Wicked Crown (Shattered Kingdom Book 2)

by Angelina J. Steffort

  Nehelon was beside her in an instant as was Brax, both of them shielding her from the rest of the guards who were now coming closer, their focus on the sword Brax tossed at her rather than her breasts.

  Gandrett caught it with one hand then tucked it under her arms and reached down to tie the two sides of her tunic together, leaving her with a bare sliver of skin above the waistband of her pants and a revealing cleavage—still better than fighting nude.

  “You sent the wind?” she said, out of breath, to Nehelon.

  The latter nodded, a bit awkward as he looked her over as if scanning for injuries, eyes stopping by her waist where Gandrett noticed blood that seemed to be seeping from her skin where a thin cut spread just over her hip. She must have cut herself on the guard’s sword when she had broken free. But she didn’t feel the pain—not yet. It would set in later if they made it out of here alive. And if they didn’t … then that little cut would be the least of her problems.

  “I’ll take care of that later,” Nehelon said and pursed his lips, his attention already drifting back to the guards who were now closing in. Gandrett had grasped the sword again, lifting her free hand at the men in Brenheran burgundy uniforms, and readied herself to unleash her magic.

  It had taken him everything to send that gust of air toward her. A sign that he was ready. That, if she still had access to her magic, it was time to use it. Now that she had freed herself in an acrobatic spin that made him wonder if he had underestimated what she was capable of, he found her tying up the front of her torn tunic in an attempt to cover up what was not meant to be seen by any man since she was still a Child of Vala—even if he had his doubts about what she thought about that particular topic.

  Right now, the help of any goddess would be a blessing—especially as he noticed the scratch that ran around her exposed waist right above her belt and vanished under her tunic at the bottom of her ribs.

  “You sent the wind?” she wanted to know even though it sounded more like voicing an assumption rather than a real question.

  He just nodded, fighting the impulse to grab her and run, to take her far, far away from here where he could heal her wounds and hide her from Raynar and his evil-doings. “I’ll take care of this later,” he managed to say and held back all the questions over whether the injury hurt or if she could fight, if there were other wounds that he hadn’t noticed yet. If more of the blood staining her clothes was her own, originating from cuts hidden beneath her tunic … he couldn’t allow himself to think about it, or he would not be able to start that attack that would surely lead to more pain.

  Instead, he seized up the guards, averting his gaze from Gandrett’s blood, and shifted his focus on the guards that didn’t seem to want to stay dead. He remembered that, too, from the battles in the Ulfrayan forests where they had cut men down and beheaded them, one after the other, losing too many of their own and of their allies. They meaning Nehelon, his brother, and every Fae who had been able to wield either sword or magic. As for their allies … more humans had been gifted with magic back then—a lot more than these days—making them stronger and more durable on the battlefield. But they had died along with Fae and those the Dragon King had managed to turn to his side and put under his spell. A spell he recognized by the way those men were reluctant to stay down until their heads were a good distance away from the rest of their body.

  So Nehelon swung his sword in his hand, assessing the wards as he let his magic search the room for loopholes so he could utilize his magic better. But it was still like wading in mud, Raynar’s powers concealed in the thickest of tendrils of magic that were constantly changing their pattern as they weaved themselves through the room.

  The Dragon King, however, had sat back on his throne, ankle crossed over a knee, and was watching with delight how his guards were encircling the three intruders in the center of the room.

  “You are aware that this won’t end well for either of you,” he announced with a bored tone and flicked his hand at the guards who had been tasked with taking Gandrett to the tower. “Grab her and take her to the tower,” he ordered, the air vibrating with power.

  And while the one guard took a step closer, Kyle remained where he was, his sword still clutched where Gandrett had refrained from taking it, his brown eyes full of conflict.

  The loyal guard wasn’t beyond saving, Nehelon realized with a flicker of relief, one out of over twenty who had been corrupted by Raynar’s power. He had seen armies fall under his spell, and rarely had anyone been able to escape. Kyle’s eyes were clear enough to know that there was hope for the man. And if there was something he had learned during those final battles in Ulfray, it was that every man counted. Every single person, Fae or human, woman or man—one single individual could make a change in the end. So he gave Kyle a look, waiting for the man’s understanding to brighten his gaze as he realized that he had a choice. He could fight alongside his chancellor and commander even when the glamour had broken and Kyle’s fear from Nehelon’s Fae form tinged the air. Or he could die alongside his fellow guards who would not leave this room in one piece.

  A terse nod was all the sign he got of the decision Kyle made. So Nehelon turned to Raynar and fashioned his least bothered grin. “Nothing ever ends well for me,” he mocked and took one step closer toward Gandrett, who was standing dangerously close to the guard whose grasp she’d escaped mere moments ago.

  Her hand was raised, her magic leaking from her palm as slowly as his own had when he had caressed her face with the warm breeze.

  “Save your strength, girl.” Raynar studied her with cruel amusement. “Your magic will do little to protect you.” The guards closed in as the Dragon King leaned back and played with the cufflinks on his jacket. “Even your Fae prince can do little to protect you.”

  Nehelon had raised his hand, sword ready to cut the throat of the guard one long stride away from Gandrett, who had gone white as chalk—

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “What agreement?” Armand figured it was better to ask the Prince of Phornes rather than guess. “What is going on?”

  Taghi, however, didn’t bother with a glance back as he stepped toward Isylte, his scythe still ready to hook into the woman’s guts even if Armand doubted that either Lady Isylte or Selloue would have problems defending themselves after what he’d seen Selloue do. And with those chalk-marks … they were basically untouchable while they remained on the drawings.

  “When I heard the rumors about the Shygon cult—” Taghi’s eyes were on Isylte as he took another step forward. “Well, it is safe to say it is more than rumors, am I right, Lord Armand?” He glanced sideways at Armand, eyes black as the shadows where Addie’s motionless body was still out of reach. “So while you were all busy celebrating the solstice and plotting the rise of the King of Sives, I made sure my own kingdom will be protected when things go to shit here … which they have, haven’t they?”

  Armand wasn’t sure what he should focus on, the boiling rage that filled his chest as Taghi stated his betrayal or that Selloue got closer and closer to Addie, the tip of her sword almost touching the girl’s skin as she watched the scene with mild interest.

  Armand decided for the former. If nothing else, it bought them time to drag out the conversation. As long as Selloue had something to watch, she wouldn’t drive that knife into Addie’s back.

  “You betrayed us,” Armand hissed, letting the rage surface in his voice.

  Taghi merely shrugged. “I took care of my people while the rest of you were so absorbed with the future of Sives that you hardly noticed that the Shygon cult had rooted under this very roof.”

  Armand’s sword hand itched to stab in Taghi’s direction … but not yet. Not quite yet. Not while Addie was still in danger.

  “What did you do, Taghi?” Armand didn’t bother with the prince’s title. If he was a traitor, he was one whether he addressed him politely or not, so—

  It was Isylte who responded, having observed their little fight with ch
ildlike amusement—until now. She gestured at Taghi with the knife in her hand and said, “You may have a deal with His Majesty. That doesn’t apply to the vessel though.” Her eyes slid to Addie then Armand and back to Taghi. “You are free to go, Prince.” She inclined her head. “But I’m afraid this doesn’t apply for the Lord of Eedwood … or the girl.”

  Armand watched the exchange of words but couldn’t believe his ears. What on earth had Taghi done?

  “Do you want to tell him or should I?” Isylte said to Taghi, all the arrogance of higher nobility in her words—as if he was scum.

  Taghi shrugged. “Had Brax Brenheran been a little more inviting to discuss the issues pushing on the north, I may have considered working with the Brenheran family to prevent this.” He didn’t seem to mind the purest fury slowly spreading on Armand’s features or the tip of the sword that was now twitching as he had problems holding back that blow that was itching in his arm.

  Traitor.

  “But you must see, Lord Armand, that Sives may have been beyond saving even before the solstice, so I took the liberty of making a deal.” Taghi eyed him with those black orbs which seemed not fully convincing as he proclaimed the nature of the deal. “Phornes remains under the rule of House Saza Brina, and my people remain unharmed.”

  “And the price, Taghi,” Armand pushed, voice shaky with anger. “What did you promise in exchange?”

  Isylte laughed a bell-like laugh that was even creepier than her wicked smile. “In exchange, he makes sure to take the only true heir to the lordships of Sives able to bear children off His Majesty’s hands so there will never be a rightful King or Queen of Sives again.”

  Armand’s heart plunged into his knees. Mckenzie. He had not once considered what her role was in all of this. What would become of her when the Dragon King ruled again … and Brax.

  “Where is she?” he barked. She sure hadn’t been in the great hall, or they would have heard her or Lady Crystal. Gods, if anything happened to them—

  He couldn’t even imagine what Joshua would say if he failed to protect the rest of his family—now that he no longer could do it himself.

  “Let’s say she will no longer be a problem in this court,” Taghi responded with an unreadable face.

  And it was all Armand could do to keep himself in place and not leap at the Phornian prince and run him through with a sword.

  “I hope you didn’t kill her, or I swear to Vala—”

  Taghi cut him off with a dark chuckle. “There was no reason to kill Mckenzie Brenheran when her mother was so eager to marry her off.”

  Armand felt his jaw drop.

  “And don’t swear to Vala. Your goddess no longer holds any sway in these lands. They belong to Shygon now”—he leaned closer as if sharing a secret—“as you may have noticed.”

  With those words, he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving Armand alone with the two armed women—and the raven-haired girl whose still-beating heart was the only reason he had come up here, to begin with.

  Armand swallowed the urge to run after the prince and shove him down the stairs for his betrayal. Even if it would have made him feel so much better. Addie was still there, mere inches away from steel that could cut her open once more. The blood that was still dripping from her arm indicated that if she didn’t die from another attack with a blade, it would be the bloodlessness that would pull her down under.

  He needed to do something about it or it would be too late and Raynar himself would come up here doing gods knew what with her to finish the process.

  How much time had he wasted up here trying to get closer to Isylte and Selloue thinking he was outsmarting them by weaving them into a conversation … by learning something about what was actually going on. And all the while, it had been Taghi misleading him. Making him wait instead of interfering even back at the great hall. He should have stayed there, focused his effort on the Dragon King himself. That way, Addie’s chances might have been higher to get out of this alive. Maybe they would have even stood a chance if they united their strength—

  Right now, all he knew was that Addie was dying and that the Phornian Prince had apparently found an agreement with Lady Crystal to take Mckenzie Brenheran as his wife—and far away from Ackwood. At least there was one good thing about this: she was in no immediate danger of the Dragon King if she went to a territory that had an agreement with a vile creature like that. But how long would the Dragon King hold up his end of the bargain? How long until he would sweep over Phornes with his claws of ice and eliminate the Saza Brina royals as well?

  Isylte was studying him as his mind went wild with potential directions this could go, how he tried to balance fear of the possible horrors of the future with the dread of the immediate threat that was Addie’s fading life-force. “You cannot save either of them,” she told him with a gaze that had lost all amusement. “There must be sacrifices, or the god of dragons won’t look upon us kindly.”

  Armand had been so busy with Taghi and now Isylte that he only now noticed how Selloue had bent down and drawn more chalk marks on the floor so that the entire cot was surrounded with small, white swirls of runes that Armand hoped weren’t a killing spell.

  A second later, he wished he had just ignored everything and launched for Addie even if he would have certainly died—either by Selloue’s sword or the runes on the floor. At least, he would have died holding her hand. But the cot was gone and Addie with it, as were the two women, leaving behind the summer breeze streaming in through the window and chasing away the icy air, the chalk marks and Addie’s blood the only sign anyone had been here a moment ago.

  “Save your strength, girl. Your magic will do little to protect you. Even your Fae prince can do little to protect you.”

  The cold didn’t bother Gandrett much. Neither did the circle of men surrounding them. She had counted earlier. Over twenty. Each of them already slain several times and none of them staying down. What was it that the Dragon King used that could keep those guards alive even when their hearts should have stopped beating minutes ago? What sort of horrible power ran in Raynar Leyon’s veins?

  No—neither of those things sent shivers down her spine. The words of the Dragon King were what had let the blood drain from her face. And she didn’t mean the threat but what he had said about Nehelon.

  Fae prince.

  She knew better than to turn to the side and check for what was written on Nehelon’s features. There hardly ever was anything written there—at least not the kind of expressions that clarified anything. So instead of turning to him for explanation, she turned to face Raynar, bracing herself for whatever the Dragon King was about to rain down on her while letting her magic trickle into the world.

  From Joshua’s face, Raynar Leyon laughed an icy laugh that was only topped by the sinking temperature in the room. Gandrett shivered but didn’t let one of them see that she was coming to her limits. That the fighting and whatever the Dragon King had done to her had taken their toll on her body. But she stared him down, battling the exhaustion, letting the approaching guard who was almost within her sword’s reach take that last damned step, ready to cut off his hand this time if he attacked.

  “You didn’t know,” Raynar assumed correctly, resting his head against the carved wood of the makeshift throne, and shifted his glance to Nehelon, who growled a warning. “You never told her, Prince.”

  Gandrett fought hard not to turn her head, not to demand someone tell her what was going on. Why Raynar was calling Nehelon Prince … and she didn’t get the chance. So fast she didn’t see it coming, the guard who had held her up together with Kyle darted for her, his sword coming close to her shoulder.

  Too close.

  Nehelon’s blade caught it an inch from her arm and wheeled the man around with a kick of his boot into the guard’s side. Before anyone else could react, Nehelon brought his sword down on the man’s neck and cut off his head in one clean blow. Gandrett’s stomach churned as blood sprayed all over the Fae’s h
ands until there wasn’t enough pressure for more than a trickle, and the beating of the dying heart stopped.

  Nehelon eyed her over the incomplete body before him, face unreadable.

  When she was able to focus on anything else but the bloodied hands that had saved her, she felt Brax’s fingers curling around her upper arm, tugging her out of reach of Kyle, who had stepped within reach as if he was going to be the next one to attack.

  But his eyes told Gandrett that that wasn’t what he had in mind. Nehelon must have realized it too, for he didn’t interfere when Kyle took the place on Gandrett’s other side and raised his sword before his chest, ready to fight alongside them.

  On the dais, Raynar shifted on his throne and barked an order to attack, the smirk suddenly wiped off his face, and when Gandrett took another moment to study the Dragon King, she realized that she had found the one thing he was afraid of in this room—

  So Gandrett turned her back to the king, Nehelon already stepping close enough to her that any guard would have to cut him down first before they got to her, and said in a voice that defied the cold and the pain and the fear of speaking for the last time, “Who else is ready to return to the right side like my friend here?” She gestured at Kyle, whose face turned feral as he glanced up at Raynar, who had bent him to his will.

  Not unsurprisingly, Nehelon scolded her with a glance that was even more intimidating on his glamour-free Fae face. But Gandrett ignored him. Ignored Brax’s fingers tightening around her arm—a silent order to shut up. But she wasn’t done yet. The Dragon King had stated that he still needed to complete some ritual. That meant he might not yet be at his full strength and the mind control, however it worked, wasn’t unbreakable yet. Kyle having broken it and being ready to fight beside her was living proof it was possible. What if there were more?