“Over here, Majesty.”
Nathal tried not to sigh as he dismounted his white stallion, Destroyer. Dust puffed into the air as he thumped to the ground. His heels smarted but he ignored the minor bother and handed the destrier’s reins to his squire. He strode toward his lifelong friend and captain of his personal guard, Murdoch.
Not. Again.
But it had happened again, this time in his own Province of Terraquist.
He was well aware of what awaited him inside.
It was the only reason he was here. Normally, his men handled these types of situations and reported back to him.
This was the third time, and Nathal needed to respond himself.
As king, his people were his responsibility.
He had to dip his head to enter the low doorway of the crofter’s cottage. The acrid smell of burned flesh and blood smacked him in the face and roiled his stomach. Bile rose; Nathal swallowed, clearing his throat and exchanging a glance with one of his men.
“Your Highness.” Murdoch inclined his head. The large man was hunched over a female body.
Her pale blonde hair was stained deep red, matted at the back of her head. She lay face down on the wood-planked floor of the small home, both her arms bent at an odd angle. Her legs, too, were broken, facing opposite directions. Blood pooled beneath her.
“Dammit.”
“I know it, sire.” His captain’s auburn brows were drawn tight. “The third lass.” Murdoch was on a knee, careful to avoid the crimson coating the floor.
“I believe it confirms they’re looking for her, if the second did not. It’s not a coincidence.”
“Aye. They’re killing any lass who looks about the right age if they don’t get the right answers to questions about magic, I’d wager to guess.”
Nathal cursed long and hard, tightening his fist until his gauntlets creaked a protest.
“My king, in here!” one of his knights called, peeking his head out of what had to be the main sleeping quarters of the cottage.
The crofter home sat on its own parcel of land, well outside the City of Terraquist, his capital. Although small, it was independent. According to the official royal records, it was owned by Fergal Onsted.
Onsted was a farmer by trade, and made the appropriate tithes. An upstanding citizen.
No reports of any issues—of any kind. The provost in charge of the area had confirmed. He, too, was outside with his marshals.
“What is it, Tarmon?” Nathal asked, but his stomach dipped, and he just knew.
“Two laddies.”
Nathal’s heart plummeted. The look on his knight’s face confirmed the children were dead, too. The woman face down in the main living space was probably their mother. He assumed she was Onsted’s wife, Rohaine—according to the records.
He blew out a breath and went to the doorway, dread churning his gut.
Two small forms lay crumpled and broken on the woven rug.
Nathal closed his eyes and looked away. “Blessed Spirit.” Blood covered the room, the walls, even the large bed.
“They probably tried to hide.” Tarmon’s low voice was thick, the man obviously affected by the scene. Then again, who wouldn’t be?
Like himself, the knight was a father, too.
Both lads were blond, and they couldn’t be more than four or five turns old. Two small hands were entwined, despite their contorted bodies; the brothers were connected in death.
“Any sign of the husband?” Nathal called to no one in particular. “His name is Fergal Onsted.”
“Aye, Majesty,” someone answered from the third, and final room of the cottage. “Over here. He’s burned badly.”
“Shite.”
This was the third family decimated in the last sevenday. Three young women, their husbands, and now the toll of children sat at five.
“Get Rory in here to sweep for magic,” Murdoch ordered, catching Nathal’s eye as he came back into the main living space.
Nathal nodded agreement and watched one of the lads dash outside.
“Your Highness?” The redheaded half-elfin mage bowed as he appeared in front of Nathal, but he didn’t miss the lad’s eyes resting on the dead lass before meeting his gaze. Rory brushed his bright hair out of his face, the movement drawing Nathal’s attention to the magic user’s long tapered ear.
“Where’s your sister?” he asked. Unlike Rory, Edana was tiny, barely over four and a half feet. She resembled a full-blooded elf more than her six-foot-tall brother. Neither came close to Nathal’s own six-foot-seven-inch-frame. Few men did.
“Probing outside, Majesty.”
“Good. She doesn’t need to see this carnage. Tell her to stay out there, mark the perimeter and note any magic.”
Rory gave a curt nod. He was still and silent, and although Nathal couldn’t hear the message being relayed, there was no doubt the mage was thought-sending to the other redhead. He and his twin were Nathal’s two most powerful mages, and connected to each other much more so than his other mages, because of their twin-tie and elfin blood.
“Tell me what you find here, lad.”
“Aye, Majesty.” The mage’s chest heaved as if he’d taken a deep breath, and he closed his vivid green eyes. Rory spread his arms wide, and Nathal watched as his skin started to glow.
“Nathal.” Murdoch spoke too low to have been overheard, so Nathal didn’t chide him for calling his given name. His captain rarely did so when they were in the company of their men—as it should be.
They’d been lads together, trained together, and fought together. Even married at the same time. Nathal had no closer friend.
“What is it?” He tore his gaze away from Rory, and knelt next to his captain.
“Look.” Murdoch had flipped the lass’s body over.
Nathal glanced away from her mangled face, and the burned flesh of her neck and collarbone. One of her ears was missing. He cursed again as his friend gently closed her sightless eyes. The lass’s bodice and tunic were torn open, baring her breasts. He murmured a prayer that the Blessed Spirit keep her soul safe.
Anger and regret darted across Murdoch’s face when Nathal met his teal eyes. “A waste of one so young.”
“Aye. There is no greater waste. What did you find?”
The captain pointed to a scorch mark high on her ribs, on her right side. “I think they know about the birthmark.”
“Enough to look for it, aye. But this lass has none.”
“Aye, but this is new. Different from the other two deaths.” Murdoch gave a nod and sighed.
Nathal chewed over that bit of information, but it was true. “Cover her up, Mur. She deserves dignity.”
The captain worked quickly, straightening the damaged bodice as well as smoothing bloody skirts. The lass’s expression was serene in death, despite the horrors that’d escorted her to the afterlife.
He had to look away from everything that’d been done to her. He’d seen many bloody battles in the time he’d been king, but the death of innocents never sat right in his gut. Especially when this lass and her family—as well as the other two—had no idea what they’d done to become targets of evil.
Nothing. They didn’t do a damn thing to deserve this.
“The question is, if they’d thought they’d actually found her, would they’ve killed or captured?” Nathal mused, trying to assuage the guilt churning in his gut.
“Captured. They covet her magic, do they not?”
“Aye, so we’ve always assumed. But why?” He growled as he climbed to his feet. “They haven’t established where they think she is. The first lass was from western Greenwald. The second, North Ascova. Why were these lasses targeted? Three small holdings, none of the women were noble, or married to noblemen. It’s as if they do not know their real target at all.”
“Questions we need to answer, but thank the Blessed Spirit for any ignorance that’ll play to our advantage.” Murdoch shook his head, whispering prayers over the lass.
Neither of them had ever been considered holy men, not really, but in the face of the tragedy—and the other two—Nathal needed guidance. His people had been slaughtered. They deserved better.
He would avenge them—and protect his own, as he always had.
“Why would they come after her now? After all these turns?” Murdoch asked when he’d straightened.
“How did they find out she’s alive?”
“I know not, Sire. We’ve done what we could to protect her, to keep her hidden for almost twenty turns. But never did I fathom it’d be at the expense of three lasses and their families. Innocents murdered. We have to catch these bastards.”
“Aye, Murdoch. Before anyone else is killed.”
Nathal held himself responsible.
He knew who they were looking for. And where she resided.
The little girl giggled and Elissa failed to hold back the smile curving her lips. “Sit still, princess, so I can finish quickly,” she admonished her young cousin.
“I am sitting still, Issa,” Mallyn complained.
“Hmm…” She gave a gentle tug of the tawny-colored braid she was weaving.
The newly ten-turn-old whined for good measure, but straightened her thin shoulders and sat taller.
“That’s better, lovebug.”
Mallyn flashed a grin in the mirror and Elissa kept her fingers moving, fixing her cousin an intricate nest of braids for the feast. The little princess had begged for a grown-up style, one like her mother often wore. It was her birthday supper; the child had been a ball of excitement all morning and well into the afternoon. She’d had trouble focusing on her lessons, too. Mallyn had asked if she could get dressed in her special outfit for supper even before midday meal.
“Elissa, may I have a word?”
“Of course, Your Highness.” She released Mallyn’s hair and bowed to Queen Morghyn as she entered the room.
“Mama.” Mallyn’s high pitched whine made the queen’s pale brows knit tight. “Issa is doing my hair! She can’t go with you right now.” The princess leveled a frown to match her mother’s.
“Sweeting, just because it’s your birthing day doesn’t mean you can speak to me like that.” Queen Morghyn’s admonition was on the gentle side, but her dark eyes flashed.
Mallyn hung her head. “Aye, Mother. I’m sorry.”
The queen swept further into the room, her fine golden gown rustling with each graceful step. She cupped her only daughter’s cheeks, caressing her with both thumbs and murmuring.
Elissa bit back a smile she watched them together. The queen was her blood kin, first cousin to her dead father, and the only mother she’d ever known.
She resembled the white-blonde beauty more than Mallyn, who looked more like King Nathal. Elissa’s eyes were hazel instead of deep brown, but her facial structure was just like the queen’s; high cheekbones and straight nose. They’d been mistaken as sisters many a time, though the queen was old enough to be her mother. She’d never remind the queen of such things. Her cousin held her age well, looking much younger than her forty or so turns.
“Lady Elissa shall return to finish your hair with plenty of time before your feast, my love.” Queen Morghyn kissed Mallyn’s forehead, like she’d done to Elissa so many times over the turns.
Elissa was—and always would be—grateful her cousin had taken her in when her parents had died, and raised her as a lady-in-waiting. Her father had been a minor lord, and Elissa’s position at Castle Rowan was one of honor. Lady-in-waiting or not, Queen Morghyn had always shown her affection, hugs, and love—as well as discipline—during her childhood.
The king, her cousin’s husband, had always treated her with respect and love. Elissa couldn’t have had a better man to consider a father.
Mallyn’s expression was solemn. “Can you hurry?”
“Mallyn.” The queen’s voice held warning, but the corners of her mouth twitched.
The little girl beamed, unrepentant as usual.
Elissa cleared her throat to cover her laugh. “I know what we can do, lovebug.”
“What?” Her little cousin’s pale blue eyes went wide.
“I’ll call Ketrice, and she’ll help you get dressed. By the time you’re done, I’ll be back to weave flowers into your hair.”
“Oh, aye!” Mallyn clapped.
The other handmaiden quickly stepped into the room as if summoned, the princess’s fancy blue birthday gown in her capable hands. Elissa thanked her friend.
“Oh, Mother?” the child called as she slipped to her feet from the chair. Her ivory dressing gown was crinkled, and Elissa leaned forward to tug it straight.
“Aye, love?”
“You can still hurry, right?”
Elissa laughed—she couldn’t help it.
Queen Morghyn whirled away so her daughter wouldn’t see her smile. “Impudent lass,” she muttered as they left her child’s rooms.
Elissa knew better than to point out her young cousin wasn’t much different from her mother. “Is something wrong, Your Grace?”
“Nay, lass. Don’t worry. The king has some news.”
“For me?”
“Aye.” The queen’s expression was serene, but Elissa’s gut churned with unease.
What could the king have to say to me?
The dreams—nightmares, really—that’d been haunting her all sevenday danced into her mind, though she’d told no one, not even her roommate.
Women screaming, running; fire everywhere. White-hot pain searing her arms and legs, and her face. Elissa had woken screaming, too. She’d frantically grabbed for her left ear. It’d been burning, the pain only fading after she’d panted her way through two couplets of a calming spell she’d learned as a child. It’d taken much longer than that for the shake in her limbs to dissipate.
It was a wonder Dara hadn’t woken from all the fuss she’d made, but her friend had always said she slept like the dead.
There’s no way it could have something to do with that. Right?
Unless one of the mages with empathic powers had picked something up.
Did her dreams mean something? She shook her head. Elissa would rather forget about the nightmares than disclose them.
The king and queen knew of her magic, of course. They’d helped her hone her powers with the best mages. She could control all the elements, but water drew her most. Controlling it, conjuring it, shaping it had always been her passion. Elissa could draw water from non-existence, and could make it rain—even thunderstorm—without effort.
As a child, directing her powers had been a constant challenge, since they were linked to her emotions, but she’d learned, mastering the elements. Much quicker than anyone had expected.
She’d never had the desire to become a King’s Mage, though several of her teachers had tried to steer in her that direction.
Thank the Blessed Spirit King Nathal had disagreed.
‘Elissa is a lady’ was always the reply.
She had no regrets that she’d spent most of her time inside, learning to run a household, and in the last few turns, acting as a companion to both of her young cousins, Mallyn, and the crown prince, Roblin. Although the lad was recently four and ten, since twelve he’d been training to become a knight.
Tension rose in the silence, but was Elissa imagining it? Her cousin didn’t look upset in the least—as a matter of fact, Queen Morghyn’s expression was…pleased?
Elissa’s heart skipped.
They continued down the wide corridor. Every servant they passed stopped and bowed deeply to their queen. Her cousin gave each a nod and smile of acknowledgment.
When they arrived at a wide, dark door, Elissa swallowed hard.
The king’s personal ledger room.
She’d never been inside—then again, there’d been no need.
The door swung open, and a tall sandy-haired knight bowed. “Your Highness. Lady Elissa.”
“Hello, Sir Willum.” Queen Morghyn’s smile was genuine for the man who was probably only a few turns older than Elissa.
Elissa had always thought him handsome. He was soft spoken for a knight—in her estimation, anyway. Most of the king’s knights had a tendency toward rowdiness.
She smiled and bowed, and Sir Willum inclined his head.
“Come in, love. Issa.” The king’s call echoed, and Sir Willum slid out of the way so they could enter.
Elissa looked around, trying to take in overwhelming surroundings. A map of the continent filled the wall to her right. It detailed the Provinces down to the last tiny holding. She’d had to memorize each major city and all the families of nobility as a child. She’d never relished those lessons.
Below the map sat a large bookcase, full to the brim. Actually, all the walls of the room were lined with full bookcases.
Elissa had never seen King Nathal with a book in his large hands, but obviously he liked to read. She couldn’t see titles on the spines, but there were volumes of all sizes. She’d love the opportunity to explore. She, too, loved to read. Loved the smell of the parchment, the weight of a good story in her hands.
Castle Rowan had a vast library. Elissa loved stories of handsome knights and beautiful lasses that ended with happily-ever-after the best.
The place smelled like the king—clean masculine spice with a touch of pine. The man had always reminded her of winter, in a way. Crisp. But she’d always preferred sandalwood.
Odd to think such things now.
She chided herself and bowed before the large man. King Nathal was seated at his oversized desk, a quill in hand, and well of ink next to the parchment he’d been writing on. He gestured them to take seats in the chairs across from his desk, and excused Sir Willum.
King Nathal smiled and set the writing utensil down, then rolled up the parchment and grabbed his seal.
Elissa and Queen Morghyn watched in silence as he used deep blue wax—the main color of Terraquist—to secure the letter until it reached appropriate hands.
“Ah, there.” The king’s deep voice was saturated in satisfaction, and even though the contents of the letter were none of her business, Elissa was curious.
Could it concern me somehow?
“Thank you for coming to see me, lass.” His pale blue eyes were kind, as she always remembered them.
“Of-of-of course, Your Highness.” Elissa cursed the stutter and her stomach somersaulted.
Queen Morghyn leaned over and patted her hand, as if she sensed her unease. Her cousin smiled softly and Elissa made herself relax.
Nothing’s wrong.
There was no issue with having a private meeting with the king and queen—right? These people had taken her in, raised her, even loved her. She met the large man’s gaze and forced a smile.
King Nathal’s tawny locks were shaggy as always, framing his face like a lion’s mane. The curve of his lips was pleasant, befitting his handsome face as much as his crystal blue eyes. His beard was trimmed neatly, outlining his strong jaw. He was a good man, a good king.
“Is something wrong?” Elissa took a breath, telling herself relax in the chair. The carved wood at her shoulders grounded her somehow.
“Nay, Issa,” Queen Morghyn said.
“How old were you on your last birthing day, lass?”
Elissa jumped, and looked at the queen before she could meet the king’s gaze again.
He knew her age, did he not? “Two and twenty, Your Majesty.”
King Nathal nodded, and exchanged a glance with his wife.
The seal of Terraquist, a roaring lion with a royal blue shield and a flag caught her eye. It was on the wall to the left, above Queen Morghyn’s head.
“It’s time, Issa,” her cousin whispered.
“Time for what?” Elissa blurted.
“For you to wed, lass.”
She bit back the exclamation on the tip of her tongue. Shock aside, Elissa was with the king and queen, and she’d do well to remember that. She’d never show them with any sort of disrespect, not just because of their ranks.
“Who?” she croaked when she managed to break the silence—a good thirty seconds later. She was grateful they’d given her time for the declaration to sink in.
For some reason, the hero of her favorite story danced into her head. A handsome knight. In the book, he’d married the woman he loved.
Elissa didn’t want to marry someone she didn’t love.
King Nathal reclined in his ornately carved chair. “That, lass, will be up to you.”
She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“There are several appropriate suitors, but the best candidate is Lord Camden Malloch. He’s young, and a good man, a good leader to his people. As was his father before him. He’s recently become Duke of Dalunas. He’s looking for a strong wife.”
“Dalunas?”
The Province of Dalunas was the farthest from Terraquist one could travel and stay on the continent. It was a three sevenday ride. As south as possible from where they were in the far north. Along the southeastern coast.
“Aye, lass.”
“So far,” Elissa whispered.
“Aye, Issa. I know it’s farther than you’ve ever been—”
“Away from everything, everyone, I know.” Elissa bowed her head when she realized she’d interrupted the queen, but her cousin’s expression was soft when she managed to meet her dark gaze again.
“It’ll be all right, love.” Queen Morghyn caressed her cheek.
“Will you consider Lord Camden as your match, my lady?” King Nathal asked.
Consider? Do I really have a choice?
“I want you to marry, but aye, the final say of who you call husband will be yours. You’ve my word.” The king offered a curt nod.
Heat kissed Elissa’s neck before searing her cheeks. She’d not meant to speak aloud, but she had. She forced a nod and sucked in a calming breath. “You…you…said there were several suitors?”
“Aye.”
“Who…who…are the others?”
“Lord Avery Lenore of Tarvis, though he’s younger than you. With either Avery or Camden, you shall be a duchess, but there are two other sons of minor lords that please me. Lord Audon Croly, heir to a large holding in the southern part of Tarvis, and last but certainly not least, Lord Lakyn Gallard, nephew to the Duke of Ascova. He resides in South Ascova, heir to the castle there.”
So far away.
All her suitors lived so far away from Terraquist.
Elissa wouldn’t get to see Mallyn every day. Her heart seized. “I…”
“I realize it is a lot to take in, lass, but it’s time.” His tone brooked no argument—not that she’d argue with her king.
Tears stung her eyes. She’d always assumed she’d marry—eventually.
Not like this.
Not being given a list of four men she’d never met, and being ordered choose.
Not leaving the only family she’d ever known.
Elissa wanted to ask why it was suddenly time when no one had brought such things up before. Had these men asked for her hand? Did they know she was being considered to wed one of them?
“I don’t want to leave Terraquist. I have Princess Mallyn to look after and—” She swallowed against the lump in her throat.
Her cousin squeezed her hand and whispered reassurances, but Elissa didn’t process the statements or the sentiment.
King Nathal stood, but her eyes didn’t track him as he came around to the front of his massive dark wood desk. She stared at the golden lion lying atop the back of his carved chair. It had jeweled blue eyes—probably real sapphires.
Her king planted himself on the edge of his desk in front of her. He reached, and one of his calloused hands swallowed hers. “You can take as much time as you need to decide, lass.”
“Do I…” Elissa sucked back a sob, “…get to meet them?”
“Of course.”
Short-lived relief washed over her. Selecting a husband shouldn’t be like choosing a melon at market. “I don’t want a marriage without love.” Elissa cursed the words as they fell from her mouth.
The king and queen looked at each other before King Nathal drew her gaze again. He was widely known for loving his wife, so her confession wasn’t unreasonable, was it?
“Aye, lass. I’d never have you marry without it.”
“But what if I don’t love any of them?”
The king smiled kindly. “I’m sure when you meet them, get to know them, that won’t be the case.”
What if it is the case?
Overwhelmed, she didn’t know what to do, or say. Elissa blinked to clear her vision, but it didn’t work.
“Will you give it a chance, my lady?” King Nathal asked.
She forced a nod. What else could she say? “What’s next?” she whispered.
“After Mallyn’s feast, pack your bags and be ready to depart in the morning.”
“Where am I going?”
“We are going to Greenwald, Issa,” Queen Morghyn answered.
“Greenwald?”
“Aye, lass, we’ve a wedding to attend.”
Elissa gasped.
King Nathal laughed. “Worry not, it’s not yours.”