The Cursed Crown

by Matthew S. Cox

  “He protected you,” whispered Kit.

  “What?” Oona looked up, her eyes bright red and running with tears.

  Kitlyn pulled her close. “Lucernia teeters on the brink of another war, an internal one. The people would have tried to overthrow him, and a mass of furious citizens could easily have been caught up in the fervor and slain us both as well. He knew that might happen and wanted to protect you.”

  “You as well.” Oona wiped her eyes. “Not that he showed it much.”

  The door behind them creaked. A glint of blue moonlight flashed from the polished helm of a castle guard. “Pardon, your highnesses, is something amiss?”

  Kitlyn drew in a breath, gave the man a ‘one moment’ nod, then pulled Oona to her feet before facing him. “I fear something has happened to my father. Have the castle searched. Lucen has told Oona of his passing.”

  At the calm, commanding tone in her voice—no trace of grief or confusion—Oona bowed her head and squeezed her hand.

  The guard’s cheeks paled. “Right away, your highness.” He hurried off.

  “I don’t understand how you can hide your feelings from your voice. You will make a good queen,” whispered Oona.

  Kitlyn lifted Oona’s face with a hand at her cheek, staring into her eyes, their noses almost touching. “As will you.”

  3

  Grim Tidings

  Oona

  Fear and grief took turns raking their claws at Oona’s heart.

  King Talomir’s death meant more than the loss of a father. Worry gnawed at her: with him no longer standing between the kingdom and Kitlyn, some new wave of objection to their upcoming marriage might rise. Given the man’s clear betrayal of Lucen’s trust, having his approval might hurt more than help, though she much preferred him being alive to speak in their favor. The absence of his voice to defend them made her feel as vulnerable as if strolling across Cimril in her smallclothes.

  She sat at the table in the private dining room she’d always eaten in when not required to attend a larger gathering, acutely aware of three major differences: Kitlyn sat across from her, the king’s chair remained empty, and little Evie sat beside her. Quiet servants glided around the periphery of the room like phantoms, though not for the same reasons they had done so while the previous queen had lived.

  It seemed the entire castle already suspected what Oona knew, though no one had returned to bother them all night with news. Kitlyn spent what remained of the night in the princess’ bedroom, the king’s decree be damned, and woe be to the first person to suggest anything more inappropriate than weeping occurred.

  Evie kept trying to smile in hopes of cheering them up, and it helped a little. While debating the finer points of wondering if providing less than the full truth of what happened to a little child offended Lucen, Oona had explained the king had become ill and may not survive the night. A seven-year-old didn’t need to be burdened with the agonies of politics. She hadn’t known the king enough to have formed much of an opinion of him beyond ‘he seemed nice’ and saying she hoped he didn’t have any pain.

  Kitlyn teased her fork around a half-finished meal of eggs and sausages. Though somber, she hadn’t hesitated that much at eating, but slowed upon noticing the almost untouched plate in front of Oona.

  When Evie finally picked up on her older sister barely eating, she set her fork down and wrapped herself around Oona’s left arm.

  Between the two of them staring at her with pity and concern, Oona relented and forced herself to eat. Silence hung over them for a while, save for the scratching of silverware. A click came from the left, and one of the double doors leading out swung inward, revealing Advisor Beredwyn with Piper right behind him.

  The slender brown-haired girl had taken enthusiastically to her new role as Oona’s handmaiden and looked altogether like a new person in a white-and-pink dress with matching shoes. Plain, the garment fell short of nobility, though the fourteen-year-old could pass for the daughter of a wealthy family. A bit of red rimmed her eyes, though whether the girl had wept for the loss of the king or simply felt bad for her, it didn’t matter. The show of sympathy eased Oona’s stomach.

  “Come then, Evie.” Beredwyn lifted the little one out of her chair and set on her feet by Piper. “It is time for your lessons.”

  “Okay.” Evie scurried back to hug Oona, ran around the table to hug Kitlyn, then dutifully marched over to stand beside Piper.

  Beredwyn ambled around the table and took up a position behind the king’s chair, an equal distance to both Oona and Kitlyn.

  Tense awkwardness lingered. Oona managed a feeble smile at Evie, who waved before following Piper out, holding her hand.

  As soon as the door closed, Beredwyn bowed his head. “King Aodh Talomir is gone.”

  Kitlyn nodded.

  “I felt his passing,” said Oona, lip quivering. “I-in what manner did his death come to pass?”

  “They found him then?” asked Kitlyn.

  “Indeed.” Beredwyn took and released a deep breath.

  The men had been close friends, perhaps even somewhat of a father-son affection had grown between them. Oona leaned forward, resting her hand atop Beredwyn’s where he gripped the back of the king’s chair. His gaze flicked up, meeting hers. The grief etched within the wrinkles of his cheeks drew tears from her eyes. They shared a moment of silently comforting each other before he looked down at the table again.

  “He drank poison in the tomb of Queen Solana.” Beredwyn heaved a sigh. “Perhaps he finally allowed himself to believe that her blood stained his hands.”

  “Did you know?” asked Kitlyn.

  Beredwyn shook his head ever so slightly, making his long beard wobble. “Your father and I shared many secrets, but he kept that one from me. Had I known the true cause of the war, I would have hounded him to no end to do the right thing… and he knew it. Perhaps I am at fault for never suspecting the man could carry such deceit for so long.”

  “It is not your fault.” Oona squeezed his hand.

  Kitlyn leaned back in her seat, flicking her thumbnail at the stem of her water goblet. “I do not think it would be wise for me to accept the crown.”

  “What?” gasped Oona.

  Beredwyn’s sorrow faded to concern. “Nonsense. The people—of both Lucernia and Evermoor—need you.” He glanced at Oona. “Need both of you.”

  “By now, everyone knows the way he treated me. I expect to be accused of murdering him by noon.”

  “No…” Oona stared at her. “How could anyone dare to even suggest such an awful thing?”

  “I can think of several reasons,” muttered Kitlyn.

  Beredwyn appeared to momentarily consider sitting in the king’s chair, but thought better of it. “There is quite a clear reason why few would take such an abhorrent suggestion seriously: Oona.”

  “Me?” She blinked.

  “Of course.” His grandfatherly smile returned, deepening the wrinkles shrouding his eyes. “The whole of the kingdom knows what sort of person you are, and that you bear Lucen’s gift. Had Kitlyn poisoned him, you would not remain at her side.”

  Oona’s cheeks rushed with heat. “She would not be capable of such a thing!”

  He raised his hands. “I do not mean to suggest such. Merely that you would know the truth. And…” He again smiled, lowering his arms. “Several of the castle guard observed the two of you searching about last night prior to the king entering the tomb. The guards there observed him entering alone, and none followed him.”

  Kitlyn nodded once. “I still think this may be unwise. The resentment people feel toward my father might color their perceptions of me. And, I am sure many still silently disapprove of us.” She sent a longing stare across the table.

  “I don’t care what anyone thinks.” Oona’s heart thudded, her emotions swaying wildly between love for Kitlyn, grief over the king’s death, and renewed worry that the whole kingdom may turn on them for being abominations. “Nothing will change how I feel abo
ut you.”

  “Well.” Beredwyn stood straight, eliciting a creak from the chair he’d been leaning on. “A people do not have to like their leaders—though it helps—they must respect them. And, the people do respect you both for bringing an end to the war and the truth to light.”

  “Am I ready for this?” asked Kitlyn. “All I know how to do is scrub floors and do laundry.”

  “And arrange troops”—Oona made a ticking-off motion on her fingers—“and deal with a foreign prince, and cross deep into ‘enemy’ territory on your own, and talk to people, and… oh, a mess of other things.”

  Kitlyn managed a bashful smile. “I’d hardly call riding atop a forty-foot stone giant ‘alone.’ He’s rather persuasive.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t have him the whole time,” said Oona.

  “You will make a fine queen.” Beredwyn offered a reassuring smile. “You have your advisors, a strong mind, a strong heart, and Oona beside you.”

  “It is so much for people all at once. The king’s lies, doubt in Lucen for not stopping it sooner, their feelings about us together.” Oona briefly daydreamed about running away with Kitlyn again.

  “It’s all right,” said Kitlyn in a soothing tone. “Don’t work yourself up into a panic again. We’ll not be going off into the woods in the dead of night.”

  Oona giggled.

  “I think you’ll find Tenebrea’s nod most persuasive as well. Certainly as much as that stone ancient’s presence.” Beredwyn fussed at his beard. “However, if I may offer a small bit of advice…. As loathe as I am to suggest this, perhaps you should refrain from overt shows of physical affection in public.”

  Oona cringed, feeling scolded.

  “The people would gasp and fret over that from a king and queen as well,” said Kitlyn, sounding unbothered. “But I am not my father, nor am I my mother. The crown does not elevate me above the people, but bears the weight of their fortunes. I would hope that seeing us full of love would lift their spirits as well. What use is staid pageantry? Everyone always frowned.”

  “Hmm.” Beredwyn continued stroking his beard.

  A scrap of hope slipped out from under her sorrow. Oona kneaded her hands in her lap, wondering what the future might hold for them. King Talomir had been responsible for so much… evil. The word in her thoughts made her flinch. As much as she hated to admit it, the man she’d thought of as her father had been exactly that. Though he may not have taken delight in—and may have even been horrified at—the casualties, he hadn’t let any of it stop his lust to steal power from the Heart.

  She shuddered at the realization he could have ended it all at any time, but chose not to.

  “It is natural to feel nervous.” Beredwyn moved around the table to put a hand on Kitlyn’s shoulder. “Though you are not the youngest to do so, you are quite young to assume the throne. Worry not. You have me beside you, and the other advisors.”

  “Speaking of which…” Kitlyn narrowed her eyes. “What of Fauhurst?”

  Beredwyn’s white caterpillar eyebrows crept up his forehead. “The man hasn’t been seen in over a week.”

  “Probably still under a table at the Owl and Cask,” muttered Oona.

  The old advisor smiled the sort of smile he often did when laughing would be inappropriate.

  “Is it too soon for me to make decrees, then?” asked Kitlyn.

  “Depends on the significance of it.” Beredwyn nodded. “Anything of consequence should wait for after the official coronation, though with Aodh’s death, the crown has already legally passed to you as his only living heir.”

  Kitlyn shot a glower across the room; the hardness in her emerald eyes so reminded Oona of the former king that she momentarily worried becoming queen might change the girl she loved into someone else. “Master Fauhurst is no longer an advisor. Please locate a suitable replacement for me to consider.”

  Beredwyn nodded. “Of course.”

  Kitlyn held up a hand in a ‘wait a moment’ gesture, glancing at Oona with a sparkle of delight in her eye. “I would like two new advisors. One shall be the new High Priest of Lucen, whoever they name. For the other, please find a farmer, crafter, or commoner regarded as wise by the whole of their town or village.”

  Oona grinned. A priest of Lucen as she would have wanted, and someone from humble origins—like Kitlyn—to lend a grounded perspective. Already, the Kingdom of Lucernia seemed destined for significant changes.

  “An excellent thought.” Beredwyn smiled, then leaned toward her, casting aside his formality. “I am here for you as I have always been, albeit without the need to keep mum as to who you are.”

  Kitlyn momentarily ceased being a new queen, and leapt into his embrace like a frightened granddaughter. Oona fidgeted until Beredwyn invited her with a nod. She sprang to her feet and hurried around the table to accept his arm around her as well.

  Perhaps we shall find a way after all.

  4

  Children

  Kitlyn

  Kitlyn sat in the grass outside the castle gardens, gazing past her bare feet at Evie and Pim running around. Oona’s little sister and the head cook’s six-year-old son had made fast friends, and watching them laugh and play took some of the heaviness from her heart. The past few hours had been difficult, dealing with the removal of King Talomir’s remains from the tomb as well as discussing it endlessly with priests, advisors, members of the royal court, the mayor of Cimril, and seemingly everyone with any scrap of title within a hundred miles.

  Distancing herself from the truth of his death had been far easier prior to seeing his dead face. As angry as she had been with him, the sight of his body slumped against the side of her mother’s sarcophagus, as if he had been begging her forgiveness, hit her unexpectedly with tears. She mourned the loss of whatever future relationship they would never have more than the man himself.

  Oona sat to her right, on the other side of a cloth holding a tray with a few small pastries as well as a sliced ivenberry. She attempted to snack on a sliver of said berry without dribbling juice on her dress. This, of course, resulted in a somewhat comical pose of leaning forward over the tray while stretching out to nibble. If not for the somberness of the past several hours, Kitlyn might’ve laughed at her… though she did smile.

  “They’re having the time of their lives.” Oona nipped off a hunk of ivenberry.

  “Yes. Reminds me a bit of us at that age, before life became complicated.” Kitlyn swished her feet back and forth in the tickling grass.

  “It would be nice to be small again, I think. To have no cares beyond if we’d turn our noses up at dinner and no worries but bedtime coming far sooner than we liked.”

  Kitlyn considered one of the small pastries, but decided against it. She hadn’t said a word to her father after leaving him in that room, though he placed a wax-sealed letter on her nightstand while she slept. She hadn’t noticed it last night. He evidently visited her before Oona but didn’t wake her. His farewell letter repeated his apology for making her live as a servant, not showing her the affection a father should have, and for the war. Reading it caused such a tangle of emotions she pushed everything aside and settled on being annoyed with him for dropping the crown on her head way before she considered herself worthy of it.

  Maybe in a few years I can shed tears over his loss, but how can I mourn a father I barely knew?

  Pim zoomed by, Evie chasing him. He ‘tripped’ and she caught him with a tag, then proceeded to chase her around not quite catching up.

  Kitlyn grinned. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about destroying a whole kingdom anymore.”

  “Ugh.” Oona rolled her eyes. “Stupid old men. Why does anyone listen to them?”

  “Well, they weren’t technically wrong.” Kitlyn shrugged one shoulder. “We did end the war. But it would’ve been nice for them to be a little clearer as to the how of it.”

  Oona tossed the last bit of ivenberry in her mouth and wiped her hands on a napkin before reclining flat i
n the grass, gazing up at the clouds. “Oh, they just write down the most minimal thing so whatever happens, they can say they got it right.”

  Evie and Pim ran by again, giggling, and darted into the garden out of sight behind the ivy-covered wall.

  “Don’t go too close to the pond,” yelled Kitlyn.

  Answering shouts came from the kids that sounded close enough to “okay” that she didn’t get up to chase them.

  Oona wiggled her toes. “Shall we run about like children?”

  “If you like.”

  “You don’t sound as though you want to.” Oona rolled on her left side, facing Kitlyn. “It’s all right. We really ought to both be sad for a while. It would only be proper.”

  Kitlyn smirked, but wound up chuckling. “I barely knew him, but seeing him there by my mother’s grave was just…”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t remember her at all,” said Kitlyn.

  “Nor I.”

  She glanced over at Oona. “She died before they brought you to the castle. They brought you here because she died.”

  “No, I meant Ruby. I don’t remember any of it. Even lighting fire to the chicken.”

  Kitlyn laughed.

  “I can’t for the life of me imagine why I would’ve done that.”

  “It probably chased you or something. Chickens can be nasty, especially to kids not much bigger than they are.”

  Oona raised her arm straight up, summoning her little light ball. Two pale spots resembling eyes rotated around to fix on Kitlyn. Despite not having a mouth, the tomato-sized thing gave off a sense of smiling. “It would be nice to frolic like children again, but even without the war, we will have much too much to worry about.”

  “We could run off into the woods and forget it all.”

  “Alas, we cannot.” Oona sighed into a chuckle. “That was rather foolish of me to run off like that. I’m sorry for getting us captured and putting you through all that worry.”