by Cait Marie
Phillip stepped back. “So, what are we doing?”
“There are only two guards outside the door,” she said. “We take them out, escape, then get to the docks. We’ll grab my money and our belongings from the warehouse and hire someone to take us to Detmarya. Then, we return with an army.”
“Simple,” he said with a sarcastic smirk. “But we only have one weapon.”
She crossed her arms, cautious of the dagger she still held, and cocked her hip out to the side. “Aren’t you skilled in combat fighting, or did my brother only make you the captain because you know how to handle a sword?”
He raised both brows with a growing grin.
Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she stood straight. “Shut up. We’re doing this.”
“And you think you can really stab one of those men out there?”
She paused for a moment, thinking about escaping Innysa and fighting her father’s men in Tugora. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Phillip grabbed her hand, and she looked up with a nod. She let go and tucked the medallion down inside her shirt before they moved to the door. Taking a deep breath, she pulled it open.
The guards turned around in surprise.
“You’re not to leave your—” The man was cut off by Phillip’s fist crashing into his jaw. He stumbled back, but Phillip followed, bringing a knee up into his gut.
The second man grabbed his sword. He moved toward Phillip in haste, completely ignoring Ada. She shook her head but stepped in as he tried to reach the brawl that had landed on the floor. Before he could lift his arm, Ada’s blade was sticking out of his back. She’d jammed it up through his ribs.
He whirled around with shock on his face. She backed up as he raised his sword in her direction, and she deeply regretted letting go of the dagger. He took another staggering step, and suddenly, a long blade pierced all the way through his abdomen. As it slid out of him, he fell to his knees, and Phillip kicked him over.
Phillip had a busted lip, his breathing was labored, but he looked otherwise unscathed. Ada bent over to grab the other fallen soldier’s sword, then she took Phillip’s outstretched hand.
“Someone might have heard that,” she said as they ran toward the stairs. They reached the main floor and stopped. Around the corner, a handful of guards stood talking, blocking their exit. They’d draw too much attention that way, so she pulled Phillip the other direction. They raced for one of the doors that led to the back gardens.
At the door, Phillip voiced her next concern. “The patrols?”
The sun would not rise for a couple hours yet. “They’re spaced out enough that we should be able to sneak through the shadows and into the forest. From there, we can circle back around to the village and make our way to the docks.”
Phillip looked at her in question.
“I pay attention,” was all she said. Her bedroom overlooked the grounds, and she’d stayed there every summer for thirteen years. Over time, she noticed the patterns.
On the count of three, they moved outdoors. Just as she said, the patrolling soldiers were few and far between. Sticking to the shadows, they inched their way to the treeline. Only one man spotted them, but Phillip covered his mouth and drove him through with his sword before he could shout. Phillip lowered him to the ground.
After pulling him farther into the darkness of a bush, they had a clear shot to the forest. Ada let out a relieved breath when they reached the cover of the trees. With just the moonlight flickering between branches, they made their way to the far end of the castle walls. Then, they walked another good while before turning toward the village.
Keeping to the quieter streets, they raced to the southern docks. They ducked into the warehouse without any trouble and didn’t waste any time gathering their things.
“There won’t be any ships leaving right away. They’ll wait until the morning tide,” Phillip said, strapping on his own sword and dagger. The familiar, ornate handle of the smaller blade made Ada smile a little. He’d had it as long as she remembered, and she assumed it had once belonged to his father.
Ada tied her hair up before grabbing the dagger Lee had left her. She attached the sheath to its usual spot on her hip, trying not to think about its owner too much.
A hand covered her shaking fingers. As she let Phillip take over, he said in a softer tone, “You’ll see him again. And this will all work out.”
She tried to believe him, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. “All the odds are against us.”
“When has that ever stopped you?” Phillip straightened, bringing his hand to her cheek. “We know where the flower is. It’s real, and we know how to get it.”
“But—”
“No,” he said, touching his forehead to hers. His eyes closed. “Do not lose hope on me now, Adalina Rose.”
She staggered back as if slapped. With her breath caught in her throat, she brought a hand up to her neck.
“What? What is it?” Alarm filled Phillip’s voice.
Images swirled through her mind. Memories. Words spoken by a faraway witch.
Phillip tried to reach for her, but she took another step back. She yanked the medallion out and stared at the entwined flowers. The rose. “It’s me.”
“Ada, please tell me what’s going on.”
Her tear-filled eyes snapped up her best friend, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I know how to break the curse.”
Shane shoved his clothes from one side to the other, digging through his wardrobe. His breath came out in ragged pants, and he could barely keep from collapsing, but he refused to stop. He’d left Loxley standing in the church, not even going down to speak with the rest of the crew. Shane didn’t understand how he could just give up. How he could leave Adalina. Though, he knew she could take care of herself.
He threw another shirt with a frustrated sigh.
“Tell me what we’re looking for again?” Gwyn said at Shane’s side.
He and Gwyn had returned and immediately started searching. With the memory of his mother giving him the secret scepter still fresh in his mind, he’d headed toward the east wing but stopped. He’d been right to look there the previous week, though he didn’t understand why at the time. But then, he’d remembered why nothing was in that hiding spot any longer. A few years earlier, when his father had essentially banned the use of the wing, Shane had removed everything he had over there to avoid his father seeing him sneak in—to avoid the anger that grew more frequent after the queen’s death.
“A scepter,” he said, moving to the desk. “My mother gave it to me. I think it—aha!”
He lifted a box from the back corner of a drawer. He brushed a hand over the carved lid. Gwyn stepped closer, gasping when she took in the design.
“The flowers,” she whispered. “It has the same rose and Heulwen.”
Sinking into the chair, Shane unlatched the golden clasp and opened it to reveal the elaborate staff with a bright red gem on the end. He held it up in awe, wondering how it fit into the story. Between the symbol and his mother’s ghost insisting he search for the truth, he knew the scepter was more important than he’d ever realized.
Sitting up straighter, he turned it over and over in his hand. Phillip’s words from a few months ago filtered through his head. Phillip had said the queen left the Nihryst book to Adalina, so she must have left something for him too. And she had. Shane had just forgotten about it. He hadn’t looked at it in years. When she first gave it to him, he took it out all the time, often pretending it was a wizard’s staff—something that gave him power when he felt as if he had none. But as he grew older, he hadn’t needed the comfort. Not with Phillip at his side…
He shook his head, trying to clear it. “My mother gave it to me. She said that it gave me power that no one could take. She made me promise not to tell anyone I had it.”
“But it’s just a symbol. There’s no real power with it.” Gwyn moved to lean against his nearby bed and crossed her arms. “Scepters are
usually displayed or locked away in a vault. Why would you need to keep this one secret?”
He stared at the staff, wondering the same thing. It never made sense to him, but he hadn’t thought much about it. Turning it over in his hands, he looked closer at the details. “I don’t get it either. Why—”
“Shane.” Gwyn’s breathy tone had his eyes snapping up to hers, but she wasn’t looking at him. She took cautious steps toward the desk and held out a hand. When he handed the scepter over, she tilted it for him to see the bottom. The same flower symbol was carved across the flat area. Looking closer, Shane saw a thin line running around the staff. While she held it, he twisted at the end.
“Stars above,” Gwyn whispered in disbelief as he turned and turned the piece until it popped off.
A scroll fell from the hollow area, and Shane stared with wide eyes. Gwyn sat the scepter on the desk before bending down and retrieving the rolled-up parchment from the floor. Shane took it gently, and with shaking hands, he unfurled it. The paper was old and worn, the lettering faint with age.
As the seals of both Detmarya and Rayerna became visible along the bottom, with the past kings’ signatures, Shane let out a breath. “The treaty.”
Behind a handful of barrels, Ada and Phillip squatted on the deck of a merchant ship. They’d paid too much for passage, but it didn’t matter. She’d pay whatever it took to get home. With a plan in mind, all they could do was wait. The captain had allowed them on board early, but they would not leave until the morning tide came in.
The docks beyond held a deep silence that only came in the middle of the night. Even the water seemed more calm than usual. Goosebumps covered Ada’s arms as she fought the chill creeping down her spine. She looked around but didn’t see anything suspicious.
Phillip started to stand. “This is absurd. I’m going to find the captain to demand a spot below decks. Surely there’s somewhere we can sit that’s not so out in the open.”
The man had gone into his cabin what felt like hours ago. Ada rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Sitting down below would at least block out most of the cool night air.
“No, stay here,” she whispered, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let me go talk to him. It might take more coins to convince him.” When he started to object, she added, “I need to move around to warm up anyway. I’ll be fine.”
Phillip looked from her to the rest of the ship. With a sigh he nodded. “Yell if you need me.”
She took a deep breath and pushed herself to her feet. As she walked across the deck, she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that someone watched her. She glanced around to the nearly empty docks but still saw nothing. When she reached to knock on the door, it swung open to reveal the captain.
He raised a brow, but she spoke before he could. “Sir, my friend and I would like to find a place below deck. I know space is limited, but I—”
“Yes, fine,” he interrupted.
Her eyes widened. She’d expected at least some argument. “Thank you.”
She turned to walk back to Phillip when a shout rang through the air. Whirling around, she saw a dozen guards rushing toward them. One man pointed toward her, yelling over his shoulder, and more soldiers appeared from the neighboring street. She looked for a way out but knew it was too late. They saw her.
She turned to find Phillip moving toward her, but she shook her head minutely and said just loud enough for him to hear, “There are too many to fight. Go back to my brother; tell him everything and bring back help. Michel just wants me.”
“Ada—”
“Please, trust me.”
Pain radiated through his eyes, as he whispered, “I will come back for you.”
Before the men reached the gangway, she hissed to the captain, “Keep him hidden and get him back to Detmarya, and my brother will double your pay.”
“Your brother?” he asked, alarm filling his voice as the guards finally reached her.
“Princess Adalina, the king requests your presence,” one man said.
The captain’s eyes widened a fraction at the title, putting together her demand. He nodded slightly and backed away from the commotion, standing between the guards and Phillip. Ada let out a breath of relief. She didn’t fight the guards. She didn’t say a word as they removed the dagger from her waist, dropped it to the ground, and tied her wrists together.
As they led her away, she silently thanked the stars for sparing her friend. Then, she wondered where she was really being taken. Because King Samson would never treat her as a prisoner. She hadn’t seen him or the queen since returning to Rayerna, and her stomach sank as horrid thoughts filled her mind. Something much bigger than Michel refusing to help was going on.
Something very wrong.
“Where is it?” Shane stormed into the king’s rooms. Gwyn followed, closing the door behind them. She immediately moved to search the bookshelves as Shane went to his father sitting at his desk. Shane slammed the treaty down on the wood and said, “I found the treaty. Now, tell me where the book is.”
His father set aside the parchment he was writing on and looked at the scroll. Something like defeat filled his eyes as he glanced up. “Where did you get this?”
“It doesn’t matter. Where’s the book?”
“Leave it be, Shane. You’re messing with dangerous things you do not understand.”
“Then, tell me!” He’d never raised his voice at his father before the last few months. But the more they sat in that room going in circles, the easier it became.
Emyr pushed his chair back and stood. “Sit down before you pass out.”
Across the room, Gwyn still looked through the shelves, but she glanced back at Shane. He didn’t want to show any vulnerability, but breathing had become more difficult by the hour. Charging in and demanding answers took more out of him than he cared to admit. Grateful to have Gwyn there with him, he sat. He didn’t want to think his father would harm him. But he was the same man who’d sent his cruel commander after his daughter. Shane had seen him slap her across the face and stab the man she loves. He’d seen the king blackmail Phillip, holding the Lavens family captive.
“I remember the book,” Shane said, trying to get back to the matter at hand. “I found it in your study when I was younger—the red journal about the lost prince. You were so angry when you found me reading it, and I didn’t understand why you were mad about a fairy tale.”
His father sighed and sat the scroll on the desk by Shane.
“It wasn’t a fairy tale though, was it?” Shane asked. “It was the real story—the explanation behind the treaty.”
The idea had struck when he and Gwyn read through the treaty. It was laid out in the agreement, plainly stating that, in return for the Detmaryan king’s silence on the identification of the lost prince, Rayerna would concede their power. Rayerna would keep its king on the throne but for mere show. They would handle the day-to-day matters in the kingdom, but the Detmaryan king had the right to change any rulings and make decisions.
But the treaty did not name the lost prince. Shane assumed as a safety precaution. Then, he remembered the journal. The same book he’d read the day his mother gave him the treaty in secret. It seemed like too big of a coincidence, and after everything that had happened the past few months, he wasn’t going to brush it aside.
“Where is the journal?” Shane asked again.
With a nod, his father moved to the shelf Gwyn stood beside. She stepped out of the way, one hand on the hilt of her dagger. Emyr scoffed. He reached for a large, leather-bound tome and brought it over to Shane.
When he held it out, Shane shook his head. “No, this isn’t it. I remember it being a small red book.”
“Open it,” the king said.
As Shane took the book and sat it in his lap, his father turned a chair around from the nearby table and sat down facing him. Gwyn walked over to stand by Shane, and he slowly opened the cover of the book. At his side, Gwyn gasped and leaned in close. Shane nearly laughe
d. All that time, and no one ever knew.
The tome was hollowed out, and inside sat the red journal. Just as he remembered it. Shane picked it up, letting the larger book fall to the floor. He ran a hand down the cover. The flowers on the front did not surprise him. Unclasping the front, he opened the journal. The scribbled writing looked more legible now that he was older, and on the first page sat his ancestor’s name.
“It was King Henri’s,” Emyr said. “His journal from the war. And his findings.”
Shane carefully leafed through the old pages. “The lost prince.”
No one spoke. Gwyn leaned against the arm of his chair, looking with him. It wasn’t a thick journal, and the first few pages just seemed to consist of war tactics and plans.
When a sketch of a flower appeared, Shane stopped. He remembered it. That was what had caught his attention as a child. He passed a few folded pieces of worn parchment, and turning the pages one by one, he took in the story of the king’s mistress who was deathly ill and secretly pregnant.
A soft cough startled Ada awake. She’d assumed she sat alone in the dungeons because she hadn’t seen anyone when they dragged her down there. They’d thrown her against the wall, rendering her unconscious for who knew how long. She looked around, terrified of who else might be locked in there with her. Squinting through the dimness, she saw a figure curled up in the corner of their shared cell.
Ada stood, grateful for the excess chain attached to her ankle manacles, and moved toward the person with caution. They were small—no bigger than her—which comforted her a little. Dirty blond hair barely glinted in the torch light, but when Ada saw the girl’s face, she let out a gasp and fell to her knees.
“Lady Saundra,” she said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
The girl sat up, alert. Her eyes grew wide. “Princess? What are you doing here? Where is Shane?”
