The day I was to become queen started with the scent of lilies, funeral flowers arranged in stark white bouquets throughout our modest home. A mockery perhaps of what awaited me. Outside, rain pelted against the window panes. Droplets racing down the glass like tears I refused to shed. My wedding day, my 18th birthday, my burial. Olivia, stand still.
My stepmother hissed, yanking the corset strings tighter until my ribs compressed and breathing became a luxury. Her cold fingers brushed against my pale blonde hair, tucking loose strands behind my ears with unusual gentleness that felt more threatening than her typical cruelty. You look almost presentable. The white dress hung from my frame like a shroud. It had been my mother’s, the only thing of hers I had left.
A delicate silver pendant rested against my collarbone. Another remnant of her, a crescent moon embracing a small star. “As long as you wear this, I am with you,” she’d whispered before the illness took her 5 years ago. Before my father remarried, before he too disappeared into the embrace of death, leaving me at the mercy of a woman who saw me as nothing but a tool.
In the mirror, a ghost stared back at me. pale skin, light hair, eyes too large and haunted for my thin face. I could almost hear my mother’s voice. Some people break Libby. Others bend until they become unbreakable. The pendant caught the dim light. I touched it, drawing strength from its familiar contours.
Remember our agreement, my stepmother said, her voice low enough that her precious daughter, my stepsister Selene, wouldn’t hear from the adjacent room. You will marry King Dominic. You will secure his protection for this family. For Seline. For Seline. Always. For Seline. The golden daughter with her perfect smile and scheming eyes that matched her mother’s.
The daughter who should have been offered instead of me. Except his majesty’s condition makes him unpredictable. My stepmother continued, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my dress. Dangerous even. The attack that left him paralyzed also left him bitter. The council needs him settled needs an heir. They don’t care which girl from which minor noble family is sacrificed.
Her lips curled into a smile that never reached her eyes. And you’ve always been so dispensable. My fingers curled around the pendant. Unbreakable. I reminded myself, Ben, don’t break. A knock at the door interrupted us. My stepsister entered without waiting for a response, radiant in blue silk that complimented her dark curls. She assessed me with calculating eyes. Well, don’t you look interesting.
Her smile was sugar-coated poison. The crippled king and the unwanted daughter. How fitting. I said nothing. Words were weapons I couldn’t afford to wield. Not when my silence had been purchased with threats to the few servants who had shown me kindness after my father’s death. Not when refusal meant watching my childhood home being stripped away.
Leaving even Seline destitute. The carriage is here. Selene announced, her excitement poorly disguised. Of course, she was thrilled. With me gone, securing a royal connection through marriage, she would be free to pursue any wealthy suitor without the burden of a plain stepsister as competition. My stepmother nodded approvingly at her daughter before turning her attention back to me. Remember Olivia. Smile.
Be agreeable. Do whatever he wants. Her fingers dug into my arm. Whatever it takes to secure his favor. The journey to the palace passed in a blur of rains roads and oppressive silence. My stepmother and Seline chatted animatedly, already discussing how they would use their new royal connection.
I stared out the window, committing to memory every tree, every hill of the land I’d grown up in, the land I was leaving behind. The pendant warmed against my skin as we approached the palace, an imposing structure of stone and majesty, spires reaching toward a thunderous sky. Guards and crimson lined the entrance, their faces impassive as our carriage rolled to a stop.
One opened the door, offering a gloved hand that I accepted with numb fingers. The entrance hall swallowed us whole. cavernous, cold, despite the dozens of candles and elaborate tapestries depicting bloody battles won by kings long dead. I shivered, feeling the weight of a hundred unseen eyes following my every step.
Lady Olivia Blackwell, a stern-faced woman greeted us. Her gray hair pulled into a severe knot. I am Lady Helena, head of the royal household. We’ve been expecting you. Her gaze flicked dismissively over my stepmother and Seline. The family may wait here. You will come with me to meet his majesty. My stepmother’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist with bruising force.
Remember our agreement, she whispered, her nails digging half moons into my skin. I nodded once, then followed Lady Helena through a labyrinth of corridors, each more opulent than the last. My heart hammered against my ribs as we approached a set of massive oak doors guarded by two men whose scars told stories of battles survived.
The king has been informed of your arrival, Lady Helena said, pausing before the entrance. Something like pity flickered across her features. He has expectations. What kind of expectations? My voice emerged as a whisper. the first words I’d spoken all day. Loyalty, obedience, silence when required. She adjusted my collar with impersonal efficiency. He was not always as he is now.
The attack changed him. Four years confined to wheeled chairs and bed chambers have not improved his temperament. Why me? I asked, the question that had haunted me since the arrangement was announced. Lady Helena’s expression remained unreadable. The king makes his own choices for his own reasons. It is not for us to question.
She hesitated, then added, “Be careful with your words. He has lost the use of his legs, not his ability to destroy those who displease him.” The doors swung open before I could respond. The royal chamber was cast in shadows, heavy curtains drawn against the daylight, a single fireplace providing both warmth and illumination. At first, I saw only silhouettes.
the massive four poster bed, bookcases lining the walls, a desk covered in maps and documents. Then my eyes adjusted and I saw him. King Dominic Everett, sovereign ruler of Ravenwood, sat in a wheeled chair of dark wood and leather near the fire. At 32, he was older than I had expected, though the harsh angles of his face retained a devastating beauty that rumors hadn’t exaggerated.
Dark hair fell across his forehead, slightly too long, as though he dismissed anyone who dared suggest cutting it. His shoulders, broad and powerful, strained against a black shirt partially unlaced at the throat. Only the stillness of his legs, covered in a fur throw, betrayed his condition. His eyes found mine across the room.
Amber flecked with gold, reflecting fire light like a predators in the dark. Something cold and calculating lived in that gaze. Something that assessed my worth and found it wanting in a single glance. “So this is the sacrifice,” he said, his voice deeper than I’d imagined. Smooth as aged whiskey, despite the bitterness of his words. “Come closer, girl.
Let me see what I’m being saddled with.” Lady Helena nudged me forward. My legs moved mechanically until I stood before him close enough to see the stubble darkening his jaw to catch the scent of pine and something wilder, more dangerous. “Your Majesty,” I managed, attempting a curtsy that felt clumsy under his scrutiny.
He studied me with the detached interest one might show a mildly curious specimen, his hand shot out suddenly, fingers catching my chin in a grip firm enough to startle but not harm. “They said you were plain,” he mused. turning my face toward the fire light. I suppose that’s true enough by conventional standards. But there’s something in the eyes, his thumb brushed my lower lip, the touch sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
Tell me, Olivia Blackwell, do you know why you’re here? To marry you, your majesty. The words tasted like ash. A smile curved his lips, devoid of warmth. Yes, but do you know why you? Why not your stepsister? the pretty dark-haired one I was originally offered. My heart stuttered. This was information I hadn’t been privy to.
I I don’t Your stepmother thinks me a fool, he continued, releasing my chin to wheel himself toward a table bearing crystal decanters. She thinks a paralyzed king is a desperate king that I would accept any girl thrust before me without question. He poured amber liquid into a glass with practiced ease.
What she fails to understand is that my condition has made me more observant, not less. He took a slow sip, eyes never leaving mine. I chose you, Olivia Blackwell, not the other way around. The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet. Why? The question escaped before I could contain it. Because when I sent my representatives to assess potential brides, you were the only one who showed kindness to a servant who dropped a tray. The only one who helped an old gardener when no one was watching. His gaze intensified.
The only one who didn’t look at my emissary with disgust when he mentioned my condition. I remembered that day the royal representatives visiting our home. My stepmother parading Seline before them like prized cattle. I had been relegated to serving refreshments, invisible as always. Tomorrow you will become my wife, he stated.
Matter of fact, you will become queen. Your family will receive the protection and status they desire. He wheeled closer until his knees nearly touched the hem of my dress. And in return, you will be mine completely. Do you understand what that means? I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against my chest. I believe so. Your majesty. No, he said softly, dangerously. You don’t. But you will.
He reached out again. This time his fingers finding the silver pendant at my throat. Something flashed in his eyes. Recognition. Surprise. An interesting trinket. He murmured, releasing it as though it had burned him. Leave now. Rest. Tomorrow comes sooner than you think. Lady Helena materialized at my side, guiding me toward the door.
As we reached the threshold, the kings voice stopped us. “Olivia.” I turned, finding his gaze locked on mine across the dimly lit chamber. “I may be broken,” he said, his voice carrying an edge that raised goose flesh along my arms, but I am far from powerless. “Remember that before you consider following in your stepsister’s footsteps,” the doors closed behind us with a sound like a coffin lid falling shut.
Lady Helena led me through silent corridors to my temporary chambers, a luxurious prison where I would spend my last night as Olivia Blackwell before becoming Queen Olivia Everett, wife to a king whose eyes held secrets as dark as the shadows he surrounded himself with.
As the door closed behind Lady Helena, I clutched my mother’s pendant, pressing my forehead against the cool window glass, rain continued to fall, washing away the world I’d known. Tomorrow I would become queen to a broken king who had chosen me for reasons I couldn’t fathom. Tomorrow I would step into a life I hadn’t chosen but couldn’t refuse. Unbreakable. I reminded myself as a single tear escaped. Bend. Don’t break.
Sleep evaded me that night, leaving me to wander the vast chamber assigned to me like a ghost rehearsing for eternity. The bed remained untouched, its silken sheets too soft, too foreign against skin accustomed to threadbear linens. Outside, the storm intensified.
Lightning occasionally illuminating the unfamiliar contours of luxury surrounding me. Carved furniture, tapestries depicting ancient hunts. A silver brush said I didn’t dare touch. When dawn finally broke, pale and hesitant through lingering clouds, servants entered without knocking. Five women with downcast eyes and efficient hands.
They drew a bath scented with rose petals, laid out undergarments of fabric so fine it felt like betrayal against my callous palms, and presented a wedding gown that made my mother’s dress look like a popper’s rags. The king commissioned it specially, explained the eldest servant, her silver streaked hair twisted into a severe bun. He was most particular about the design. I stared at the creation.
Ivory silk embroidered with silver thread. Pearls cascading down the bodice like frozen tears. Not white, the traditional color of purity, but a shade that whispered of moonlight and secrets. The dress my mother had lovingly preserved hadn’t been deemed worthy of a royal wedding.
“What happened to my dress?” I asked, voice barely audible. Lady Helena had it stored safely, the woman replied, a flicker of understanding crossing her weathered features. She said you might want it after after I became property instead of person. After I traded my name, my body, my future for the protection of a family that had never protected me.
The bathwater cooled as I sat motionless, fingertips tracing circles on the surface. The servants washed my hair with gentle efficiency, applying oils that smelled of jasmine and something deeper, more primal. One brushed my pale blonde locks until they gleamed like spun silver in the morning light, arranging them in an intricate style that left my neck feeling vulnerable, exposed.
The dress weighed heavier than it should have, settling on my shoulders like shackles of silk and expectation. As they fastened the final buttons, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror. A stranger stared back, ethereal and untouchable. The silver pendant at my throat, the only familiar aspect in this transformed reflection.
A knock at the door heralded Lady Helena’s arrival. She dismissed the servants with a wave, then circled me with critical eyes. “You’ll do,” she concluded, adjusting a stray curl. “The ceremony begins in 1 hour. Your family awaits in the anti-chamber. Do you wish to see them before? I hesitated, then nodded.
Despite everything, some childish part of me still craved a kind word, a reassuring touch before stepping into the unknown. My stepmother and Seline swept into the room moments later, their expression shifting from studied somnity to poorly disguised shock as they took in my appearance. “Well,” my stepmother breathed, reaching out to touch the fabric of my sleeve.
It seems his majesty has spared no expense for his bride. Seline circled me like a hawk assessing prey. I hardly recognized you, Olivia. Almost beautiful in this light. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Though I can’t imagine why he chose you instead of Seline. My stepmother cut in sharply. Mind your tongue.
An uncomfortable silence fell, broken only by the distant sounds of activity. Servants rushing. Guards calling orders. The palace preparing for its first royal wedding in decades. The king mentioned something strange yesterday. I said quietly, watching their expressions carefully. He said he was originally offered Seline. My stepmother’s face hardened. Nonsense.
The arrangement was always for you. He seemed quite certain. Well, he’s mistaken. She stepped closer, voice dropping to a harsh whisper. Perhaps his mind is as broken as his body. I touched the pendant at my throat, drawing courage from its familiar weight. Or perhaps you offered Seline first. But when you learned of his condition, you decided to sacrifice me instead.
The slap came swift and sharp, her ring catching my cheek. Pain bloomed bright and immediate. “You ungrateful child,” she hissed, eyes darting to the door to ensure no one had witnessed. “After everything we’ve done for you, “What have you done for me?” I asked, the words escaping before I could reconsider. Besides, treat me like a servant in my father’s home.
Besides, take everything he left for me. We gave you a roof, food. My inheritance paid for both, I countered. A lifetime of swallowed words suddenly rising to the surface. And now you’ve sold me to a king you believe is a monster to secure Seline’s future. My stepmother’s face pad, then flushed with anger. You have no idea what you’re talking about. This match is an honor.
Then why not give it to your own daughter? Seline stepped between us, her expression calculating. Because the king asked for you, she said smoothly, adjusting my pendant with false sisterly concern. Specifically you after the royal delegation visited. Her fingers lingered on the silver crescent. Curious, isn’t it? Perhaps he saw something in you that we’ve missed all these years.
My stepmother’s lips pressed into a thin line. Regardless of how it came about, you have a duty to fulfill. Remember our agreement. I remember. The mark on my cheek throbbed in time with my heartbeat. You’ve made it impossible to forget. A clock chimed somewhere in the palace, sending my stepmother into a flurry of last minute adjustments. Stand straight. Smile.
Don’t embarrass us. Us? Never me, never my father. Always the invaders who had claimed his home, his name, and now his daughter. Ladies, Lady Helena appeared at the doorway, her expression revealing nothing of what she might have overheard. It’s time. My stepmother squeezed my arm once, hard enough to bruise. Do not disappoint us.
They departed with a rustle of expensive fabric, leaving me alone with Lady Helena, who approached with something concealed in her palm. For the mark, she explained, applying cool cream to my stinging cheek with impersonal efficiency. We can’t have the bride appearing damaged. Is that what I am now? I asked softly. Damaged goods.
Her hands stilled, eyes meeting mine with unexpected directness. We are all damaged in some way, Lady Olivia. The question is whether we allow those damages to define us. She stepped back, assessing her work. The king bears his scars visibly. You’ve learned to hide yours. Perhaps that is why he chose you. Before I could respond, she placed a delicate tiara on my head.
Silver vines intertwined with tiny diamonds that caught the light like trapped stars. This belonged to his mother, Lady Helena explained. He insisted you wear it today. The weight of royal history settled uncomfortably against my temples as we proceeded through corridors lined with silent guards.
The great hall had been transformed. Flowers cascaded from stone archways. Candles illuminated stained glass that cast kaleidoscope patterns across the assembled nobility. Music swelled from hidden musicians, solemn and expectant. At the far end, flanked by stern-faced advisers, waited King Dominic.
He wore formal black silver embroidery matching my gown, the royal crown resting on his dark hair. Even seated in his wheeled chair, he dominated the space, his presence commanding attention, respect, fear. Our eyes met across the expanse of polished stone and watching eyes. Something passed between us, recognition, perhaps, understanding. We were both trapped in this moment, this arrangement.
though for vastly different reasons. The ceremony passed in a blur of ancient words and solemn promises. I spoke when prompted, my voice steady despite the trembling in my core. The king’s responses came deep and clear, betraying no emotion when he slid a ring onto my finger. Silver set with a stone that shifted from blue to purple in the light. His touch lingered longer than necessary, warm against my cold skin.
With this ring, I claim you as mine,” he added, deviating from the traditional vows in body, mind, and soul. Murmurss rippled through the assembly at his departure from protocol. The officiating elder hesitated, then continued as though nothing unusual had occurred. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.
Long live King Dominic and Queen Olivia.” The hall erupted in rehearsed cheers as the king raised my hand in his. His grip firm but not painful. His eyes never left mine, searching for something I couldn’t name. The feast that followed was an elaborate affair. Course after course of delicacies I’d only heard of, wines from regions I couldn’t pronounce.
I sat beside my new husband on a day elevated above the celebrating nobles. Hyper aware of his presence, his occasional glances, the careful distance he maintained between us, my stepmother and Seline pined at a table of honor, already ingratiating themselves with influential courters.
Watching them, I realized they’d achieved exactly what they wanted. Connection to power without the burden of actually serving it. Your cheek, the king said suddenly, his voice low enough that only I could hear. Someone struck you this morning. I froze, the wine chalice halfway to my lips. It was nothing, your majesty.
His fingers brushed my jaw, turning my face toward the light. Don’t lie to me, Olivia. Not today. Not ever. The gentleness of his touch contrasted with the steel in his voice. Was it your stepmother? I hesitated, then gave a slight nod. Something dangerous flashed in his amber eyes. For what reason? I questioned her about about why she offered me instead of Seline. His jaw tightened.
And what was her response? She denied it. Said the arrangement was always for me. A cold smile curved his lips. Interesting. Consider it a wedding gift that I don’t have her removed from the celebration for laying hands on my queen. He released my face, reaching for his wine. Though the night is young, I may change my mind.
The casual threat sent a chill through me. Please don’t. It would only create more problems. He studied me over the rim of his chalice. You defend her still. After everything, I defend peace, I corrected. And I’ve had precious little of it in my life. Something shifted in his expression. Surprise, perhaps, or respect. a diplomatic answer.
You may make a suitable queen yet. He set down his wine, gesturing to a servant. But remember this, Olivia, you are no longer at anyone’s mercy but mine, and I do not share what belongs to me. Dancing followed the feast, nobles twirling in practiced patterns across the stone floor. I remained beside the king, watching with him from our elevated position, acutely aware of the whispers, the sidelong glances, the speculation about what would happen when nightfell.
They wonder if I can still perform as a man,” he observed, his voice tinged with bitter amusement. “If my paralysis extends to all functions, or merely my legs.” Heat rushed to my face. “Your majesty, Dominic,” he corrected. When we are alone or nearly so, you will use my name. Dominic, I repeated, the syllables strange on my tongue. I don’t think it’s appropriate to discuss such matters here.
And where would be appropriate? Our bed chamber, perhaps? His smile was wolfish, predatory. We’ll get there soon enough. Before I could respond, a commotion erupted near the entrance to the great hall. Guards moved swiftly, surrounding a figure who had apparently tried to force entry. The music faltered. Conversations hushed as the disruption was dragged before the deis.
“A young man, perhaps 20, with wild eyes and disheveled clothes, struggled against the guard’s grip.” “Your majesty,” he shouted, dropping to his knees. “I beg an audience, my village, the northern border. We’re under attack.” Dominic straightened, all traces of sardonic amusement vanishing from his features. “Release him,” he commanded. “Explain yourself.
” The guards reluctantly loosened their hold. The young man rose unsteadily, bowing low. “Forgive the intrusion, your majesty. I rode 3 days without rest. The Blackwood Clan has crossed the border. They burned our fields, took our children.” His voice broke. They said it was payment for your sins. A hush fell over the hall.
Heavy with tension and fear. I glanced at Dominic, startled by his expression. Rage, yes, but also something like guilt flashing across his features before being masked by regal control. When did this occur? He demanded. 5 days ago, sire. I left immediately. Dominic turned to the stern-faced man at his right. Lord Commander Ellis, I’d learned during introductions.
Assemble the royal guard. We ride at first light. Murmurss of shock rippled through the assembly. The king hadn’t left the palace in four years. Not since the attack that left him paralyzed. Sire, Ellis began carefully. Perhaps it would be prudent to send. I said we ride. Dominic cut him off, voice brooking no argument.
I will not sit idle while my people suffer for my past actions. His gaze swept the stunned nobility. The celebration is concluded. Return to your homes and prepare your men. Any house that fails to answer this call will be considered treasonous. The hall erupted into chaos. Nobles hurrying to depart. Servants scurrying to clear tables, guards receiving hasty orders.
Through it all, Dominic remained composed, issuing commands with the authority of a man accustomed to being obeyed without question. I sat motionless beside him, forgotten in the sudden shift from celebration to crisis. My wedding night, it seemed, would not proceed as the whispers had predicted. When the hall had mostly emptied, Dominic finally turned to me. It appears our wedding night must be postponed, wife. His expression was unreadable.
Lady Helena will show you to the royal chambers. I have preparations to make. You’re truly going? I asked, unable to mask my surprise. But your condition, my condition, he interrupted coldly, does not prevent me from leading my men. I’ve adapted my methods, not abandoned my responsibilities. His eyes narrowed.
Or did you marry a man you believed a complete invalid? No, I said quietly, my fingers finding the silver pendant at my throat. I married a king I know nothing about, who’s sending himself to potential death on our wedding day. Something softened briefly in his gaze. Death and I are well acquainted, Olivia. He’s had four years to claim me and has yet to succeed. He reached out, his fingers brushing the pendant.
Keep this close while I’m gone and trust no one. Not your family, not the council, not even Lady Helena. Why not? Because the attack that crippled me came from within these walls, he replied, voice dropping to ensure only I could hear. and I’ve spent four years determining who orchestrated it. Fear clutched at my heart.
And have you determined who was responsible? A cold smile curved his lips. I have theories. The Blackwood clan doesn’t move without direction. Payment. Someone wanted me weakened or dead. His fingers trailed from the pendant to my cheek, surprisingly gentle against the mark left by my stepmother. Consider this your first lesson as queen. Everyone in this palace has motives you can’t yet see.
With that cryptic warning, he signaled for his attendance. Two men materialized from the shadows, helping him navigate the wheeled chair away from the deis and toward a side entrance, leaving me alone on the throne. A new queen abandoned on her wedding day with enemies she couldn’t identify, and a husband she didn’t understand riding toward danger that might have been meant for him all along.
I clutched the pendant, my mother’s final gift, and wondered if I would be widow before I’d truly been a wife. Morning arrived with the thunderous departure of the royal forces. Hundreds of men on horseback, armor glinting in the dawn light, banners snapping in the wind. From my chamber window, high in the eastern tower, I watched them assemble in the courtyard below.
Servants scured between mounted knights, delivering last minute provisions and messages. Lords in polished armor sat straight back to top massive war horses, their expressions grim with purpose. At the center of this marshall symphony stood, no sat. My husband of less than a day. King Dominic had exchanged his wedding finery for battle leather reinforced with gleaming plates across his chest and shoulders.
Even from this distance, I could see the modifications to his saddle. straps that would secure his useless legs, allowing him to ride despite his paralysis. His determination was evident in every line of his body, as attendance helped him mount a massive black stallion that pawed the earth with impatient hooves. A knock at my chamber door drew my attention away from the window.
Lady Helena entered without waiting for permission, her face arranged in its customary mask of efficiency. Your Majesty,” she said, dipping into a perfuncter curtsy that acknowledged my new status without conveying true deference. The king requested I deliver these before his departure.
She placed a heavy ring of keys on the bedside table, followed by a sealed letter bearing the royal insignia. He also instructed me to inform you that in his absence, you are to attend all council meetings and act with his authority in matters that cannot wait for his return. Surprise must have shown on my face, for Lady Helena’s mouth tightened disapprovingly. The council will not be pleased, she continued.
They expect a figurehead queen, not a ruling one, particularly one so inexperienced. I straightened my spine, channeling a confidence I didn’t feel. Then they will be disappointed. A flicker of something, amusement perhaps, crossed her features before disappearing. Indeed, the first meeting convenes at midday. I suggest you review the contents of his majesty’s letter before then.
She moved toward the door, then paused. “Your stepmother has requested an audience this morning. I took the liberty of denying her until you’ve had time to settle into your role.” “Thank you,” I replied, genuinely grateful for the reprieve. “Don’t thank me yet, your majesty. I merely follow the kings instructions.
” Her gaze swept over me, assessing. He left explicit orders regarding your family’s access to you. Perhaps you should ask yourself why. With that enigmatic statement, she departed, leaving me alone with the keys and the sealed letter. The wax cracked easily under my thumb, revealing Dominic’s strong, slashing handwriting. Olivia, by now you’ve been informed of your temporary authority in my absence.
This is not a gesture of trust, but of necessity. The council will attempt to manipulate you. Lord Harington through flattery. Lady Blackthornne through intimidation. Duke Rainard through charm. Trust none of them completely. The keys grant you access to my private study adjacent to our chambers.
Inside the left desk drawer, beneath a false bottom, you’ll find journals detailing my investigations these past four years. Read them, memorize them, then burn them. Your stepmother will attempt to leverage your new position for her benefit. Whatever promises you made to her before our marriage are now void. Remember, you answer to no one but me.
I ride to the northern border not merely to address the Blackwood threat, but to meet with someone who claims to have information about who orchestrated the attack that left me as I am. Should I not return, the information in those journals will be your only protection. The pendant you wear. I’ve seen it like before.
Ask your mother’s family about its origins when time permits. Until my return, D. I read the letter twice more, then held it to the candle flame, watching the parchment blacken and curl into ash, just as he’d instructed me to do with the journals. Outside, a horn sounded. The signal for departure.
I returned to the window in time to see Dominic lead his forces through the palace gates. his back straight despite the contraption holding him in the saddle, his crown replaced by a helmet that caught the morning light. For a moment, just before he passed beneath the port cullis, he looked up directly at my window as though he’d known I’d be watching.
The distance was too great to read his expression, but I raised my hand in a gesture that was neither quite farewell nor blessing. He inclined his head slightly, then turned forward and was gone, swallowed by the shadows of the outer wall. riding toward danger I couldn’t fathom for reasons he’d shared only in fragments.
When the last soldier had departed, and the courtyard stood empty, save for servants resuming their duties, I turned my attention to the keys. There were seven in total, each distinct in shape and size. The largest bore the royal insignia, likely for the study Dominic had mentioned. The others remained a mystery.
I found the study exactly where he’d indicated, hidden behind a tapestry depicting a hunt scene in our shared chambers. The key turned smoothly in the lock, revealing a space that felt intensely personal in a way the rest of the palace did not. Maps covered one wall, marked with notes and colored pins.
Bookshelves lined another, filled with leather-bound volumes on strategy, politics, and surprisingly medicine. The desk dominated the center, a massive piece of dark wood scarred with use, its surface covered with orderly stacks of documents and correspondents. The left drawer opened with a slight creek. The false bottom took longer to discover, cleverly designed to appear seamless.
Beneath it lay three journals bound in black leather, their pages filled with the same slashing handwriting as the letter. I gathered them to my chest and retreated to a chair near the window, where light would make reading easier. Hours disappeared as I immersed myself in Dominic’s meticulous record of the past four years. The first journal began with his recovery from the attack. The pain, the rage, the humiliation of learning his legs would never again support him.
His writing in those early entries was almost violent. The pen sometimes tearing through the paper with the force of his anger. They think me broken. Perhaps I am, but a broken sword can still cut if wielded with purpose. As weeks progressed into months, his focus shifted from self-pity to cold calculation.
He began cataloging every noble who had visited the palace the week of the attack, every servant who had access to his chambers, every guard who might have been bribed to look away at a crucial moment. The second journal detailed his theories about who might have orchestrated his attempted assassination.
The Blackwood Clan, the same group now attacking the northern villages, had been the weapon, but someone else had aimed it. Someone with access, knowledge, and motive. Lord Harrington stands to gain the most financially if I die without an heir. His daughter was once promised to me before I chose another. His pride never recovered.
Lady Blackthornne controls the eastern supply roots. She opposed my taxation reforms openly in council. She has connections to the Blackwoods through her late husband. Duke Rainard presents himself as my closest ally. Yet his ambition is poorly disguised. He commands more men than any other noble. A regency under his control would make him king in all but name.
Names and suspicions filled page after page, connections drawn between seemingly unrelated events, a web of conspiracy that expanded with each entry. The third journal, most recent and most disturbing, introduced new theories about foreign involvement, neighboring kingdoms that might benefit from Ravenwood’s instability.
And then on the final pages, a name that made my blood run cold. Lord Frederick Blackwell, my father. Evidence suggests Frederick Blackwell may have been involved in the early planning stages, though he died before the attack was executed. His sudden illness raises questions.
Was he eliminated because he developed a conscience or to silence him? His widow remarried with suspicious haste. Her new husband, Lord Caldwell, has connections to the treasury. Access to funds that might have paid the Blackwood assassins. Their daughter Seline was offered as a bride. A transparent attempt to place someone loyal to them in my bed. My confidence. I chose the other daughter instead.
Olivia. The one they tried to hide away. The one with her father’s eyes and I suspect his true loyalty. The pendant she wears. I’ve seen its match. Frederick wore one identical to it when we met 5 years ago to discuss the border treaties. He claimed it was a family heirloom with protective properties. Superstitious nonsense.
I thought then I’m less certain now. The journal ended there. The final entry dated just 3 days before our wedding. I closed the leather cover with trembling hands, my mind reeling from revelations that reshuffled everything I thought I knew about my family, my father, my husband.
If Dominic’s suspicions were correct, my father had been involved in the plot that ultimately crippled the king, but had perhaps tried to withdraw, resulting in his sudden illness. My stepmother and her new husband had continued what he had abandoned, even attempting to place Selene in the queen’s position to further their ambitions.
Instead, Dominic had chosen me, the daughter who had been sidelined, but who might still carry her father’s true loyalties, whatever those had been, and the pendant, my most treasured possession, somehow connected to it all. I clutched the silver crescent, feeling its familiar contours against my palm. Had my mother known of my father’s involvement in these schemes, had she given me this pendant as mere sentiment, or as something more significant? A clock chimed from the main chamber, startling me from my thoughts.
Midday, the council meeting Lady Helena had mentioned would begin shortly. I returned the journals to their hiding place, locked the study door, and changed into a gown more suitable for a queen facing her first political challenge.
The council chamber occupied the west wing of the palace, a circular room with high windows that admitted streams of sunlight across a massive round table. Five chairs stood empty when I arrived. with a sixth larger than the rest and bearing the royal insignia, positioned at what was traditionally considered the head. Lord Harrington rose as I entered, his white beard neatly trimmed, his eyes sharp despite his advanced age.
“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing with practiced courtesy that didn’t quite reach his expression. “We were not expecting you, yet here I am,” I replied, moving toward the king’s chair with more confidence than I felt. At my husband’s request, Lady Blackthornne, a severe woman with steel gray hair twisted into an elaborate knot, made no effort to hide her disapproval.
With all due respect, your majesty, these meetings deal with matters of state that require experience. I’m sure they do, I agreed pleasantly, taking my seat. Which is why I’m here to learn. Duke Rainard, younger than the others and handsome in a calculated way, smiled with practiced charm. We are, of course, delighted by your majesty’s interest in governance.
His eyes, a pale blue that reminded me of ice over deep water, assessed me with unconcealed curiosity, though these are troubling times for such education. The other council members, Lord Commander Ellis, recently returned from escorting the king’s party to the city limits, and Chancellor Marorrow, a thin man with inkstained fingers, exchanged glances, but remained silent.
“I believe,” I said, folding my hands on the table before me, that troubling times are precisely when education becomes most valuable. I met each of their gazes in turn, lingering on those Dominic had specifically named as suspects. Shall we begin? The meeting progressed with obvious tension. Reports of border skirmishes beyond the Blackwood incursion.
Treasury concerns about funding for the military campaign. Diplomatic messages from neighboring kingdoms offering assistance that came with too many strings to be trustworthy. I listened more than I spoke, noting how each council member presented information, what they emphasized, what they glossed over, what they seemed reluctant to address directly.
Dominic’s journals had provided context I would have otherwise lacked, allowing me to recognize undercurrents in seemingly innocent discussions about supply routes and guard rotations. There is the matter of your family’s new status, your majesty, Lord Harrington said as the meeting drew to a close. Traditional protocol grants certain privileges to the queen’s relatives.
Indeed, Lady Blackthornne added with false concern. Your stepmother has already inquired about suitable accommodations within the palace. I kept my expression neutral, remembering Dominic’s warning. My stepmother and stepsister are comfortable in their current residence.
There’s no need for them to relocate at present, but surely, Duke Rainard interjected smoothly. You would want your family close during his majesty’s absence for comfort and support. His majesty is my family now, I replied, rising from my seat to signal the end of the discussion. And I find I’m quite capable of managing without additional support.
Frustration flickered across their faces, subtle, quickly masked, but present nonetheless. They had expected a naive girl they could manipulate, not someone willing to stand firm against their first attempts at influence. As the council members departed, Chancellor Marorrow lingered, approaching my chair with a differential bow.
“Your Majesty,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Might I have a private word?” I hesitated, then nodded, motioning for the guards to remain outside as the chamber door closed. You should know, he began, eyes darting nervously to the doorway, that the king values my discretion. I have served as his personal secretary in certain delicate matters.
You’ve helped with his investigations, I surmised, watching his face carefully. Relief flashed across his features. Then he’s told you. Good. I wasn’t certain how much he would share before departing. He withdrew a folded paper from his sleeve. This arrived by messenger this morning. I thought it prudent to deliver it directly to you rather than through the usual channels. The paper bore no seal, no identification.
Inside a single sentence written in an unfamiliar hand. The wolf hunts the hunter at moonrise. What does it mean? I asked, though I suspected I already knew. It’s a warning, Maro replied, his voice tight with anxiety. The king’s contact in the north, the one with information about the assassination attempt, believes they’ve been discovered.
Moonrise refers to three nights from now. My heart sank. The king rides into a trap. Marorrow nodded grimly. So, it would appear. I’ve already dispatched our fastest rider to attempt to intercept his majesty, but but he may not reach them in time,” I finished for him. Or at all, if the roads are being watched precisely. I stared at the cryptic warning, feeling the weight of responsibility settle more heavily across my shoulders.
Dominic had ridden north, chasing answers about who had orchestrated his attack four years ago. answers that might implicate my own father, my stepmother, even members of the council I’d just faced. Now he was heading directly toward those who had tried to kill him before and might well succeed this time.
Chancellor, I said, decision crystallizing as I spoke, I need you to arrange a private meeting with Lady Helena immediately, and find someone who can tell me more about this. I touched the silver pendant at my throat. Its origins, its meaning, anything. The pendant, your majesty. Confusion creased his brow. The king believes it’s significant.
Connected to all of this somehow. I tucked the warning message into my sleeve. And right now, I need every advantage I can find if I’m to keep my husband alive. As Marorrow hurried to fulfill my requests, I returned to the window, gazing north toward the distant horizon where Dominic had disappeared hours earlier.
The man I barely knew, the king I now served, the husband I hadn’t chosen, but who had, for reasons still not entirely clear, chosen me. Be careful, Dominic, I thought, clutching the pendant that somehow connected us across bloodlines and conspiracies. The game is more dangerous than either of us realized.
Lady Helena arrived at my chambers as twilight descended, casting long shadows across the stone floors. Her face betrayed nothing of her thoughts as I explained the warning message and my suspicions. So the king rides into danger, she said when I finished, her tone matter of fact. This is hardly surprising. His majesty has never been one to choose the path of caution. Can you help me? I asked directly.
Chancellor Marorrow says you’ve been in service to the royal family longer than anyone. If there’s information about this pendant, I touched the silver crescent at my throat. Or about my father’s connection to the king, you would know it. She studied me with narrowed eyes. Why should I help you? A queen of one day with no claim to loyalty beyond your hasty marriage to a king many believe won’t return from this expedition.
Because Dominic trusts you, I replied. Despite his warnings about trusting no one, he arranged for you to be my primary contact. That speaks volumes. Something flickered in her eyes. Approval, perhaps. Very observant, your majesty. Indeed, the king and I have an understanding. She glanced at the door, then lowered her voice.
What I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room. Lives depend on it, including potentially yours. I nodded, pulse quickening. Your father, Lord Frederick Blackwell, was not merely a minor noble, as you’ve been led to believe. He was the king’s spy master, his most trusted intelligence gatherer and confidant. The revelation struck like a physical blow.
My father was a spy, the best in the kingdom’s history. He operated a network of informants that extended beyond our borders into neighboring realms. The king relied on his intelligence to prevent three assassination attempts before the one that succeeded in part. Her lips thinned. “When your father died suddenly, that network fragmented.
” Some believe it was no coincidence that the successful attack on the king occurred barely 2 months after Lord Frederick’s death. I sank into a nearby chair. Mindreeling, but Dominic’s journals suggested my father might have been involved in the plot against him. A theory the king developed before recovering certain documents.
Lady Helena explained, “More recent evidence suggests your father may have discovered the plot and been eliminated because of it.” She approached, eyeing the pendant. “May I?” Hesitantly, I removed the necklace and placed it in her palm. She turned it over, examining the craftsmanship with expert eyes.
“As I suspected,” she murmured. “This is no mere trinket. The crescent moon was the symbol used by your father’s most elite operatives. The star within represents an operative’s child, a potential successor. Her gaze met mine, sharp with new assessment.
Your mother gave you this on her deathbed? I confirmed, voice barely above a whisper. Then she knew she was preparing you in her way. Lady Helena returned the pendant. Lord Frederick trained all his top agents to recognize these symbols. If the king noticed it, he would have realized immediately what it signified. That I was my father’s daughter in more ways than one. I concluded, understanding dawning.
That’s why he chose me instead of Seline. He thought I might have been trained as my father’s successor. Were you? I shook my head, confusion clouding my thoughts. No, at least not that I’m aware of. My father taught me to observe people, to read expressions, to remember details. He told me they were games to sharpen my mind. Those weren’t games, your majesty, Lady Helena said softly.
They were training. Basic tradecraft taught to children with potential. Had he lived, you would have been fully brought into his confidence when you came of age. She straightened. The king must have hoped your training went further than it did. Then I’ve disappointed him, I said. The weight of inadequacy settling on my shoulders, perhaps.
Or perhaps he saw something in you that you have yet to recognize in yourself. She moved toward the door. I must go. The walls have ears, and we’ve spoken too openly already. Wait, I called after her. You haven’t told me how to help the king. She paused, hand on the latch. If his majesty rides into a trap, what would you have me do? Send soldiers after him? That would only alert his enemies that the trap has been discovered. There must be something, I insisted.
Some way to warn him, to help him. Lady Helena studied me for a long moment. Your father had safe houses throughout the kingdom, places where his agents could seek refuge, exchange information, regroup when necessary. If any still exist, they would be listed in his personal records. Which would be where that, she replied with the ghost of a smile, is something only his successor would know.
After she departed, I paced the royal chambers, frustration mounting with each turn. My father had been the king’s spy master. I had been unwittingly trained in basic espionage techniques. The pendant marked me as a potential successor to his network, and somewhere my father had hidden records that might contain information about safe houses where Dominic could seek shelter if warned of the trap.
But where would such records be kept? Not in our family home. My stepmother had ransacked every corner after his death, searching for valuables, overlooking nothing of potential worth. Not in his business offices.
Those had been sold to cover debts that I now suspected were fabricated by my stepmother and her new husband. I touched the pendant, remembering my mother’s words. As long as you wear this, I am with you. Had she meant more than maternal sentiment? Had she been trying to tell me something about the necklace itself? With trembling fingers, I examined the silver crescent more carefully than I ever had before.
The craftsmanship was exquisite, the metal seemingly seamless. But as I applied pressure to different points, I felt a slight give near where the star connected to the moon, a hidden mechanism. Heart racing, I pressed harder. With a faint click, the star detached from the crescent, revealing a tiny compartment within the moon’s curve.
Inside lay a tightly folded piece of parchment, no larger than my thumbnail. Carefully, I extracted and unfolded it, revealing a sequence of numbers and letters written in my father’s distinctive hand. N48 D GAL 50 E16D ground 14 Hollowed Oak third shelf red spine coordinates and instructions for finding something hidden. But where were these coordinates? And how could I possibly reach them in time to help Dominic? A knock at the chamber door interrupted my thoughts. Chancellor Marorrow entered, his thin face drawn with anxiety.
Your Majesty, forgive the intrusion. There’s been a development. He glanced nervously over his shoulder before continuing. The rider we dispatched to warn the king never left the city. He was found in the stables with his throat cut. Cold fear gripped my heart. Then we have no way to warn Dominic.
Worse, Morrow continued, voice barely audible. I’ve received word that Duke Renard has been sending private messages to the northern borders for weeks. Messages that coincide with reported Blackwood Clan movements. He’s the traitor, I whispered, pieces falling into place. He lured Dominic North. It appears so. And with the king gone and the royal guard accompanying him, Marorrow didn’t need to finish. The palace was vulnerable. I was vulnerable.
Chancellor, I need a map of the kingdom, the most detailed you can find, with latitude and longitude markings. He looked puzzled, but nodded. Of course, your majesty, but may I ask why? Because I believe I know how to find my father’s records, I replied. And they may be our only hope of saving the king.
The map arrived within the hour. A massive, meticulously drawn representation of Ravenwood and its surrounding territories. With trembling fingers, I located the coordinates from the hidden note. They marked a location deep in the forest that bordered our family estate. A place I’d visited often as a child. The old library, I whispered. memory surfacing.
A stone building, small and seemingly abandoned, where my father would sometimes disappear for hours. He’d called it his thinking place. I’d assumed it was merely a retreat from my mother’s illness, from the responsibilities that weighed on him. Now I understood it had been much more. Your majesty, Marorrow looked confused. I know where we need to go, I said, decision crystallizing. And we must leave tonight. Leave the palace.
Alarm colored his voice. That would be extremely dangerous. Duke Renard has men positioned throughout the city. If he realizes you’ve discovered his betrayal, then we must ensure he doesn’t realize it. I interrupted. I need a trusted escort, minimal and discreet. We’ll travel under cover of darkness. I studied the map again, calculating distances. If we ride hard, we can reach the location by dawn.
Retrieve what we need and still have time to send warning north. Marorrow looked torn between duty and fear. The council will object to your departure. The council doesn’t need to know, I countered. Not until we’re gone. And if Duke Renard attempts to seize power in your absence, I thought of the journals hidden in Dominic’s study, of the evidence they contained.
Prepare copies of the kings private journals, the ones detailing his investigation into the assassination attempt. Have them ready to be delivered to every noble house in the kingdom should anything happen to me. I met Marorrow’s anxious gaze. Mutual assured destruction. If Rayard moves against me, his complicity becomes public knowledge. Understanding dawned in the chancellor’s eyes, followed by reluctant admiration. Your father would be proud, your majesty. You have his strategic mind.
Let’s hope I have his luck as well, I replied grimly. We leave in 2 hours. Tell no one but those directly involved in our departure. As Marorrow hurried away to make arrangements, I changed into riding clothes hidden beneath a hooded cloak.
The pendant returned to its place around my neck, its secret compartment recealed, its weight both familiar and newly significant against my skin. By midnight, our small party, myself, Chancellor Marorrow, and four trusted guards, slipped through a servant’s gate and into the sleeping city. The night wrapped around us like a protective cloak as we navigated narrow streets toward the eastern gate.
Stars glittered coldly overhead, offering just enough light to guide our way without revealing our presence to watching eyes. The city fell behind us, giving way to open countryside that we crossed at a gallop. The forest loomed ahead, dark and forbidding in the moonless night.
I led our group along paths I remembered from childhood, praying my memory wouldn’t betray us. Dawn was breaking as we reached the coordinates, a clearing where an ancient oak stood sentinel over a small stone building nearly swallowed by vines and undergrowth. To casual observers, it appeared abandoned, forgotten by time. But I knew better now.
Wait here, I instructed the others, dismounting. Keep watch. If anyone approaches, signal immediately. The door creaked open at my touch, revealing a space both familiar and strange. Dusty bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes whose spines had faded with age and neglect. But the layer of dust was inconsistent. Some areas showed signs of more recent disturbance.
Hollowed oak, third shelf, red spine, the note had said. I scanned the room, finding no obvious hollowed oak until my gaze landed on a wooden reading table carved from a single massive piece of oak. Its central column, thick enough to conceal a hidden compartment, bore a subtle pattern of leaves around its base. Running my fingers along the carvings, I felt a section give slightly under pressure, a click, followed by the whisper of wood sliding against wood as a hidden drawer opened at the base of the table.
Inside lay a small iron key, simple but clearly forged with precision. The third shelf held a row of red spined books, indistinguishable from one another at first glance. Closer inspection revealed subtle differences in the leather binding, the guilt lettering. One volume, slightly thinner than the rest, bore my father’s personal insignia embossed on its spine, a crescent moon with a star matching my pendant.
The key fit a lock hidden within the binding. As it turned, the book opened to reveal not pages, but a hollow interior containing a leather folio tied with cord. My hands trembled as I untied the binding. Inside lay maps, lists of names and locations, coded messages, the remains of my father’s intelligence network, preserved and hidden for whoever might follow in his footsteps. Among the documents, I found what I sought.
a map marking safe houses throughout the kingdom, including three near the northern border where Dominic’s forces would be headed. There was more, much more than I could possibly absorb in the limited time available. pages detailing suspected traitors within the court, including damning evidence against Duke Rainard. Correspondence suggesting my father had indeed discovered the plot against the king shortly before his death, and a letter addressed to me sealed with wax bearing the crescent moon insignia. I tucked the letter into my bodice for
later, gathering the most crucial documents, the safe house locations, the evidence against Rainard, the coded communications that might still be active. There would be time to return for the rest if we survived the coming days.
Your Majesty, Chancellor Marorrow’s urgent whisper carried through the open door. Writers approaching from the south. I quickly replaced the hollow book, locked the hidden drawer, and hurried outside, documents secured inside my cloak. “How many?” I asked, joining Marorrow at the treeine where he watched the approaching dust cloud. “At least a dozen,” he replied grimly.
Flying Duke Rainard’s banner. My blood ran cold. How did he find us so quickly? Someone at the palace must have betrayed our departure. Morrow’s expression darkened. We’re outnumbered. If they catch us, they won’t. I interrupted, mind racing. We split up. You take these. I thrust the documents about the safe houses into his hands. Ride north as fast as possible. Find the king.
Warn him about the trap. Tell him about the safe house at Raven’s Pass. It’s closest to his likely position. And you, your majesty, I’ll lead the others east toward my family estate. Rainard will assume I’ve gone running to my stepmother for protection. I patted the remaining documents hidden in my cloak.
I have what I need to expose him when the time comes. Marorrow hesitated. It’s too dangerous. If something happens to you, then the journals you prepared will ensure Renard falls with me. I finished for him. This isn’t a request, Chancellor. It’s an order from your queen. Something shifted in his expression. Respect, perhaps. He bowed his head.
As you command, your majesty. May the gods protect you until we meet again. We mounted quickly, our party splitting as planned. I watched Morrow disappear into the northern treeine before leading my four guards eastward, making certain we were visible enough to be spotted by Rainard’s approaching men.
Ride hard, I instructed my escorts. Make them believe we’re fleeing in panic. The chase began almost immediately, Rayard’s men altering course to pursue us, exactly as I’d hoped. We thundered across open fields, leading them farther from Marorrow’s escape route with each passing minute. But Renard’s men were gaining, their horses fresher, their determination fueled by whatever rewards their master had promised. As we approached a river crossing, I made another split decision.
Continue east, I ordered three of the guards. Make it obvious. Draw them away. To the fourth, the youngest, barely more than a boy. I handed a sealed document I’d hastily prepared, using evidence from my father’s cash. Take this to Lady Helena. Tell her to deliver copies to every noble house if I don’t return to the palace by nightfall.
Fear and determination wared in the young guard’s face. “What about you, your majesty? I’m taking a different path,” I replied, turning my horse toward a narrow trail that led south through dense underbrush. “Now go, all of you.” They obeyed without further question, the three decoys thundering eastward across the river, drawing most of Rainard’s men with them.
The fourth slipped away northwestward, taking auditous route back toward the capital. I urged my horse down the nearly invisible trail, branches whipping against my cloak as we plunged deeper into the forest. Behind me, I heard shouting as Rainard’s men split their forces, having spotted my diversion. At least two riders were now in pursuit of me, crashing through the undergrowth with little attempt at stealth.
The trail narrowed further, forcing me to slow my pace. My horse snorted nervously, sensing my anxiety as the sounds of pursuit grew closer. The path descended sharply, following a stream that cut through rocky terrain. Ahead, the trees thinned, revealing what I’d been searching for.
A waterfall cascading into a deep pool surrounded by mosscovered boulders. Another childhood memory, another of my father’s thinking places that I now recognized for what it truly was, an escape route. Dismounting quickly, I removed my cloak and draped it over a branch extending over the pool. Evidence for my pursuers to find. With a sharp slap to its flank, I sent my horse galloping onward deeper into the forest.
The shouts grew closer as I slipped behind the waterfall, finding the narrow passage my father had once shown me. In case of emergency, water soaked my clothes as I squeezed through the opening into a small cave beyond. Some secrets aren’t meant for sharing, Libby, my father had said, except with those you would trust with your life.
I pressed deeper into the cave system, guided by fading memory and desperate hope. The sounds of pursuit lost beneath the rush of falling water. The passage twisted, narrowed, then opened into a larger chamber, where a small boat lay hidden beneath an oil cloth covering.
The underground stream would carry me away from danger, to a small fishing village, if I navigated correctly, where I might find allies among those who still remembered my father with loyalty. As I uncovered the boat, my fingers brushed against something carved into its wooden seat. A crescent moon embracing a star, my father’s legacy, guiding me still. Behind me, muffled voices echoed from the cave entrance. Rainard’s men had found the passage.
With no time to lose, I pushed the small craft into the dark water and climbed aboard, surrendering to the current that pulled me into the unknown. Whether I would reach the king in time, whether Marorrow would successfully deliver his warning, whether I would survive to see Dominic again, all remained uncertain as darkness enveloped me. But one thing had become crystal clear.
I was indeed my father’s daughter. and I would fight with every skill, every resource, every ounce of courage I possessed to protect the kingdom he had served and the king I had married. The underground river carried me through darkness for what felt like hours, its currents alternating between gentle glides and heartstoppping rushes through narrowed passages. My world contracted to immediate sensations.
The cold water occasionally splashing over the boat’s edge. The scrape of stone against wood when the tunnel walls drew too close. The distant drip of water marking the passage of time. When light finally appeared, a pale blue glow ahead that gradually strengthened. I felt as though I was being reborn.
The tunnel widened into a cavern where the river slowed, flowing peacefully toward an opening partially concealed by a curtain of trailing vines. Beyond them, daylight beckoned. I guided the small boat through the natural curtain and emerged into late afternoon sunshine. The river joined a larger waterway that curved through a meadow dotted with wild flowers.
In the distance, smoke rose from chimneys, the fishing village I remembered from childhood visits with my father. My clothes had nearly dried during the long journey underground, but I still presented a disheveled appearance as I steered toward a weathered dock where several fishing boats were morowed.
An old man looked up from mending nets, his weathered face registering surprise as I approached. “Well, now,” he said, helping secure my boat with gnarled hands, strong despite their age. “Been a long while since anyone came down the old escape route,” his eyes narrowed with assessment. You’ve got Frederick’s look about you. His daughter, are you? I nodded, surprised by the recognition.
Olivia thought as much. He spoke of you often. He glanced around cautiously before continuing. Word spread about your marriage to the king and other things, too. Men asking questions, offering coin for information about any strangers passing through. He helped me onto the dock.
Come, you’ll be wanting Marta’s place. It’s safe there. He led me through the village, taking a ciruitous route that avoided the main pathways. Curious eyes watched from windows and doorways, but no one approached or called out. The atmosphere felt charged with unspoken tension.
Martya proved to be a stern-faced woman of middle years, whose expression softened almost imperceptibly when my guide mentioned my father’s name. Her cottage sat apart from the others, surrounded by a garden of herbs and flowers that provided both beauty and privacy. “Frederick’s girl,” she said, ushering me inside. “We wondered if you’d ever find your way here.” She bolted the door behind us.
“Timing is either blessed or cursed, depending on how you look at it.” “What do you mean?” I asked as she bustled about, setting water to boil and laying out bread and cheese on a scarred wooden table. King’s forces passed near here two days ago, headed for the northern border. She cast me a pointed look, and yesterday another group followed.
Men without banners, moving silent as shadows, tracking the king’s path. My heart sank. How many? Two dozen, maybe more. Wellarmed, not Blackwood Clan. Too disciplined for those forest rabble. She placed a steaming mug before me. Drink. You look half drowned and fully exhausted. I sipped the herbal brew, its warmth spreading through my chilled body. I need to get word to the king.
He’s riding into a trap. Marta exchanged glances with the old fisherman. Jonas might help with that. His grandson’s one of the fastest riders in the region. Jonas nodded. Boy knows the forest paths better than the royal scouts. Could reach the king’s camp by midnight if he leaves now. Hope flickered to life within me.
I can pay well for his service, and the king’s gratitude would be substantial. No need for payment, Marta said firmly. Your father saved my son’s life once. Called in favors to get him pardoned after he was caught up in that smuggling business 10 years back.
Her eyes softened with memory, said everyone deserved one mistake without paying for it forever. Jonas slipped out to find his grandson, while Martya provided clean clothes and a place to wash the cave dust from my skin and hair. By the time I emerged, feeling somewhat restored, a message had been drafted, and a young man with alert eyes stood ready to deliver it. Tell no one but the king himself.
I instructed, pressing the sealed note into his hand, and give him this as proof of who sent you. I removed my pendant, placing it at top the message. The silver crescent felt like a missing limb as I released it, but Dominic would recognize it immediately. The safe house at Ravens Pass is his best refuge.
Chancellor Marorrow should already be headed there with detailed directions. The young writer nodded solemnly. I won’t fail you, your majesty. As he departed, Martya drew me to the cottage’s rear window. Now, about your return to the palace. Is it possible? I asked. Duke Reinard’s men will be watching all the main roads.
Main roads aren’t the only ways to travel, she replied with a hint of smuggness. Your father made sure of that. Come nightfall, well see you safely on your way. Though the journey won’t be comfortable, she was right. Traveling by hay cart along forgotten farm tracks, switching to a merchants’s wagon hidden beneath bolts of cloth, then transferring to a royal laundry delivery, each transition orchestrated by people who spoke my father’s name with reverence.
I gradually made my way back toward the capital through the night and following day. It was approaching dusk of the second day when the palace finally came into view, its towers silhouetted against the setting sun. Lady Helena waited at a servants entrance, her face revealing momentary relief before resuming its usual impassive mask.
Your timing is fortuitous, your majesty, she said, ushering me through back corridors. Duke Rainard has called an emergency council meeting for this evening. He claims to have evidence that you fled the kingdom, abandoning your duties. He means to declare himself regent in the king’s absence. Let him try, I replied, clutching the documents I’d protected throughout my journey.
I have evidence of my own. I bathed and changed quickly, dawning a gown of midnight blue that lent me an authority my travelworn appearance had lacked. Lady Helena arranged my hair, skillfully concealing the shorter strands where I’d cut a lock to include with my message to Dominic.
The council gathers in the east chamber in 1 hour, she informed me, securing the final pin. I took the liberty of summoning several loyal noble houses to attend as witnesses. Duke Rainard will find it difficult to dispose of you with so many eyes watching. Good, I said, meeting her gaze in the mirror. and the documents I sent with the young guard distributed to key allies as instructed.
Should anything happen to you, Duke Renard’s treason becomes common knowledge by morning. Determination stealed my spine as I made my way toward the council chamber. Flanked by guards, Lady Helena assured me remained loyal to the crown.
The evidence against Renard felt heavy in the hidden pocket of my gown, a weight balanced by the righteous anger that had been building since I discovered his betrayal. I paused outside the chamber doors, hearing voices raised in debate within. Taking a deep breath, I nodded to the guards, who threw the doors open with ceremonial precision. “Her Majesty, Queen Olivia Everett,” announced the Herald, voice carrying over the sudden silence that fell.
“Duke Rainard stood frozen mid-sentence, his face draining of color as I entered. The other council members displayed varying degrees of shock and in Lord Harrington’s case, poorly disguised disappointment. “Forgive my delayed arrival,” I said, moving to the head of the table with measured steps. I was attending to matters of kingdom security that required my personal attention. “Your Majesty,” Renard recovered quickly, his charm sliding back into place like a well-worn mask.
“We feared the worst when you disappeared without notice. There were reports of violence, abduction. How fascinating, I interrupted, taking my seat. Especially since the only violence was perpetrated by men bearing your personal insignia, Duke Rainard. Men who pursued me after you somehow learned of my discreet departure from the palace.
Murmurss rippled through the assembled nobles. Rainard’s smile tightened. I dispatched men to search for you, your majesty, out of concern for your safety. If they acted overzealously, “They acted on your orders,” I stated flatly.
“Just as the Blackwood Clan acted on your coin when they attacked the northern villages, just as they did four years ago when they left my husband paralyzed.” The chamber erupted in shocked exclamations. Lord Harrington half rose from his seat. “These are serious accusations, your majesty. Do you have evidence for such claims?” In answer, I removed the documents from my gown and placed them on the table.
Financial records showing payments from accounts controlled by Duke Rainard to known Blackwood intermediaries, correspondence intercepted between the Duke and clan leaders, and testimony from one of his former lieutenants, who had an attack of conscience after the last assassination attempt. Rayard’s charm evaporated, replaced by cold calculation, fabrications, and forgeries.
Who would believe the desperate claims of a girl forced into marriage, seeking to carve out power for herself? I would, came a deep voice from the entrance. All heads turned toward the doors, which had opened silently to reveal King Dominic Everett, still in his travel stained battle leathers, his wheeled chair pushed by a grim-faced Chancellor Marorrow.
Around his neck, catching the lamplight with familiar gleams of silver, hung my pendant. The room fell utterly silent as Dominic wheeled himself forward, his amber eyes locked on Rainard’s face with predatory focus. “Your majesty,” Renard managed, his complexion ashen. “We did not expect your return so soon.
” “Clearly,” Dominic replied, his voice dangerously soft. “Though I imagine you expected no return at all.” He continued toward the table until he reached my side. His hand found mine beneath the edge of the table, fingers intertwining with surprising gentleness, given the fury evident in his expression. “Thanks to my wife’s warning, I avoided the ambush laid for me at the northern pass,” he informed the stunned council.
“Instead, I took an alternate route to intercept the Blackwood Clan leaders, who proved quite informative once properly motivated.” Lord Harrington cleared his throat. The clan attacked. The clan followed orders. Dominic corrected sharply.
Orders paid for by gold that originated in Ravenwood’s own treasury, diverted through clever accounting that required access only Duke Rainard possessed as Minister of Finance. Rainard’s hand moved subtly toward his belt, where I glimpsed the outline of a concealed dagger. Without thinking, I slammed my own hand down on his wrist, pinning it to the table. “Guards,” I called calmly, maintaining my grip despite Renard’s attempt to break free.
The Duke appears to be armed in the presence of the king. A serious breach of protocol. Wouldn’t you agree? Guards moved swiftly to restrain Renard, who abandoned all pretense of innocence. “You should have died in that attack.” He snarled at Dominic. “A crippled king is a mockery of what Ravenwood deserves.” “And yet this crippled king managed to outmaneuver you at every turn.” Dominic replied evenly with significant help from his queen.
his thumb brushed across my knuckles in a gesture both possessive and appreciative. Take him to the dungeons. We’ll determine his full list of conspirators before his execution. As Rainard was dragged away, hurling threats and accusations that fell on deaf ears, Dominic turned to the remaining council members.
This session is adjourned. Lord Harrington, Lady Blackthornne, remain. We have matters to discuss regarding your potential knowledge of these events. The chamber emptied quickly, leaving only the four of us and a pair of trusted guards. I made to withdraw my hand from Dominic’s, but his grip tightened, keeping me anchored to his side. “Your majesties,” Lord Harrington began nervously.
“I assure you, I had no knowledge of Duke Rainard’s treasonous activities.” “A claim we will investigate thoroughly,” Dominic replied. “For now, you are both relieved of your council duties pending that investigation.” Lady Blackthornne’s face tightened with anger, but she offered a stiff bow before departing.
Lord Harrington following with considerably less composure. When the doors closed behind them, Dominic finally released my hand, turning his wheeled chair to face me directly. For a long moment, he simply studied my face, his expression unreadable. “You saved my life,” he said finally. You chose me for a reason, I replied. I simply proved your judgment sound.
A smile, the first genuine one I’d seen from him. Briefly softened his features. He reached up to remove my pendant from around his neck, holding it between us. Your father wore its twin. Did you know that? I nodded. I’ve learned much about him these past days. He was a good man, loyal to the crown, to the kingdom. Dominic’s fingers traced the silver crescent.
When I received your warning with this attached, I knew I could trust it completely. The daughter of Frederick Blackwell would not use his symbol falsely. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face with unexpected tenderness. You’re like him in many ways, observant, resourceful, brave beyond reason. His hand lingered against my cheek.
But you’re also entirely yourself, Olivia. A queen who proved her worth within days of wearing the crown. Something warm unfurled in my chest at his words, at the respect evident in his gaze. I did what was necessary. You did what few would have dared, he corrected, lifting the pendant.
May I? I turned, allowing him to fasten the necklace around my throat, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of my neck in a touch that sent shivers down my spine. The familiar weight of the silver crescent settled against my skin, comforting in its return. There is much still to do, Dominic said as I turned back to face him. Rainard’s conspiracy likely extends further than we yet know.
The Blackwood Clan remains a threat to be neutralized, and the council requires restructuring with members we can trust. We’ll face it together, I replied with newfound confidence. His amber eyes studied me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
When I chose you as my bride, I sought a political alliance with Frederick Blackwell’s daughter, a strategic decision to acquire your father’s loyalty and resources. His voice dropped lower. I did not expect to find a partner, an equal, nor did I expect to find purpose in a marriage forced upon me, I admitted, or to discover strength I didn’t know I possessed.
Dominic took my hand again, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. The question becomes, what do we do with this unexpected development? A king and queen who might actually be well matched beyond political convenience. We rule, I said simply. We rebuild what Rainard and his conspirators sought to destroy.
We make Ravenwood stronger than it was before. And us? He asked, vulnerability briefly visible beneath his usual control. What becomes of us, Olivia? I considered the man before me, damaged yet undefeated, hardened by betrayal, yet capable of trust, a king who had recognized my potential when even I had failed to see it. Not the monster my stepmother had described, but not a simple man either.
Complex, challenging, worthy of respect. And perhaps in time, worthy of more. We begin again, I suggested, squeezing his hand gently. Not as strangers forced together by circumstance, but as allies who chose each other knowingly. We learn each other. We build something real from an arrangement that started as false. The intensity in his gaze softened slightly. A courtship after marriage.
Unconventional. We seem to excel at unconventional approaches. I pointed out with a small smile. He laughed then, a rich, genuine sound I’d never heard from him before. Indeed, we do. His expression grew serious once more. I cannot promise to be an easy husband, Olivia. The damage done to me goes beyond my legs.
There are dark days when bitterness consumes me, when rage at what was taken threatens to overwhelm reason, and I cannot promise to be a plant, agreeable wife, I countered. I have discovered a spine of steel these past days, and I don’t intend to surrender it, even for my king. I would not want you to, he replied immediately. Your strength is what saved us both.
A comfortable silence fell between us, filled with new understanding and possibilities. Neither of us had imagined days earlier. Outside, the sun had set completely, stars emerging in a clear night sky visible through the high windows. “Your stepmother and stepsister have fled the city,” Dominic informed me, breaking the silence.
They departed shortly after news spread of Rainard’s arrest. I felt a curious detachment at this information. The women who had dominated my life for years suddenly seemed insignificant, reduced to footnotes in a story that had expanded far beyond their influence. “Let them go,” I decided. “They’ve lost everything they schemed for. That’s punishment enough,” Dominic nodded. Approval evident in his expression. “Merciful.
Your father would be proud.” “I hope so,” I said softly, touching the pendant. “I’ve only just begun to understand his legacy.” a legacy you’ll continue in your own way. Dominic wheeled his chair slightly back. I should allow you to rest. You’ve endured much these past days. As he turned to leave, I found myself unwilling to end our conversation.
This first real connection between us, forged in crisis, but promising something more lasting. Dominic, I called softly. He paused, looking back over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. Thank you, I said, for choosing me. For seeing something in me that I couldn’t yet see in myself, his expression softened, amber eyes warming with an emotion I couldn’t quite name, but felt answering within my own heart.
Thank you, he returned, for proving me right. 6 months later, I stood at the same window where I had watched Dominic right away on our wedding day. Though everything else had changed, the kingdom had stabilized under our joint rule. his experience complimenting my fresh perspective, my diplomatic approach balancing his more forceful tendencies.
The council, restructured with trusted advisers, including Chancellor Marorrow and Lady Helena, functioned smoothly. The Blackwood clan, deprived of their leadership, and Rainard’s financial support, had dispersed or sworn feely to the crown.
and my relationship with Dominic had evolved in ways neither of us had anticipated that first night when we began a new behind closed doors. We’d discovered each other slowly, carefully, his damaged body still capable of tenderness, my cautious heart gradually opening to possibilities I’d never imagined when forced into marriage at 18. Love had grown between us.
Not the instantaneous passion of fairy tales, but something deeper, more resilient, built on respect, tested by challenges, strengthened through shared purpose. I felt his approach before I heard it, the subtle shift in the air that always accompanied his presence.
His wheeled chair stopped beside me, his hand finding mine with the easy familiarity we’d developed. “What has captured your attention so completely?” he asked, following my gaze to the courtyard below, where spring flowers had begun to bloom. The future, I replied, resting my free hand instinctively on my abdomen, where the first signs of our child had begun to show.
How different it is from anything I imagined when I arrived here as your reluctant bride. Dominic’s hand joined mine over the gentle swell that promised the air he’d once thought impossible. Regrets? he asked. The question light but underscored by the vulnerability he now allowed me to see.
I turned from the window to face him fully, taking in the face that had become beloved in its every expression, from the intensity that could intimidate hardened warriors to the gentleness reserved only for me in our most private moments. Not one, I answered truthfully, bending to press my lips to his in a kiss that still held the power to make my heart race despite its familiarity.
When we parted, his amber eyes held mine, filled with the same wonder I felt at what we’d created together. Not just the child we would welcome in the coming months, but the partnership neither of us had sought yet both had needed. Nor I, he murmured, drawing me onto his lap with practiced ease. Though I admit, when they brought me the pale, terrified girl in a borrowed wedding dress, I never imagined I was meeting my match.
And I never imagined my prison would become my freedom, I replied, settling against him with the comfortable certainty of belonging, or that the man I was forced to marry would become the one I would choose above all others. Outside, spring continued its relentless renewal, healing the scars of winter just as time had begun to heal the wounds we both carried.
The future stretched before us, uncertain in its details, but secure in its foundation, built on the strength we’d discovered in each other and in ourselves. Not a perfect ending, for our story was far from over, but a perfect moment in an imperfect world. A moment of peace, hard one, and therefore all the more precious.
A moment I had earned step by painful step from the day I became a reluctant bride to a broken king and discovered that sometimes the deepest wounds can lead to the greatest healing if we have the courage to face them together.