Golden Crown

by M. Lynn

  A woman with fiery red hair and painted lips caught his eye and smiled coyly as she spun. When she turned toward him once again, she crooked one long finger, beckoning him forward.

  There was a time when he would have gone willingly.

  He’d been the prince who loved a good party and women most of all.

  He turned away with a shake of his head. Now he was a king with his own people in the dungeons and no desire to sit on his throne.

  That was the biggest problem, wasn’t it?

  The people called for his crown and he wanted to give it to them.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and walked toward his rooms without further interruption. Four servant boys arrived carrying barrels of steaming water. They poured them into the tub and left. A maid entered with a tray of food but he only had eyes for the pitcher that sat in the center. Once she was gone, he poured a mug of ale and took a long drink before setting it down.

  Unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, he reached behind him and pulled it over his head, his muscles crying out in protest. As his hands moved to the waist of his pants, the door crashed open behind him.

  He turned around.

  “Mother,” he said. “What…” He stopped himself when he noticed her knuckles turning white as she gripped the doorway. Her entire body shook.

  “Alexandre Durand,” she growled. “You’re a stupid boy.”

  He drew himself up, placing a palm on his bare chest. “I am the king.”

  “And my son.” She stepped forward and pushed the door shut. “I can call you whatever the hell I want when you arrest Gauleans and throw them into our dungeons. I thought I bred the cruel out of you by keeping you from spending too much time with your father, but I was wrong.”

  “Mother–”

  “No, you listen to me, boy. You messed up. Fix it.”

  “How?” he asked, stepping back to sit on the edge of his bed. “How am I supposed to heal this kingdom?”

  She opened her mouth to speak and then shut it again.

  “I. Can’t. Mother. Maybe Gaule will never be at peace while they have a king they despise.”

  “They despised your father.”

  Alex grunted. “No, they feared him, but they never hated him. He kept them safe from magic. They think I betrayed them for it.”

  She sighed. “Alexandre, I don’t know what to tell you. But you can start by not making it worse. Let those people go back to their families.”

  He blew out a breath and nodded.

  “Good.” She stepped forward and patted his cheek. “I’ll inform the guard for you. You stay here and bathe. You reek.” She scrunched up her nose and turned to leave.

  “Mother.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

  “Never be sorry for the actions you take to protect your people, Alexandre. They may not always be right, but your heart always will be.”

  When she was gone, he removed the rest of his clothes and sank beneath the warm water. But like everything in life, it too eventually turned cold, and he had to leave it behind.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The guards released the people from the dungeons and escorted them back to their village. Alex did not accompany them. Instead, he rode into the village near the castle gates.

  The streets were deserted. Faces appeared at windows and promptly disappeared. Word of the army’s intrusion into other villages had stretched across the kingdom.

  When his father was king, he’d send the army into a village to force people from their homes in advance of the king’s arrival. They’d have to wave and cheer as if they had not a care in the world.

  Eventually, the people would come out willingly–after the purge. They were grateful for the king’s removal of magic folk.

  Alex had done the same thing, and yet they now cursed his name.

  As he rode through the empty streets to the place where he was attacked the year before, he felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. Someone was watching them. His eyes darted around but the only other people present were his own guards.

  Alex stopped and dismounted. This spot was where he’d fought with Etta and Edmund. He lifted his eyes to the healer’s shop. A new sign hung over the door. The destruction of parts of the village had been cleared away and shops rebuilt on his orders.

  As a boy, he’d spent a lot of time running through the streets with Etta.

  But now the place seemed foreign to him.

  “Alex.” The voice was faint. He twisted around, looking for the source even as his mind recognized the soft quality sliding over him.

  “Ara,” he breathed.

  “What, your Majesty?” Simon asked.

  Alex held up a finger, listening.

  “We need you,” Ara said. “Etta will kill me for contacting you, but in two weeks’ time, we march on Dracon. Etta isn’t herself. Something is inside of her. Her plans… Alex, they’re crazy. I hope you can hear me right now. I’m not sure if my magic is working at this distance, but I think she’s losing herself. If she’s going to survive this…” The words paused. “You’re the one person who can keep her from letting her recklessness get her killed.”

  Ara continued, but Alex didn’t hear it as his guards started shouting. “Get down, your Majesty.” He was thrown to the ground as one of his guards tackled him and went still.

  Simon took off running as the rest of the guards positioned themselves around their king. Alex couldn’t see what was happening but the crash of swords rang out. The fight didn’t take long and then Simon was running back toward them.

  Alex pushed the man off him, but his guard didn’t get up. He turned him over and sucked in a breath when he found the knife embedded in the man’s back. His face was frozen in shock. Alex bowed his head and slid the dead man’s eyes closed.

  “We need to get you out of here, your Majesty,” Simon said, sliding his sword back into the sheath.

  Alex pushed to his feet. “That knife was meant for me.”

  “We’ll make sure Riley’s family is taken care of.”

  Riley. He hadn’t even known the man’s name. His body hummed with nervous energy as the shock wore off and adrenaline took over.

  “Your Majesty,” Simon urged. “I took care of the attacker, but there could be more.”

  There weren’t. The attacker seemed to be working alone, so they cantered away from the village and the bodies they left behind.

  Alex practically fell from his horse and stumbled back. Bile rose in his throat and he put a hand on the stable wall as the contents of his stomach emptied onto the ground below him.

  “Your Majesty.” A delicate hand offered him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth, and he looked up into the face of Duchess Moreau.

  He took her pity, wiped his face, and stood. “I was almost…”

  Simon appeared. “Your Majesty, you should go inside and rest. You’re in shock.” He turned his gaze on the duchess. “I’ll alert the palace guards. The king was attacked. We’ll increase his guard tonight.”

  “Thank you, Simon.”

  He bowed his head and hurried away.

  “Alexandre.” She gripped his elbow. “Come with me. You’ve been in battle before. An attack on your life is not the only thing on your mind.”

  He’d almost forgotten about Ara’s message and how shaken he’d been even before the attack began.

  Etta needed him, but his kingdom was on the brink of civil war because of the aid he offered magic folk. He couldn’t go to her, could he?

  He followed the duchess silently. She’d existed in her own world in the weeks since the wards were put into place. He’d expected her to return home as he’d ordered. The villages on the Moreau land were suffering in the wake of the exodus of the magic folk. They’d been a large part of the population on her lands and now there was a shortage of workers. The Moreau forces that marched with him to retake the palace lost many men and women to Bela as well.

  But she hadn’t left, claiming a duty to the crown. She sat at the head
of his council and he was grateful for her steady presence.

  She led him into her suite of rooms and pointed toward the couch. He ran a hand through his dark hair and sat. She walked over to a table and a minute later was pressing a cup into his hands.

  He sighed and tilted it against his lips, expecting wine or even ale. When something completely different touched his tongue, he sputtered.

  Duchess Moreau’s face creased as a fond smile flitted across it.

  “Water?” He asked skeptically. “I almost have my life taken from me. One of my men is dead. And you give me water?”

  One brow arched. “You don’t need a drink, your Majesty. I think you’ve had enough of those lately.” When he started to protest, she went on. “Why else would you arrest wagons full of people in one of your own villages. The king I know would only do something so completely idiotic with a strong influencer in his system.”

  “I…” He sat forward to argue, but the air deflated from his lungs. “I deserved that.”

  “That and more, but it is not for me to chastise you.”

  “Actually.” He rubbed his chin. “It kind of is. You’re the head of the king’s council. When I was ill, many of the crown’s powers were transferred to you and those who sit on the council with you.” He leaned back. “Essentially, I am not ruling this kingdom alone anymore because we never formally returned those powers. The proclamation has been drawn up for a reversal, but the time hasn’t been right.”

  She narrowed her eyes, watching him. Duchess Moreau was a shrewd woman. It hadn’t escaped her that the council still held more power than they had at any time since Alexandre’s grandfather was king.

  Their eyes met in silent standoff, each only imagining what the other was thinking.

  “Your Majesty,” she said.

  “Duchess,” he replied.

  “What do you want?”

  “A king’s power should never be absolute,” he said finally.

  “No, it should not.”

  “My father’s was, and that is how the purge happened. Never again.”

  “We can prevent such an occurrence.”

  He nodded.

  “Are you sure you know what these powers mean?” she asked. “The capabilities the council will have?”

  There was something lying beneath her words, but he couldn’t decipher the meaning so he only nodded and sipped his water.

  Her shoulders relaxed, and she poured a cup from a second pitcher. Reaching out, she took his water and passed him the new drink. He tasted it and laughed. Wine.

  “Now,” she said as she took a seat. “Tell me what happened today.”

  He didn’t hold anything back as he described the empty streets. When he got to the message from Ara, he scrutinized her face. She gave nothing away, and he moved on to the attack.

  When he was finished, she crossed her ankles and busied herself fanning out the skirt of her dress.

  “Why does Ara think Etta needs you?”

  “I’m not…” Before finishing his words, he realized they weren’t true. It hadn’t hit him before, why Ara was worried, but Etta had already given him all the answers he needed. “Her magic.” He swallowed another gulp of wine and set the cup aside. “Before she left, she told me it was trying to control her. I saw it with my own eyes. Anger. Hatred.” His brow furrowed, and he shook his head as he remembered the first time he’d seen it after she got the powers.

  She’d fought La Dame, and he’d almost died. She’d told him to leave and never return. He hadn’t pieced that together until this very moment. Everything. All of it. Each time she’d pushed him away since the curse was broken, it had been the magic pushing him away. And he’d let it.

  He closed his eyes. “They’re losing her.” It was the only explanation for Ara disobeying Etta and contacting him. “She’s losing herself.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  The next words killed him to say. “Nothing.” He brushed his hands down his embroidered jacket. “I am a king and my first responsibility must be to my people.”

  Duchess Moreau’s lips drew down into a frown. “If Etta is lost, everything else could be as well. Even for Gaule.”

  The guards refused to let Alex out of the castle. They were on orders from the council. Alex caught Duke Caron’s eye. They were already exercising some of their newfound power. Now that they knew the king was not planning a reversal of the powers, there was so much they could accomplish together.

  Caron’s sons had already returned to the Caron estate and would take control of it with the Duke and Camille moving full time to the palace. Alex would never admit it to her, but he was glad his sister wasn’t leaving. It made him feel like Ty was close as well, like their family wasn’t so distant from each other.

  The council consisted of six members, each from noble families. They stood as Alex rushed into the council chambers.

  “Good morning,” he said, trying to keep them from noticing just how tired their leader was. It had been another night of worrying for Etta and everyone in Bela.

  “Good morning, your Majesty,” Duchess Moreau said. “Are you ready to begin?”

  He nodded. “We have much to discuss today. General Anders reports more protests and the burning of another village. We’re running out of options here. It may be time for army intervention.”

  Duchess Moreau’s piercing eyes latched on to him. “And what are they rebelling against this time?” She crossed her arms, waiting for an answer.

  Alex sighed. “Everything.”

  The duchess stood and moved to the front of the room to face her fellow council members. “No, your Majesty. They were protesting their king.”

  He scratched the side of his face. “Does this have a purpose? What do you want me to say?”

  “We want you to take responsibility for destroying Gaule.”

  It was as if the air in the room had been sucked out. Every eye turned to the duchess. Jaws fell open.

  “Rae,” Catrine warned. “That’s enough.”

  Alex followed the locked gazes of his mother and the duchess as they held a silent conversation. Was this what happened when the council actually had power? Was this why his father had disbanded them?

  “I assure you, Duchess,” he began. “I am doing everything possible to heal our kingdom.”

  Duchess Moreau tore her eyes from the dowager queen and rounded on him. “Does that include arresting those who’ve done nothing but voice their discontent? You got us into this mess with your rushed policy changes on magic folk. A king cannot just follow his every desire…” Her eyes met his. “Simply because he fell in love.”

  “I–”

  “What about receiving magical messages without informing your council?” she asked.

  His hands shook at his sides. How dare she use what he told her in confidence against him now? Duke Caron leaned forward.

  “Ara?” he asked hopefully.

  “It doesn’t matter who it was,” the duchess snapped as she pointed one long finger at Alex. “This man is not fit to be king. Even if he were, Gaule will not be at peace while the crown sits on his head.”

  Alex had no words.

  Betrayal burned through him. “You can’t take my throne. I am the rightful heir.”

  Her icy gaze flew over the rest of the council, her face set in grim determination. “Actually, your Majesty, we can.”

  She gestured to a guard who stood by the wall. He opened the door, and a servant walked in, handed a rolled parchment to the duchess, and left.

  She unrolled it slowly.

  “I hold in my hand a declaration of transfer, signed by all members of this council save one.” Her eyes flicked to Catrine who had a disturbed grimace on her face.

  The moment rushed by, happening too quickly for Alex to fully grasp it. They were taking his throne.

  And he knew, this was the reason his father stripped them of power. They could have destroyed him.

  One of the few allies he t
hought he’d had was destroying the only thing he’d ever wanted in life.

  But even that was a glorious lie. He’d never wanted it; he’d just had no other choice.

  It didn’t change the facts though. Gaule was his.

  “You’ve been planning this,” he rasped. “Since the day I was attacked. You convinced each member of my council…”

  “I am sorry, your Majesty, but we do what we must for the good of the people.” She turned to Catrine once more. “We need one final signature.”

  Her sad eyes found her son, glassing over as she considered her decision. Without taking her pained gaze from his, she picked up the pen to sign the transfer and Alex could only watch as even his mother stole his kingdom out from under him.

  “It is done,” the duchess said, rolling the proclamation and tying it with a ribbon. “Alexandre.” No title, just his name. “You are no longer part of this council. I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”

  A guard appeared at his side as if he’d protest, but he couldn’t think clearly enough for that. He stood frozen for a moment.

  “You can’t to this.” His words sounded hollow as if they had no meaning. “I am the king. Gaule is my birthright.”

  The duchess’ expression softened. “Gaule will always be yours, Alexandre, to love and to protect. But it is now ours to rule. There is a grander purpose for you, I’m afraid.” She nodded to the guard.

  A firm hand gripped his arm, leading him into the hall as the door shut with a definitive slam. It was gone. His purpose. His duty. Everything.

  He started toward the courtyard, disbelief clouding his mind. None of it felt real. One meeting and everything he’d worked his life for was finished.

  If only Father could see him now. He’d know he’d been right. Alex had failed. No guards followed him. Why would they? He was no longer king. Instead, he was simply a prince. He sucked in a breath as his slow steps brought him to the north tower. Amalie and Camille were sitting atop the wall and they spotted him before he could back away.

  “Are you coming up or what?” Camille asked.