A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2

by C. C. Peñaranda

  The fae guard’s eyes danced with mischief. “They were headed here to scout for the fugitives, so I joined them. We got here a day before you by taking the main route, and when they didn’t find who they were looking for, they left. The humans should be safe.”

  He didn’t know how to respond. A simple thanks didn’t seem sufficient for what the guard had risked for them to ensure the town was safe from the others for their arrival.

  “You stayed?”

  Caius nodded. “Thought I would let you know the coast is clear and accompany you two on your journey back. If you don’t mind, that is.” The young fae was surprisingly polite, and Jakon felt immensely guilty for the preconceived notion he had toward his kind.

  He smiled warmly, giving him a small nod in appreciation.

  They walked together through the town, the ensemble of refugees trailing behind in need of a proper bed and a good night’s rest in safe quarters. When they came across an inn, Jakon went inside with Marlowe while Caius stayed with the group outside.

  The place was quiet and dreary, with only a few men seated at lone tables who looked to be drinking away their sorrows. They paid the two foreigners no attention as Jakon walked right up to the barkeep.

  “Do you have any rooms?”

  The short, rotund man barely lifted his eyes to greet him, his face that of a man who had long given up living for any kind of joy. “How many?” was all he grumbled in response.

  “Over a dozen.”

  “How long?”

  “As long as they need.”

  Sooner or later, they would have to find their own accommodation and work to become permanent residents of Galmire. There was only so much help Jakon and Marlowe could extend to them.

  Before the man could protest, Jakon reached into his pocket and lay five gold coins on the counter. They were from Faythe’s winnings at the Cave. Neither he nor Marlowe had touched the money, instead putting it aside in case his friend should need it one day, possibly to escape the king. But he knew she would be more than happy with where her earnings were going now, who they would be helping, so he didn’t feel the need to ask if he could use them.

  The barkeep’s eyes widened, and he quickly swiped the coin. With a wary glance around, he said, “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “There won’t be any. They come from Farrowhold and will earn their keep to stay in Galmire when they are well-rested and ready.”

  The man shook his head with a grim look. “I’m afraid they’ll find Galmire isn’t what it used to be,” he said quietly, leaning a forearm on the ale-soaked counter. “Whatever they’ve run from in Farrowhold, coming here is no better.”

  It was a bold statement considering the man had no idea of the threat on the lives of those outside. Jakon’s brow furrowed deeply. “What do you mean?”

  Marlowe was stiff beside him, and he drew her closer with an arm around her waist in silent comfort, giving her a gentle squeeze. It eased his own tensions to feel her relax from the movement.

  The barkeep trailed his eyes around the gloomy establishment before he spoke despite there only being a few drunk humans in the vicinity. “People have been going missing,” he said under his breath as if the shadows were listening.

  Cold seeped under his skin. “Valgard?” A dark feeling settled over Jakon at the thought he had led the band of innocents to worse doors.

  The man shrugged but kept his solemn look. “No one knows. Sometimes, they vanish for good, but…” He paused, and Jakon’s heart thundered as he noticed the man’s face blanch at recalling whatever events had caused him to be on edge. “Sometimes, the bodies turn up near the edge of the town, close to the Mortus Mountains.”

  He knew there was more to the story and found himself snapping a little harsher than intended in anticipation. “What of them?”

  “Most of the time, they’re left in one piece, only the bodies are completely drained of blood, no wounds except neat puncture wounds.” As the man tapped his neck, Jakon recoiled at the grim detail. “Ain’t never seen a creature that kills so…clean.”

  What he didn’t understand was, if there was immediate danger to Galmire and the humans were being targeted…why would the king remove the small protection they had? There was nowhere else to lead the group of humans, and the dawning fear he had escorted them from one danger straight into the arms of another was almost enough to buckle him.

  “Have any of them been women or children?” Marlowe asked when Jakon couldn’t.

  His heart ached at her distress, and he wished desperately to at least be able to console her. But there was nothing he could do or say against the horrifying revelation.

  The barkeep shook his head. “Mostly, it’s been the men of the town. Strapping lads at first, though now, there doesn’t seem to be a pattern. A few women, yes, but mostly men,” he confirmed.

  Marlowe turned to him then. “We can’t take them back. We can’t destroy the hope of a new life for them. It’s a risk, but it’s far better than living a life in fear of who might come to their door next in Farrowhold.”

  He could see the terror in her eyes—that they would be responsible should something happen to them in Galmire. But she was right: going back was not an option. He pulled her into him as if it would help ease her nerves. It did nothing for his, but it was a necessary comfort.

  “Maybe Faythe can speak with Nik and persuade his father to reconsider the protection needed in Galmire. They’ve already searched the town for the boys—they should be safe from the King’s Guard at least,” Marlowe mumbled.

  They both knew it was a long shot. Even if the king was aware of the threat to the humans of this town, Jakon doubted it would rank high on his list of priorities.

  Jakon felt the overwhelming need to get back to Farrowhold as soon as possible. There was only one person who would be able to find out more information and possibly help keep the humans of Galmire safe. For the first time, he was actually glad for Faythe’s position in the castle. But he and Marlowe had already decided they would stay for a week to ensure the fugitives would be able to build lives and be safe here, as well as resting themselves before the grueling journey back to Farrowhold on foot.

  It took over an hour to huddle the band of humans into the inn and divide them between the few rooms on offer in the sparse establishment. When everyone was as content as they could be and had been given a questionable but hot meal, Jakon finally allowed himself to breathe a full, relaxed breath.

  When he got to his own allocated room down the hall, he creaked the door open slowly, hopeful Marlowe would have surrendered to her exhaustion. Instead, he found her perched on the edge of the small, feeble cot, grasping a cup of hot tea between both palms under the warmth of a blanket. His shoulders loosened off the moment she flashed him a smile in greeting. The sight filled his chest with warmth despite his freezing body from the trek.

  “You didn’t have to wait up for me,” he said, beginning to strip out of his damp clothes. Jakon shivered against the cold, swiftly changing into his spare dry shirt and pants.

  Marlowe set her cup on the wonky nightstand and stood to walk over to him. Removing the blanket from her shoulders, she reached up on her tiptoes to drape it around his. Jakon’s heart fluttered at the tender and selfless act, arms going around her so they were both in the warmth of the comforter—and each other.

  She leaned the side of her face against his chest. “We made it,” she whispered, her words laced with relief as if she’d had great doubts before.

  His arms tightened around her, a subconscious action at the thought of the alternative—of ever being without her.

  When her head left his chest to peer up at him, whatever she read on his face had her reaching up to curl her fingers in his hair, bringing his mouth to hers in a surge of need. A relief and a reward now they were both safe and had succeeded in their task to get everyone here.

  Marlowe took the lead, twisting them, and with a gentle hand she guided him backward until his legs fel
t the low edge of the wooden cot. The small size of it didn’t matter as he had no intention of leaving an inch of space between them all night. As he lowered to sit on the edge, he held in a groan of pain from his stomach—not successfully enough that Marlowe failed to notice. Her face creased in concern, but he slinked his arms around her waist and coaxed her down too until she straddled him.

  “Faythe has been in that castle for months,” Marlowe muttered, a hint of rare anger seeping into her hushed tone. “She could have found the ruin by now.”

  Jakon’s brow furrowed as he tucked a strand of honey hair behind her ear to prevent it from shielding her expression from him. Marlowe’s jaw was tight as she stared down at his old would, her delicate touch tracing over the raised scar under his shirt.

  “It’s not her fault—”

  Marlowe shook her head with a loose huff, and her abrupt retreat from his lap cut off his words.

  Jakon remained still, watching her pace a few steps away. When she turned back to him, her face was desolate, dropping a hideous weight in his stomach. Jakon braced himself for the outpour of emotion that seemed to surface in her all at once.

  “She could have tried harder,” Marlowe said through an exasperated breath. Even as she spoke it, Jakon could see it pained her to say what she truly thought. “Faythe could have fought harder.” Her voice broke, and Jakon stood, heart clenching at the noise. But Marlowe held out a hand to halt him when he tried to go to her. “For months, she’s been in that castle. I lost my father, you were hurting—we needed her—and she wasn’t there.”

  “She didn’t know—”

  “When are you going to stop defending her every action?”

  Marlowe’s tone took on a harsh edge, her heartbreak and anger fusing to form something Jakon had never experienced from her before. They had spoken of Faythe, voiced their concerns and upsets since the events that tore them apart from her, but he had been a fool not to see just how deeply Marlowe was hurting. The emotions she had been bottling up all this time…

  When he said nothing in response, she continued. “I understand that you grew up together. That you and Faythe have a bond I will never glimpse. But Faythe has a life of her own now and seems to have accepted that although you haven’t.”

  Jakon felt her bitter words like the twist of a blade in his chest. “Where is this anger coming from?”

  “I’m not angry—I’m hurting!” Her lip quivered, and Jakon almost went to his knees before her. “I have this gift that I can never turn off, and I am tired, Jak.” Her voice broke as tears fell, months of pent-up anguish he had missed completely. Perhaps she was right and his concern for Faythe had clouded his senses too much to realize Marlowe was suffering in silence. The emotion that choked his throat was agony.

  “I love her, Jak, I really do. I know what Faythe sacrificed for me, but she was also the reason we were torn apart. Maybe this makes me selfish, but I lost my father, and she wasn’t there. I found out about being an oracle not long after she left. It doesn’t stop—the visions, the knowledge. I am just so, so tired, Jakon. And Faythe, the only one who can understand what I’m going through, wasn’t there for me.”

  “I’m here for you,” he all but pleaded.

  Her face fell along with the note in her voice. “Don’t you see? In some ways, it’s like I lost both of you that day, because your mind lingers in that castle with her.”

  Marlowe paused to gather a shaky breath. “I kept silent because I thought you were right. How could I blame her when she was there not out of her own choosing? But I realize you’re wrong. We can change nothing about the events that unfolded, but she could have tried harder to fight back. To fight for us, for more than just our physical safety. Instead, she submitted and was content to never see us again.”

  “That’s not true,” Jakon felt the need to interject.

  It was the wrong thing to say, as her expression hardened once again, defeat etched in her brow.

  “You won’t ever stop defending her, will you?”

  Jakon swallowed hard, but it did nothing to relieve the marble of grief that constricted his airway.

  “Why does it feel like you’re making me choose?”

  Marlowe’s disappointment, folded with shock, hit him like a punch to the gut. Her shoulders lifted and fell weakly.

  “I shouldn’t ever have to.” She turned away from him.

  Jakon took tentative steps toward her, watching her shoulders tremble lightly with quiet sobs. Wordlessly, his arms went around her from behind, drawing her flush to his front. Marlowe cried harder, and he held her silently, letting her release the emotions she had been selflessly holding in. Feelings he should have known she harbored sooner.

  While he held her, Jakon sorted through his own thoughts, considering every word she’d uttered and every event that had happened between the three of them. He didn’t know how long had passed, but her crying slowly eased then stopped. Neither of them moved. He couldn’t let her go.

  “You’re right,” he said at last. His hands took her shoulders, guiding her around to look at him. His jaw flexed at the broken look on her face, and his palm met her cheek, thumb brushing away the wetness there. “I’m sorry I haven’t seen you, Marlowe. Not like you deserve after all you’ve been through. Perhaps I did allow myself to be distracted and clouded in my concern for Faythe, and that’s no excuse. You’re right—she does have a life without me now, and I’ll admit—” He had to pause, resenting himself for the words he was about to speak. “Sometimes, I also wish she had done more somehow. That she would have fought to find a way back to us sooner. But I also cannot begin to fathom what she’s been through and is still going through in that castle.

  “I held resentment for a while—toward the king, the fae—but some of it was directed toward Faythe. I kept silent because I can’t fault her when I haven’t tried to get to her either despite my many thoughts of it. I have failed both of you.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m so sorry, Marlowe. Can you forgive me?”

  Her expression wrinkled, but she nodded before curling into his embrace. He released a breath of relief as she accepted his comfort.

  “I’m sorry too.”

  “Don’t be.” Jakon took slow steps backward until he felt the bed behind him. He lowered himself down slowly, not taking his arms from around her until her thighs were spread on either side of him once more. “Don’t be sorry for one second about voicing your mind.”

  Marlowe’s face pulled back to lock eyes with him. Pain still swirled in the oceans of her irises. “You should know that I don’t resent her, or you, I just—”

  Jakon’s mouth met hers. “I know,” he said against her lips. Pulling back a fraction, he ran his fingers from her temple to her mouth. “I’m here to listen to you, Marlowe. Everything that burdens that wondrous head of yours. But I think you and Faythe need to air your thoughts. You may find your minds align more than you think.”

  Marlowe nodded. “If we get a moment in between fugitives, Spirits, and evil kings,” she mused lightly.

  The small smile she offered lifted the darkness that had coiled in Jakon’s chest, and he huffed a laugh.

  He hooked an arm around her, and a small squeal of surprise left her as he twisted, pinning her beneath him on the bed. She broke out in a grin then, and it was enough to take his breath. He brought his mouth to hers firmly, and Marlowe’s legs parted wider before she pressed herself tighter to him. He stifled a groan as she undulated her hips.

  His lips went to her neck. “These walls are far from…soundproof,” he ground out while his mind turned to a haze.

  Her hands trailed under his untucked shirt, running along his tensed abdomen before her nails scraped down his lower back as she arched into him, a silent longing for more.

  They needed this. The distraction and closeness.

  “You’ll just have to be very quiet,” she said in a lust-filled whisper.

  His lips crashed back to hers. There was nothing soft or tender ab
out what pulsed between them. It was anguish and need. Longing and forgiveness.

  Jakon’s hands trailed up her thighs, lifting until his fingers hooked under the waistband of her leggings, and he swiftly freed her glorious slender legs while she removed her own top. He took a second to pull back and marvel over every perfect curve and angle of her body, eyes drinking in every inch of her hungrily.

  Marlowe propped herself up on her elbows, her palm reaching down to stroke the length of him through his pants. He hissed, jerking into her touch. Then he took her wrist before she could do it again, and she caught his eye. The heat and desire in her blue eyes made him want to fall before her. And it was exactly what he planned to do tonight.

  His lips met her collarbone, and Marlowe’s head fell back with a shallow sound.

  “It’s not me who needs to be mindful of making a sound,” he said huskily, trailing his lips south. His hand enclosed around one breast while he took the other in his mouth. Marlowe bit her lip, suppressing a cry. Jakon smiled against her skin, relishing in her reaction.

  He continued down her body. “You matter, Marlowe,” he said fiercely, kissing her chest. “Every thought you have, every feeling you bear.” His breath caressed her navel as his knees met the ground, cushioned by her discarded clothes. Jakon hooked his hands around her thighs. “Your mind, your heart, your soul. I love every damn piece of you, Marlowe Connaise.” He pulled her to the edge of the bed, and she let out a breath of surprise as he locked his gaze between her legs.

  He kissed the inside of her thigh, not taking his eyes from hers. “Tell me you won’t keep your thoughts or feelings from me again, no matter how hard they are to hear,” he mumbled against her skin.

  Marlowe’s chest rose and fell with uneven, sharp breaths, her scattered thoughts written on her face.

  Jakon smiled deviously. His lips pressed to her thigh again, closer to where he refrained from devouring her until he heard her words.