Wicked Crown (Shattered Kingdom Book 2)

by Angelina J. Steffort

  When Joshua crossed the gardens, he noted that the tents were ready for tonight’s event. Garlands of roses had been strung around the pillars that held the gossamer in place. And everywhere were small fountains, little nooks for people to converse in privacy. As he spotted two servants taking a rest in one of the small spaces, he looked the other way and turned into the white-graveled walkway to the main building. Midsummer Solstice was in honor of the goddess of love, and that was true for anyone, noble or servant, king or merchant, farmer or blacksmith.

  The nervous buzz of tense voices filled the air before he stepped into the hallway. He ducked past two men carrying a long bench, drawing in a deep breath to shed the dark thoughts that he had intended to leave up there on the windowsill in the spire before he strode over the threshold, giving a brief gaze of acknowledgment at the guards on each side.

  As he entered the hallway, more guards were surrounding two people Joshua couldn’t make out as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside the building. What he could certainly see was that there were swords drawn, and one of the people in the center was wearing a dress.

  “There he is,” Armand Denderlain’s voice drifted through the hall. “Why don’t you ask him if he invited me?”

  Joshua picked up his pace and ordered his guards to stand down. Armand had come. His ally in the east. His cousin.

  One of the guards—Kyle, Joshua recognized as his eyes were able to see normal, one of the men who served the chancellor—took a protective stance by his side, hand on his sword and his tan face tight as he assessed the situation.

  “It’s all right,” Joshua reassured the palace guards. “He is here at my invitation.”

  His men glanced at him as if they were worried the Lord of Eedwood would pull his sword any moment and grab him to return him to where he had escaped from.

  Armand gave him an apologetic look, and beside him—

  “Stand down,” he ordered again, his tone sharp this time.

  His guards stepped back, their eyes never releasing the two sentries Armand had brought or the Lord of Eedwood himself, and freeing the line of sight toward Armand’s company, who, in a simple, gray gown with her raven hair flowing to her waist, was almost unrecognizable.

  “Addie?” He felt her name slip from his tongue and couldn’t believe that the girl who had tended to him in Eedwood, clad in rags, face and hair dirty and grimy, was looking like an actual woman.

  Armand held out his hand, and she placed hers in his, her movements not far off from the women in Ackwood palace, and together, they stepped toward him, meeting him half-way down the hallway.

  “Good to see you again, Prince,” Armand said by way of greeting and bowed before he opened his arms, and Joshua didn’t hesitate to embrace his cousin—his future chancellor once he ascended to his throne.

  It was like a missing piece of him came back to life as he greeted the man with whom he had so carefully planned the future of Sives—a Sives of peace. “Thank the gods you’re here,” he laughed as he let go of the Lord of Eedwood. “And Addie…” He tried to find the words that would fit, but all he could do was incline his head and wonder if the woman in front of him was the same servant—slave—girl whom they had carried from the hidden corridors under Eedwood Castle, carved up and unconscious. But her eyes—bright blue as the winter sky, they were the same as when he had last looked into them.

  “I never thanked you,” he said for lack of anything else to say.

  Addie dismissed his words with a half-smile and curtsied a bit clumsily. “It was an honor to serve you, Prince.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  In the tall halls of Ackwood palace, Addie, in her gray, lace-trimmed gown, felt about as significant as a worm. She had long given up on trying to memorize the path that Joshua was personally leading them up and up on the levels of the main building. While Eedwood Castle had been a mere square with towers in every corner and a yard in the center, Ackwood was—

  Well, she couldn’t exactly tell what it was other than breathtaking, and not in the good sense. Since the moment those huge gates had opened above the water to let them into the city, looked upon by the sentries high up like common travelers—which she was, but Armand was a Lord—Addie hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of never finding her way out again. The streets, winding through the capital of the west—soon the capital of all of Sives—were diverse, crooked, interesting in every way she could have imagined and beyond. The smells of the open shops, all of them preparing for the Solstice with colorful arrangements of flowers and tables and benches set on the sidewalks, all of it made her wonder if there could be anything more intriguing, more lively, more colorful—

  Until she had entered the palace, and she had seen the stained glass windows and the burgundy and gold that wove its way throughout the angled corridors.

  “We’re almost there,” Joshua announced as he guided them to the far end of a corridor, which had to be on the fourth floor. A peek out a window as they passed informed her that the view was on the gardens, and she marveled at the white tents that seemed to be glowing in the morning light.

  Armand had thanked Joshua for the invitation and had frowned as he had informed him that Lord Hamyn had declined the invitation. Joshua didn’t seem to mind. From the moment he had commanded his guards to stand down and had greeted the Lord of Eedwood with such cordial welcome, Addie had known that he probably had a similar opinion about it as Armand.

  Now, as he ushered them into the guest suite, Addie wondered what the prince was thinking as his emerald eyes followed her around the bedroom. One bedroom. With one big bed.

  “It’s not as big as your chambers in Eedwood”—he shrugged—“but I have been told that this one has the best view.” He strode to the windows and pulled away the curtains on both sides of the corner, presenting them with the sight of the outer areas of the city, forests, and the Ackpenesor delta which led into the Glistening Blue.

  Addie joined him, her eyes eager to see every last detail of the wondrous place Armand had taken her. Beside her, Joshua chuckled. “I guess they were right.”

  When Addie eyed him from the side, she was glad to see that he looked better than the last time she had seen him. There were still dark shadows under his eyes as if he didn’t sleep enough, but apart from that, he looked strong, healthy—with his burgundy jacket and golden-brown hair, like the rightful heir of this palace.

  The sound of footsteps approaching and a knock on the door disturbed Addie’s observation.

  “Apologies,” the man at the door bowed to Joshua, who asked for the reason for the disturbance. “More guests have arrived. Your father awaits you in the great hall to greet them.”

  Joshua pursed his lips and reluctantly followed the messenger out the door with a promise to be back as soon as he was done with the formalities. “I want my father to meet my future chancellor,” he said before he left, and Armand smiled broadly at the reminder of the promise.

  Addie, however, turned her attention back to the windows, ignoring that Armand hadn’t pointed out to Joshua that he had made the wrong assumption by putting them in a room together.

  When Armand joined her, admiring the view, she couldn’t help but wonder if he had even noticed that there was only one giant bed in the room.

  “He seems better,” Armand said with the same face he always wore when he talked about the future of Sives.

  Addie nodded and rested her hands on the windowsill, ignoring the urge to watch the sunlight dance in the honey-gold eyes of the young lord.

  He saved her the effort as he strode back toward the door in time to direct incoming servants where to place their luggage and immediately opened one trunk to rummage through it as if he was searching for something. Addie had turned to see how the last trunk was brought in.

  “Where should I put this, milord?” the man asked, and Armand pointed at the place by the foot of the bed … and, for the first time since they had entered the room, seemed to notice that it was
the only one in the room.

  When the servant left again, Addie strode to the coffee table and sat on a carved, wooden chair. “Don’t worry,” she said, voice flat despite her forced smile, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  Armand raised his eyebrows as if she had just made a bad joke and strode over to close the door, making the single room even more uncomfortably intimate than it already was.

  “It’s Midsummer Solstice,” he said with a crooked smile. “You won’t sleep at all.” He returned and took her hand without hesitating for even a heartbeat. A friend, taking another friend’s hand, inviting them to dance. “Have you ever celebrated the Solstice, Addie?” A rhetorical question. He pulled her forward and locked his other hand around her waist. “It’s the fest of Nyssa. The goddess of love looks kindly upon us for one night while we dine and dance and celebrate the joy of life.”

  Addie didn’t dare object as Armand spun her around in a circle, a joyful, leaping movement that eventually coaxed a laugh from her.

  “And if you do insist on sleeping, by all means, take the bed. The rest of the palace—including me—will be up until way past sunrise.”

  Something in his words made Addie wish she had slept more. The journey and the words of warning of the Shygon worshipper hadn’t let her rest well. But that had only been part of it. She was going to spend Midsummer Solstice at the court of her future king. It was enough to make her hands tremble.

  “We have a couple of hours before the celebrations start.” Armand clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “How would you like to explore this palace for a bit?” He gave her a wide smile. “But first”—he glanced at the door leading to an adjacent bathing chamber—“let’s freshen up a bit. I smell like days’ worth of travel.”

  Addie chuckled as she opened the lid of the trunk, ready to unpack their things, eyes still on Armand. “That might be because you have been traveling for days.”

  Her chuckle stopped dead at the face he made when she flipped open the lid, her heart automatically beginning a wild thud in her throat.

  “What’s wrong, Armand?” She remained half-bent over the trunk that he had been searching before, watching his tight face.

  “I brought some keepsakes from Linniue’s chambers for Joshua,” he said with a voice heavier than even when he returned from the pointless discussions with his father.

  Addie browsed through her memory. The afternoon they had cleaned out the lady’s room, she had been so busy, stealing hidden peeks at the young lord while she was trying to forget what had happened in those chambers with Linniue and her knife, that she had only half paid attention to their task. “What keepsakes?” She didn’t dare look down and find out for herself.

  “A piece of jewelry that might be familiar from some paintings?” His mouth quirked at one side. Not an actual smile but something crooked that hid whatever real emotion lay beneath.

  She was still staring at him, hand on the lid, when he strode over and reached into the depths of the open trunk to pull out a velvet-wrapped bundle about the size of a head.

  “I found it in Linniue’s room the first time I went there after … the incident.” He gently pushed the lid shut, making Addie’s hand slide into thin air, and sat on the trunk, gesturing for her to sit with his free hand, those hazel eyes full of shadows and anticipation. “I grew up hearing the stories about the last Dragon King and his beast … knew that he had been residing under my castle a thousand years ago, that he had started his reign of terror from there.” Armand wrapped both hands around the object concealed by the layer of Denderlain blue fabric, lips a thin line as he searched for words. “The legend says that when the Dragon King slew the King of Sives, he took his head, crown and all, as a trophy and kept it in his chambers at Eedwood Castle.” A sideways glance slid toward Addie, whose stomach was throwing wild, nervous tantrums as it dawned on her what he must be holding in his lap. “They were stories, and I didn’t truly believe it was true until that day in Linniue’s rooms when I found it.” His chest expanded with a deep breath as he removed the cloth and said, “I didn’t tell anyone I found it … not even you. I don’t know why.”

  Addie felt his gaze on her—an apology maybe, or an explanation, but she couldn’t bring herself to look and read his face for what he was holding in one hand. Polished and gleaming in the morning light, as if it had come directly from the forge, was the lost crown of Sives.

  Nehelon had burned the body. It was all he had been able to think of doing as he’d noticed Gandrett crumble. Gods, she had hurled up her guts at the sight of the remains of the Shygon ritual.

  For him, it hadn’t been the first time to see something that barbaric. It was exactly the same as the last time, even with centuries past. Only this time, she was with him. Human and breakable despite her undeniable skills with the sword and the magic power that was now slumbering somewhere within that lovely chest.

  “I’m not in the mood,” Gandrett growled as he told her that they would be arriving in Ackwood the day of Midsummer Solstice. After a day of silence, her hands taking turns holding onto his arms or his chest as they rode together on Alvi, her touch had become a comforting weight that he convinced himself was necessary for her safety. Also, her reluctance to speak and the sensation it evoked in his stomach had become a new normal as they both kept their eyes on the horizon, screening for more smoke or fires.

  The gods were merciful, sparing them another encounter like the one that had made Gandrett throw up. Something about the way she eyed him whenever he handed her a waterskin or how she wouldn’t object or give him shit when he ordered her around made him worry. Not the kind of worry he had felt when he had known in how much danger she was at Eedwood and couldn’t help, but a different worry that made the centuries of experience at battles and disguise seem like a useless tool in his arsenal.

  It was as if a light had gone out in her eyes. When before she had raged at him, cried, or unleashed her magic on him, now there was nothing. Just cautious emptiness.

  He leaned back against the tree as he held watch while she slept. Finally, after she had been tossing for hours, she had found oblivion in her sleep of exhaustion.

  The sounds of the night were louder than usual in his Fae ears as he studied her features in the moonlight. He hadn’t made a fire for them this night. The air was warm, almost too warm for the Solstice, and without the fire, her scent would be stronger, purer in the open space where they had made camp. After weeks in the clearing, sleeping in the same tent, her scent had become the blanket that had put him to rest each night, and he had awoken with more life in his immortal bones than he had for over a hundred years.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After two long days of sharing a horse with Nehelon, Gandrett was tired to her bones and didn’t feel even half-herself as they reached the buzzing city of Ackwood. With what had happened by the riverbank, a weight had started pressing on her—the weight of no longer knowing whether she had what it took to hunt down that cult if she couldn’t even stomach looking at their crimes.

  Cheek resting between Nehelon’s shoulder blades, she took a deep, deep breath then exhaled the scent that had been sneaking its way into her nose, her mind, her entire being, over the past two days of riding with her arms wrapped around his chest, and tried to shut out the doubts. At first, she had been cautious, touching him as little as necessary. But then, after she had vomited her breakfast into the grass by the river, unable to take a second look at the dead body the Fae male before her had fished out of the water, strength to keep that distance had failed her, and she had slumped against him the moment he had pulled her onto Alvi’s back, the flames of the burning corpse a faint play of color as she buried her face in his back—and his scent had hit her, lulled her into a trancelike state that had let the horror of the Shygon cult slide into the back of her consciousness for a while.

  And Nehelon—he hadn’t complained. He hadn’t asked questions or pushed her for anything other than that she kept strong so they w
ould make it to Ackwood before the solstice. He hadn’t reprimanded her for not speaking or pried on her silence, and when he had inquired about her needs, she had given clipped answers, just enough to communicate when she needed rest or to relieve herself—she was almost certain that even if she would never speak a word again, he would stop when she needed to pee and pull out the waterskin when she was thirsty. His face, well glamoured and glazed but somehow different, had studied her from beside the bedroll which he had insisted she take the two nights since they had left the clearing, and she hadn’t done a thing to hide what the memory of the sacrificed man did to her.

  Addie was who she had been thinking about, for the most part—that was what would have happened to Addie if she hadn’t found her with Armand back in Eedwood Castle. That was what had happened to many others who had been slaughtered to beseech the god of dragons for his powers.

  Her stomach lurched again at the thought, and she let her fingers tighten on Nehelon’s leathers. If he noticed, he didn’t show. He hadn’t for the past days, quiet and, surprisingly, failing to annoy her.

  As Gandrett inhaled his scent again, a temporary state of peace settled inside her mind, and she watched the people on the streets go about their business, some of them already dancing despite the early hour of the afternoon.

  Midsummer Solstice. Gandrett quietly wondered if Nehelon would release his Fae temper on her if she refused to join the celebrations or if he would agree to let her sneak into the palace in a hooded cloak and hide in her room until the spectacle was over. Maybe if she told him that she had more than one reason to want to be alone. His scent ran through her as if in response, and she closed her eyes, shutting out the voices, the colors until sweet darkness was all there was in her mind, and the sway of Alvi’s back became like a boat on a sea.