”

  “Yes. Ceryn lived alone... I don’t know how much she’s told you, but if she’s showed you her mark... well, the man who looked after her when her parents threw her out died and so she lives in his house. Weaver only lives five minutes from her and I’m about ten minutes in the other direction. We spent all our time together. We would help in the village, if the King’s men were being idiots, or if someone needed help. It was good. I can’t wait to see them.”

  “I think they’ll feel the same. They’ll be as happy as I am that you’re alive. We should go to Ginata’s cottage. Someone will be there. You can eat properly, sleep in a comfy bed.”

  The teacher grins. “That sounds wonderful. I’m not made for sleeping outdoors. I’m not used to it.”

  “What about Millard? Won’t he wonder where you are? If Brett goes back to the castle without you?”

  “We’ll have to be careful. One of his men took Lanorie and then he killed her.”

  “I’m not up to fighting.” Archer stands up and lifts his top, showing Everleigh his wounds and bruises. She shakes her head; how he is not dead, she’ll never know.

  “He’s lucky to be alive. If I wasn’t so good...”

  Archer rolls his eyes. “At least that wasn’t a riddle. That was blatant big headedness.”

  The teacher bows and laughs. “I am not a big-headed man, but I know my capabilities. Aside from Halfreda, no one else in this Realm could have saved you. And that’s the truth.”

  Ginata

  AS SOON AS FINN PULLS the horse to a stop, I jump off without a word and run inside the castle to my rooms. I cannot stand the way I feel; like I need to escape from myself, which is impossible.

  I hate myself for what I have done and yet I want to comfort myself and excuse my actions, because after all, I am me.

  This must be what it is like to go mad; opposing viewpoints both coming from my own head. It makes no sense and I hate it.

  I pace the room, my lovely receiving room, filled with beautiful things, arranged by the King. This was a kind thing he did. He made my rooms lovely, he was generous to me, he spoiled me.

  And he kills people for fun.

  I know this.

  And so, I am back to arguing with myself.

  I walk through to my work room. I am lowered to this; taking one of my own potions, like some village idiot who cannot get through the week without the aid of some crutch or other.

  I feel poisonous.

  I find a flagon of ale on the table and a cleanish goblet. I drink the whole thing down and then pour another one.

  I cannot decide which potion I need the most. A cure for stupidity or the opposite of a love potion. I feel addled and it’s not like me.

  I have been alone a long time and that can be enough to send some people mad, but never me. I thrived on the peace. I had my little rituals, my daily habits and they were all good for me.

  I have common sense and intuition – though granted that’s not working now. I usually have a clever mind, a sharp mind.

  I have seen good looking men, but I have never kissed one before the King. I wasn’t one for a foolish dalliance or a quick fling. I was sure that as I grew older I would meet a man who met all my requirements.

  A hard-working man. A kind man. A funny man. A good-looking man. A fit man. A family man. A man who wanted me to be equal to him in things that mattered – where we lived, how many children we had, how we spent our money. I have always wanted a life partner, never a King.

  And never a match that made me feel unclean, unkind and so unlike myself.

  I find several potions that might help and take them through to my bedroom. I will choose a tonic and sleep my worries away, even though it is not yet dark. Maybe I will wake up and find that this horror was a dream and that I haven’t turned into a selfish woman after all.

  I sink onto the bed, clutching the vials to my chest. It’s such a lovely room. So pretty and so comfortable

  And it’s a payment from the devil.

  He is the devil. He is an evil man, a selfish man, a man who relishes in the hurt he can do to others. He kills if he wants to, he has the power and he abuses it, in the most disgusting, despicable way.

  None of this is alluring to me.

  And yet when his lips touched mine, instead of images of blood and guts filling my head, I saw stars and swirls. And instead of flinching from his touch I wanted to move towards him. And when I saw him vulnerable and hurt I had to help him.

  I couldn’t not.

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