The Captain of the Guard.
I’ve heard rumors about him. None of the whispers bode well for me.
“Should we advise the rest of the Council?” he asks Albright.
Lady Albright glances at me before turning back to the captain. “Captain Ravenoak, I have full authority with matters of this nature. I will speak with them later this evening. Lock her up and wait for further instructions.”
“Understood, My Lady.”
Ravenoak pulls a dagger from a sheath on his thick, leather belt. Pointing the weapon at me, a blue glow brightens and circles the blade, flowing around the edges like a snake made of pure energy. “This way.” He gestures with his other hand while his amber eyes pierce me with their intense gaze.
I don’t hesitate another heartbeat, and make my way toward a darkly lacquered wooden double door that stand at least ten feet tall. Two Royal Guards grab the large brass handles and, in perfect unison, pull them open. Inside is a regal lobby with ivory marble tiles spilling across the floor from the entrance and a wide staircase that fans out at the base. My eyes follow the long set of steps up to a grand second level, flanked by ornate redwood railings.
Leaning against the top railing, a beautiful blonde girl in a sleeveless silver dress watches me enter. White lace tendrils flutter from the sides of the gown, dancing with every slight movement she makes. The delicate lines and patterns on her Royal marking tattooed onto her upper arm give her away—Princess Thea. Her bright blue eyes brim with tears as she looks down at me. I turn away, not wanting to intrude as she grieves such a crushing loss. She probably thinks I have something to do with it too.
Ravenoak nudges me with his hand and I pick up the pace. A tall young man, with short brown hair and an eager expression, greets us at a second set of doors under the overhanging staircase. His broad shoulders fill out his uniform, one that’s similar to Ravenoak’s but lacks the marks of rank and decorative flare.
“Captain.” The boy stiffens and sets his hands firmly at his sides.
“At ease, Guard,” Ravenoak says.
The boy relaxes a bit, but his stance is still rigid. “Your orders, Captain?”
“Take this prisoner down to the holding cells.”
“Yes, Sir.” The young Guard shifts his brown eyes toward me and quickly grabs the gap between my cuffs, pulling the restraint. The metal digs into my wrists, pinching my skin. I wince and the boy notices. He lowers the restraints a bit, relieving the pressure.
“This way, please,” the young Guard insists.
The Captain returns the way we came, leaving me alone with the Guard. Silently, he guides me through the entryway and into a dimly lit corridor. Large canvas paintings cover the walls every few feet, depicting images of stuffy Queens and other people whom I don’t recognize. Everything about this castle is grand and more than a bit excessive: polished wood paneling, pristine plank flooring, thick crown molding, and a prevailing floral scent that nearly makes my nose wrinkle.
Our echoing footsteps grow louder the further we travel down the hallway. Eventually we reach a stone staircase with iron rails that leads down even deeper.
“I don’t deserve this,” I plead. “I did nothing wrong.”
The Guard turns to me but avoids my eyes. “I’m just following orders.”
“Your orders are dumb.” I snap my lips shut. It’s not something I should have said, but it’s true.
He huffs, nearly letting out a chuckle, but says nothing.
The farther we descend, the more I wish I wasn’t wearing the short sleeves required for the Transfer Ceremony. The hairs on my arms stand on end from the lowered temperature. The pleasant floral scent dissipates, replaced with a stale, musty smell.
We reach the bottom and head down a tunnel with a rounded stone ceiling lit by simple flickering light fixtures. Everything about this place sends a shiver down my spine. At the end of the tunnel, we reach a metal door with a small, barred window.
With his free hand, my escort places his palm on a dark panel at the door’s side. A soft blue glow halos below his hand from the panel and an unexpectedly loud clank sounds, making me flinch.
“Step back.”
He heaves the door open, revealing a narrow pathway. Separate cell doors line each side. Each one is metal, cold, and as intimidating as the next. I’m led to a cell near the back where the Guard unlocks the latch with his handprint.
He’s about to pull me in when a flash of heat hits me and I drop to my knees. A bright light floods my vision, then clears. I now stand in front of a young woman, whose hazel eyes and pale, narrow face snap toward me. She’s terrified to be down here. I reach out for her and she does the same. Before we touch, a booming voice calls out to her from behind. I spin around to find a handsome boy. He wears the same uniform as the younger Guard, albeit a simpler, older style I’ve only seen in a few books. But his eyes are familiar. Amber. Captain Ravenoak, but much younger.
I sigh, more frustrated than anything. This isn’t real. It’s another one of the Queen’s memories invading my mind. I turn around and the girl does the same. I’m confused, until I notice the mirror.
“It’s time, my love,” young Ravenoak says. “We can’t have a coronation without the future Queen.”
The flash of light returns and my head spins. I squint until the dingy dungeon hall fully resurfaces.
The young Guard grabs my arms and helps me to my feet. “Are you all right?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” I whisper. “I had another vision of the Queen. She was with Ravenoak. They were young.”
He steps back, confusion widening his features. “You’re experiencing the Queen’s memories? Then why are you here?”
Before I have a chance to answer, he directs me into the small cell. Grabbing my wrist, he pops the restraints off in a few swipes. He then heads out and shuts the door behind him without a backwards glance, but I can still see him through the bars.
A chill curls in my middle as I inspect the lifeless box I’m now contained within, panic seizing my pulse. Cement walls surround me with only one tiny window, the slitted opening no bigger than my hand. On the back wall, positioned up off the ground, lies a small cot. Opposite the cot is a toilet beside a steel sink. That’s it.
I take a deep breath to settle my nerves, but the action does nothing.
“Hurry up in there,” a voice hollers from the end of the hallway.
The Guard glances toward the exit, then peers back at me through the bars, his eyes even wider and sparking with conflict. His focus moves to the golden symbol on my arm, and then he bows low.
“What are you doing?”
The Guard raises his head, but avoids my eyes. “My loyalty is bound to the Queendom. And if what you say is true, then you are my Queen.”
Chapter Five
AS I LAY on top of the sagging, dust-filled mattress in my cell, I study the stone ceiling. Condensation forms on the gray- and brown-flecked surface before the water drips to the floor in a slow trickle.
Every second I can recall before and during the Transfer of Life Ceremony runs through my mind in a constant loop. Flashes of Mama making us breakfast; Asher telling me he had a surprise for me tonight; the realization that I might never find out what his surprise was. I search my reeling thoughts for the events of the Ceremony.
Did I somehow bring this on myself?
I come up empty.
I’m innocent. If I’m found guilty of forging the Queen’s Essence, though, I’ll be executed. But this has never happened before in Lore.
What will happen to Mama and Asher?
I throw my hands to my face and roll onto my side toward the damp wall. It’s a hopeless attempt, but I try to push the possibilities from my mind again and again.
Goosebumps rise up on my skin. I wrap my arms around myself to stay the chill of the drafty, damp cell, but it’s very little use. I look down at the golden fleur de lis on my arm and, for a wistful second, trace the pattern with my index finger. As I do,
sickness seeps into my stomach and I cover the design with my hand, wishing once more for the mark to go away.
Every Relic class citizen accused of a crime is the same. Guilty until proven innocent. Even if the authorities don’t charge Mama and Asher with conspiracy, their lives will be ruined. Shamed. Possibly even shunned and driven from town.
The metal door behind me groans and pops open, yanking me from my thoughts before it slams into the wall. I gasp and shoot up to see who’s there.
In the opening stands the young Guard. My heart pounds at the sight of him and my eyes pour over his defined cheekbones and full lips. I know he said he was loyal to the Queen, but that isn’t me. I’m a simple girl. A nothing.
The golden symbol on my arm stings and I slap my palm over it once more.
Heavy steps echo off the wall as he enters the cell. He holds out his hand, clutching a dagger. Instantly the metal crackles and emits a blue glow. The weapon hums with electricity.
My stomach tenses and I push my back into the wall. This Guard is here to kill me now. They know I’m a fraud.
He extends his other hand, palm down, to stay me. “Relax, Arabella. The weapon is only protocol.” Then he turns into the darkness of the corridor and gestures to someone.
From the shadows steps a girl with long, loose, golden hair.
Princess Thea. My mouth falls open at the sight of her.
She’s changed from the gown she wore earlier. This new one is made of black velvet and extends to the floor. The sleeves are tight down to her wrists, where a tiny bit of white lace pokes from the cuffs. The scooped neckline mimics the lace detailing on her sleeve. I wonder if the corset she wears prevents her ability to breathe deeply—her waist is the smallest I’ve ever seen.
I wonder if I would have to wear one too, if absolved from this misunderstanding. The value this costume holds would support a large family in town for more than a year. The thought of such waste turns my stomach.
Princess Thea enters my cell, but then leans against the barred, iron door just below the small window—near the exit. She doesn’t want to be here. Not that I can blame her. That gown may get ruined, and she’s confronting the supposed thief who stole her mother’s marking.
The Guard peers her way, and she gestures as if to tell him to take the lead. He eases closer to me and bows his head ever so slightly. His dagger dims as he stows the weapon back into its sheath.
“I didn’t have the chance to introduce myself the last time,” he says. “My name is Tristan of the House of Davos, and I serve as personal Guard and confidant to Princess Thea.” He glances at Thea again. The look he gives her is easy to recognize. There’s a bond between them that’s more than just a servant’s loyalty. “She has asked for an audience with you.”
“Why?” I ask. “She’s just going to lop off my head tomorrow anyway.”
“I’ve informed the Princess of what you told me,” he continues. “She requested to come down at once to see you for herself.”
What? To inspect the riff-raff housing her mother’s Essence?
The Princess straightens herself, as if gathering all her courage, and takes three steps toward me. “To be honest, Arabella…”
Despite her soft-spoken words, her use of my name forms a nervous lump in my throat.
“…I’m not sure why I’m here.” She brings a lace handkerchief to her eye and dabs at the corner. “Everything was so sudden. Mother had years left to rule, and this should never have happened. I’m so confused.” As the last word leaves her mouth, she turns away and sobs.
“Do you need me to escort you back to your room, Your Highness?” Tristan asks.
The Princess twists back, wiping her eyes again with the lace cloth. “No. Thank you, Tristan. I can do this.” She exhales a long slow breath, drops her shoulders, then glances my way. “May I see the marking?”
Instinctively, I move my hand to cover the symbol. I want to tell her no, but how do you say that to the Princess of Lore?
“I swear . . .” comes out instead. “I have no idea what happened at the Ceremony. You can have the Essence back. I don’t want it.”
“It’s okay, Arabella,” Tristan reassures me. “She only wants to help.”
His sincerity momentarily calms me, enough that I flick my attention back to the Princess. Reluctantly, I slide my palm down my arm, and reveal the symbol.
Princess Thea steps toward me and leans in. “Will you please stand?”
I inch my body to the edge of the cot and try not to cringe when the coils under the mattress squeak. Remembering my manners, I attempt a curtsy once on my feet, but I’m sure I’m doing the motion all wrong.
When I lift my head, I find the Princess’ face is unchanged by my obvious inexperience with Royal etiquette.
“Please?” She reaches her delicate hand to my arm, and I rotate to allow her a better view. With the tip of her index finger, she traces the elaborate metallic pattern. When she’s through, she keeps her finger on my upper arm and shuts her eyes, as if she’s remembering something.
When she opens her lids, she glances back at Tristan. “The marking appears to be genuine.”
Tristan bows his head. “Yes, Your Highness. It is as I said.”
The Princess throws her arms around my shoulders and I stiffen against her embrace, my arms locked at my sides. My tension only makes her tighten her hold.
“I was so afraid the Queen’s Essence was lost. I’m not certain how this even happened, but it’s a miracle. She’s still here—still with us.”
Tristan clears his throat. “My Princess, I’m pleased to see you so hopeful again. But I believe it would be best if you confirmed the Transfer with magic.”
The Princess releases me and inches back. She smooths her bodice and skirt, pursing her lips.
“Please, sit,” Thea says, directing me to the cot.
“Um, okay.” I step back and slowly lower myself onto the edge of the bed.
I grip the metal frame just under the thin mattress and squeeze tightly as my nerves flare up. The Princess sits to the left of me and positions herself far too close. I don’t think I’ve ever been near someone so clean. It takes everything for me to not scoot over, but I don’t want to be rude. A hint of fresh strawberries or some sort of fruit fills my nose. She smells as Royal as she appears.
“May I?” Thea asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
My heart pounds. A familiar blue glow floats above her skin as she lifts a hand toward me. The last time I saw that magic, I lost everything and was then stuffed into a carriage and brought here.
“Will the magic . . . hurt?” I ask.
Thea tilts her head up and catches my gaze. “You’ll feel nothing, I promise.”
She rests her palm on the marking and closes her eyes. A moment later, Thea’s breath hitches and her lip quivers. Her hand drops to her lap as her eyes open. Tears well in the corners, but she blinks them back.
“Is the Transfer genuine?” Tristan asks, stepping closer to us.
Thea simply nods.
I jump to my feet, my body rigid. “What does this mean?”
Tristan approaches. Thea’s eyes brim with tears as he helps her up. She then buries herself into his chest as he wraps his arms around her.
“It means the Transfer was true,” Tristan says to me. “You are the Vessel for the Queen’s Essence.”
My breathing quickens at his words. “Well, I don’t want this Transfer.”
Thea turns her head my way. Two lines form between her delicate brows.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “There must be something we can do to remove the marking.”
“I believe your testimony.” Tristan pulls away from the Princess. “But there will be a commission held by the Council of Lore to investigate what’s happened.”
“Can’t we just get her Essence out of me and give it to you?” I plead to Thea.
The tension on the Princess’s face softens. She takes my hand. “It would be my honor to hold my mother
’s Essence. But, for whatever reason, the Transfer wasn’t passed down to me.”
“And,” Tristan says, “if it wasn’t passed down to the Queen’s own daughter, then there must be foul play involved.”
What? Someone is using me against the House of Lore?
My chest clenches, and it’s as if all the air were sucked from the cell block. I plop onto the cot, gasping for breath. There’s no way this is going to end well.
“Arabella,” Princess Thea begins softly, “the Essence can’t be taken out of you. You have to learn our magical ways and perform the Transfer yourself. It’s the only way.”
“Wait, what? How am I supposed to learn magic?”
She sits beside me again. “The House of Lore discovered the true power of magic long ago, and has imbued the gift into our family’s genetic structure. Magic lives within us—within you now.”
Tristan rests a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll figure this—”
A hammering thud cuts Tristan off as the cell door flies open and Captain Ravenoak storms in. “What is going on here? Princess, you should not be here.”
“Sir,” Tristan pleads. “This is my doing. I thought the Princess could find answers and maybe some peace of mind.”
Ravenoak’s eyes narrow on him. “Both of you need to leave. Now.”
“But, Father . . .” Thea says. “I wanted to know.”
Father? Princess Thea is Ravenoak’s daughter? That explains my memories of the Queen when she was younger, but this isn’t public knowledge. At least not outside of the court.
“Now!” Ravenoak snarls.
Thea and Tristan look to me, but say nothing more as they leave my cell.
“The Princess doesn’t need your permission, Guard, to be anywhere in the castle!”
What just came out of my mouth!?
This man could probably kill me with his bare hands, but part of me doesn’t care. Probably the stupid part.
Ravenoak turns to me with fire in his gaze. “Captain of the Royal Guard—”
“And her father,” I mutter.
His cold stare holds mine for a moment before he speaks again. “The Queen was murdered. No one is to speak with the suspect before the investigation.”
Crown of Lore (Betrayal of Magic Book 1) Page 4