The Stolen Princess: A YA Dystopian Romance (Desolation Book 3)

by Kortney Keisel

  Loyal to the wrong people, but loyal nonetheless.

  She swallowed and looked away, but not before Drake saw the moisture gathering inside her eyes, like no one had ever told her those things before. With a father like Adler, probably no one ever had.

  “Do you want to be queen someday?” he asked.

  She shrugged, keeping her focus away from him.

  “If you entered the next election in Tolsten and won, you’d be the first queen elected in over one hundred years.”

  “I know.” Her words were quiet.

  Myka wasn’t fighting him or trying to put him in his place. Maybe this version of her would be more honest. Would she admit that her father was dying—that she might have to face becoming queen sooner than everyone thought? If she did, Grady’s pine nuts would be his.

  “But you don’t have to worry about becoming queen for ten more years,” Drake said. “Isn’t that what your father has left in his reign?”

  “Um, yeah.” She forced a smile, finally looking back at him. “Ten more years.”

  “Great.” He tried to hide the disappointment stirring inside of him. He had wanted Myka to tell him the truth about her father…for the bet, of course. Pine nuts were awesome.

  “I heard you talking with Winslow and Dawsick outside of the shack the day we got here,” she said. “I heard what Dawsick said about Princess Seran.”

  Drake went back through their conversation, trying to remember.

  “He said it was my father’s fault that Princess Seran died.”

  So far, Drake had only talked about the weapons with Myka. If she was unwilling to believe her father had weapons, she wasn’t going to believe that he had planned out Seran’s assassination.

  “It was your father’s fault,” he said. Drake prepared himself for the onslaught of Myka’s wrath.

  She shook her head, laughing. “Of course it was his fault. While we’re at it, why don’t we blame my father for Desolation? He wasn’t alive two hundred years ago, but surely he had some part in that, too.”

  “I know the truth is hard for you to hear,” he said calmly.

  “The truth! How do I know you’re telling the truth? Is this like how you said my father killed your father? Now he killed Seran. Did you see him stand up and shoot Seran with his own gun?”

  Drake shook his head.

  “Then how do you know he’s to blame?”

  “The man he was working with, Joniss Doman, admitted that King Adler planned the assassination.”

  Myka raised her voice. “Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? Why would my father kill another royal? He wouldn’t. He’s been falsely accused, and for some reason, you all believe it.”

  “It’s astonishing how blind you can be when it comes to your father,” Drake said. “He’s not a good guy. Surely there were some clues from your childhood that support that. There’s no way your father could’ve hidden everything from you.”

  “Where’s the man who actually shot the princess? Did he get away or something?”

  The memory of Trev’s wedding came to the front of his mind. “No, he didn’t get away. I took down the shooter. The man with the white and black hair.”

  Myka’s brows furrowed. “What?”

  Drake shrugged. “The assassin had white and black hair like a skunk. I’ll never forget it because it was so unique.”

  Myka’s face seemed to whiten.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Myka stood and lifted her chin. “I’m fine.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I’d like to go back to the shack now.”

  Myka would rather go back to the shack than face the truth about her father.

  “Fine by me,” Drake said, pushing his body off the table.

  There was nothing left to say anyway.

  17

  Commander Stoddard

  Stoddard stood by King Adler’s bedroom window, staring down at the Tolsten House gardens. Behind him, Doctor Von leaned over the king, counting his heartbeats.

  “Myka!” Adler yelled. “Where’s Myka?” His speech was slurred, but Stoddard understood what he said because that was the only thing the king had said over the last three days.

  “The king is being very difficult,” Nurse Blanch said, trying to hold his writhing body down. “Someone needs to tell him where his daughter is.”

  Stoddard knit his lips together, staring at the woman. “We’ve been able to keep it from him for the past couple of days. Why would we tell him now?”

  “Because it’s not right,” she said.

  “You didn’t seem to have a problem with right or wrong when I released your husband out of prison in exchange for your silence.”

  Her eyes dropped.

  How quickly people forget the kind deeds done to them.

  “Besides, we don’t know where the princess is,” Stoddard said flatly.

  Doctor Von cleared his throat. “It’s just that the king seems very distraught about the fact that the princess hasn’t visited him.”

  “I thought we were sedating him for that?” The doctor could work through the most difficult medical problems since Desolation, but he couldn’t figure out how to deal with a dying man’s temper?

  “I’ve been giving him sedatives. That’s the only thing that has been keeping him calm, but”—Doctor Von stroked his forehead—“at this point, with the type of pain meds that he’s on, it would be too risky to continue with the sedatives.”

  “Why?” Stoddard rested his chin on his fist.

  “For starters, it would decrease his respiratory rate to a level I’m not comfortable with.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t he going to die anyway? I don’t know why we're trying so hard to keep him alive.”

  Doctor Von blinked. “Because he’s the king.”

  Stoddard ignored his response. “I thought that fever a couple of days ago was supposed to kill him.”

  “It was very concerning, but it went down.”

  “Did the princess give him that herbal medicine again?” He flashed his eyes to Blanch. “I thought I told you to dump that stuff out.”

  “I did dump it out.”

  “Sometimes with cancer, things can go up and down,” Doctor Von chimed in.

  Stoddard turned his head to the window again. The spotty clouds were clearing out, and rays of sun were filtering through the sky. “I’ll think about telling the king about his daughter.”

  Stoddard’s voice went soft. “I don’t want him to worry about her safety. We’ll find her soon and bring her home.” That wasn’t the real reason he withheld the information. If Adler knew that his beloved daughter had been taken, he would spend all of Tolsten’s resources to get her back. He would have responded immediately to the letter from the kidnappers with the location of the weapons, and that was something Stoddard could not have happen. If Stoddard’s plan to take over all of the seven kingdoms was going to work, he needed every single weapon Tolsten had.

  “Fine.” Doctor Von nodded. “You’re in charge.” He moved to leave.

  “What about the other?” Stoddard asked. “Are you taking care of her as well?”

  Doctor Von shifted his eyes nervously. “Yes, she’s a beauty. I’m very proud of the medical advancements I’ve made. I can’t wait to share them with the world.”

  Stoddard gave him a pointed look. “Yes, but you won’t share them with the world until I say so.”

  Doctor Von nodded. “I know the agreement.”

  “Good. Then everybody gets what they want.”

  Blanch’s husband was freed. Doctor Von would get his medical accolades, and Stoddard would get to be the most powerful leader since Desolation.

  “What about King Adler?” Doctor Von asked. “Is he going to get what he wants?”

  No, Adler would get what he deserved for all of the years of putting him down and thinking himself better than his commander.

  Stoddard forced a fake smile. “I hope so.”

  “I’m afraid he�
��s not going to last much longer,” Doctor Von said.

  “Like how much longer?” The doctor had said that before, but the king always seemed to rally.

  “A matter of days.”

  An anxious feeling spread over Stoddard. He needed to get the location of the weapons before Adler lost complete consciousness or else the fool would die, taking his secret to the grave with him.

  Stoddard turned around. “Maybe you could give me a minute alone with the king.”

  Doctor Von and Nurse Blanch nodded. “Of course.” They shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind them.

  Stoddard walked to the side of Adler’s bed. There was a time when he would have considered the king his friend, but that was years ago. He had put in his time of service, had taken a back seat, had let the king put him down over and over again. But now it was his turn to rise to power. He was sick of being second best. He wanted to be number one. Once Stoddard knew where the weapons were, he would take the biggest weapon of all and he would make his move.

  He sat down on the edge of the mattress, jostling Adler’s body.

  The king jerked his arms up in the air. “Myka. Where’s Myka?” he hollered. His cheeks were sunken in, and a bluish hue tinted the skin around his eyes.

  “She’s gone,” Stoddard said, looking over the king’s frail body. “She’s been kidnapped.”

  Adler lifted his eyelids, gazing through a small slit. “No.”

  “It's actually true.” He reached for his coat pocket and pulled out a letter. “In fact, this letter came a few days ago. The kidnappers want you to trade your weapons for her safety. You need to tell me where they are so I can save her.”

  Stoddard had no intention of saving the princess, but this would be all the push he needed to get Adler to divulge their location.

  “No.” Adler bent forward like he meant to get out of bed. The small movement forced a hacking cough out of his chest. “Weapons…” He coughed. Stoddard could take a nap before Adler ever got his sentence out. “My-ka.” More coughs.

  “I’m afraid I can’t give them the weapons in exchange for the princess because I don’t know where they are. You need to tell me where they are.”

  Adler’s fingers twitched. “No…Myka.” His voice was barely audible through his coughs.

  Stoddard leaned away as if he could somehow contract the king’s illness.

  “My...ka…knows.”

  Stoddard straightened, a touch of worry pulled on his brows. “Knows what?”

  “The weapons,” the king wheezed. “I told her...” Adler’s lips smacked together as he summoned the strength to finish the sentence. “...Where they are. She knows. She’ll save herself.”

  Stoddard’s expression fell. Was Adler telling the truth? Had the king told his daughter the location of the weapons, or was this the ramblings of a dying man?

  “Myka is queen.” He garbled. “They’re her weapons.”

  “Listen, you fool,” Stoddard said, getting into Adler’s face. “Myka is gone. She may even be dead. Don’t die with the location of the weapons. Tell me where they are!”

  “Myka knows. I told her.”

  “Stop saying that.” Stoddard grabbed the king by the collar of his silk pajamas, shaking him. “Tell me where they are!”

  A thin smile moved across Adler’s lips. “They’re Myka’s. She’ll save herself.”

  Stoddard’s muscles tensed. Adler was worthless to him. He wasn’t going to give up the location of the weapons. Even now, lying helpless in bed, he still thought himself better than Stoddard. He grabbed the loose pillow at the side of the king’s head, placing it on top of Adler’s face. He pressed the pillow down, the vehemence hardly necessary considering how weak the king was, but Stoddard had never done anything by halves. Adler’s hands went to Stoddard’s forearms and his legs kicked out. His body squirmed, but he held the pillow firmly over the king’s face. Adler jerked over and over until eventually his body went slack and flattened out.

  Stoddard wasn’t second in command anymore. He was in charge.

  Nothing had ever felt so satisfying.

  Stoddard stormed through his office door with Captain Nyler on his heels. “We need to deliver a message to the kidnappers.”

  “They left instructions on where to leave the king’s response,” Captain Nyler said.

  Stoddard pulled out the chair to his desk. He placed two pieces of paper in front of him and began writing. “Good. I’ll have a reply for you shortly.”

  “From the king?” Nyler asked.

  Stoddard glanced up. “The king is dead.”

  18

  Myka

  Just before dinner, Portlend had come to the shack. “If you want to eat,” he had said, “then you need to work.”

  At the time, Myka hadn’t know what Portlend had meant, but now that she stood next to the table by the fire, deboning a chicken, she understood. It was a new kind of torture. The entire act made her want to throw up. She couldn’t believe this was what the Tolsten House chefs—or anyone for that matter—had to do every time they ate chicken. She couldn’t believe that this is what Portlend had made her do.

  If you want to eat then you need to work, Myka mocked.

  Maybe if Portlend had any kind of skills with a gun, then they could be having venison for dinner instead of chicken again. Where were they getting all of these chickens anyway? Were the chickens being held hostage in a shack somewhere too?

  She hadn’t spoken to Drake since their conversation about Princess Seran earlier that morning at breakfast. His words had stuck with her the rest of the day, playing over and over inside her head.

  When Drake had described the man who had killed Princess Seran, Myka’s heart had plummeted to the floor. It had to be a coincidence. Surely, there was more than one man who had white and black hair. Drake couldn’t be talking about her father’s man. What was his name? Jarvis? She’d only ever thought of him as Skunkman.

  Myka had racked her brain all afternoon. When was the last time she had seen Skunkman? It had to have been only a few months ago.

  No, she knew the truth.

  It had been over a year since she’d seen Jarvis.

  In fact, the last time he had visited her father, she had heard them discussing what route he would take to Albion for the wedding of Prince Ezra and Princess Seran.

  If Skunkman was the one who had shot Seran, then her father might have had something to do with it. Myka tried sucking in a deep breath, but it was as if her lungs wouldn’t fill up with air, like the pain of the realization had filled the area instead. Her beating heart throbbed in her throat, sending pulses through the tips of her fingers as she stabbed the chicken with the knife.

  Despite what all of the operatives thought, Myka wasn’t stupid. There were clues from her childhood supporting the idea that her father had secrets. Her father hadn’t hidden everything.

  Her mind slipped to the night her mother had decided to leave—to the moment her mother had told her father. Myka had crouched behind the sofa in the royal sitting room, peeking out to watch them fight. Her father hadn’t tried to stop her mother from leaving. Instead, when her back had turned, his face went smug—devious—almost like his mind said, I’d like to see you try to leave me.

  That look had never settled well with Myka.

  Then there was the time a few years ago when her father had been drunk, and he was talking in his office with Commander Stoddard. The door had been slightly ajar, enough for Myka to hear their conversation. Her father had gone on and on about how much he hated the other kings in the Council of Essentials and how all of the other kingdoms better watch out because he was coming for them. Coming for them with missiles.

  At the time, it had been an easy conversation to justify away. He had been drunk. He hadn't really meant it. Those were the invented truths she had made up in her mind. But now that she was hearing an entirely different version of her father, those invented truths were becoming less believable.

  If
she thought logically about the situation—putting aside her love for her father—she could see how Drake might be telling the truth. She had overheard enough conversations in her childhood about weapons that it was possible her father had a stash somewhere. And if he did, Myka could see why the other kings would band together to try to find them. And now, she had this new information about Jarvis and Princess Seran. Where did all of that fit in?

  Myka didn’t know.

  All she knew was that it was a lot to take in, and despite every logical piece of evidence her mind conjured up, she still loved her dad and wanted to believe that he was a good man. Myka had spent years perfecting her fabricated vision of her father. In her mind, he was exactly what she had wanted him to be, a loving father and a good king. The truth had probably always been in front of her, but Myka hadn’t wanted to see it, and she guessed that her father hadn’t wanted her to see it either. There were always excuses why she couldn’t travel with him or why she wasn’t invited to important political events. Perhaps he was sheltering her from who he really was. She didn’t know if she should thank him or hate him. And she didn’t know if she was ready to face the full truth.

  There could still be a perfectly good explanation for all of this.

  When Kase returned from Tolsten House with her father’s response, Myka would have more answers. She wouldn’t believe the worst about her father before then.

  She stabbed the knife into the middle of the chicken, leaning back like it might somehow come to life and bite her. “I’m going to get salmonella poisoning,” she said under her breath to no one but herself. Ultimately, that was the only reason she hadn’t argued with Portlend when he told her to debone the chicken. The job had come with a knife—an actual sharp knife. It was almost too good to be true and too good to pass up. This was her chance to finally get her hands on a weapon that could be the difference between staying at camp and escaping.

  Even with all of the new information she’d put together about her father, it didn’t justify her being kidnapped. She still wanted to escape.