Captive and Crowned

by Elizabeth Newsom

  With guards sandwiching her on either side, she walked through the hallway and down several flights of stairs, until she was at the second level. The guards marched to a stop before opening a pair of double doors for her. Four men sat around a table. The meeting room looked like a museum converted into a library, with marble busts placed between bookshelves. Draven was seated at the table too. The corner of his mouth moved upward.

  So confident—and right after she’d accused him of being a spy.

  “Queen Evelyn.” The King sat at the head of the table, his green dragon wings folded behind him like twin peaks, his eyes emerald chips of ice.

  Would the King suspect something? How could she slip Duke Draven the note without the King noticing? She rounded the table and sat in the only empty seat, the King on her left, Duke Draven on her right. The chair’s cushions were stiff, barely sinking with her weight, and the chair was a tad high for her height. With the over-sized furniture, she was almost getting used to having her feet dangle.

  The King gestured toward a man with a prominent nose. “This is the Head of Management and Budget, Duke Strauth. He tracks all expenditures of the palace.”

  “Your Majesty.” Strauth’s golden gaze studied her too boldly. If his nose were a hair longer, he’d go from mildly attractive to undesirable. His clothes were edged and hemmed in bronze thread.

  She spread her most becoming smile on her lips. Maybe she could charm more than just Draven into becoming her ally. “Duke Strauth.”

  The King gestured to the next man, who looked vaguely familiar. “This is the Head of Palace Administration, Duke Rin. He oversees the hiring and disposal of servants and ensures the palace is run smoothly. In addition, he performs several traditional ceremonies such as weddings, coronations, and knightings.”

  So that’s where she’d seen him before; he was the one who had conducted the wedding ceremony.

  The man’s eyebrows seemed to have frozen high on his forehead as he stared at her. The light caught on the golden streaks in his brown hair, which he’d pulled back into a stubby ponytail. His clothes were also threaded with bronze. It appeared high-ranking palace officials were mostly dukes.

  “As I’m sure you know, Duke Draven is the Public Relations Official. As such, he will assist you in planning balls and festivities along with protecting our public image and reputation. When necessary, the Public Relations Official selects a bride for the king.”

  Insecurity wormed through her, and she dropped her gaze to the table. She’d already known Draven had selected the bride… but she hadn’t thought about what that meant: he’d chosen Kimberly to marry the King rather than herself.

  The King settled back in his seat and steepled his fingers. “Duke Strauth, would you do us the honor of reading the minutes from the last meeting?”

  As Duke Strauth droned in his nasally voice, Evelyn fought back sleep. She snuck a peek at Draven. He winked. Heat flared to her cheeks, and she kept her gaze fastened to the table, though she still saw him from the corner of her eye. What had made him choose Kimberly? Why hadn’t he chosen her?

  The thought was silly, of course. It wasn’t like she wanted to be selected to be the King’s bride… but had Draven thought Kimberly was more attractive than she was? Probably. Where Kimberly’s skin was like porcelain, her skin was tan. Where Kimberly’s eyes were a lustrous blue-green, her eyes were nothing more than a shiny, pale brown. Where Kimberly had thin thighs—with an enormous thigh gap, by the way—hers were well-rounded. Where Kimberly had loose cherry-red curls, she had dark blond hair. At least, she used to.

  Not that attractiveness mattered, especially now of all times. She glanced at the men. The King appeared attentive, Duke Rin seemed to be fighting sleep, and Draven’s attention was on her. Now would be the best time to hand him the note.

  She trailed her fingers up her dress and stopped at her neckline. Surely no one would notice—

  The King’s gaze drifted toward her.

  She froze and began massaging the skin beneath her collarbone instead. That was casual, right?

  The King’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and he glanced away.

  Okay, that wasn’t going to work. Time for Plan B. She slid a copy of the minutes toward her, dragging it toward the edge of the table before releasing it. It fluttered to the floor.

  All gazes were on her.

  She ducked her head sheepishly. “Don’t worry. I’ll get it.”

  The King grimaced. “That’s unnecessary. We have extra—”

  She scooted her chair back. “It’s fine.”

  “A servant can—”

  She ducked beneath the table, and the King sighed heavily from above. The men’s knees formed bars around the edges of the table, turning it into a tiny cell.

  She slipped her hand into her chemise and withdrew the wad of parchment. The message was smeared but legible. She glanced between the paper and the lower half of Draven’s body. Then she placed the paper in his hand, and his fingers curled around it.

  She began to stand, but stepped on her trailing sleeve and rammed her head into the underside of the table. Tuteno. She plopped back to the floor, rubbing her aching skull.

  “Evelyn?”

  “Un momento.” She straightened slowly, remembering not to hit her head against the table or step on her sleeve, and crept back into her chair.

  The King had his chin propped on his fist as he studied her expression. “Were you unsuccessful in retrieving the paper?”

  Between handing Draven the note and banging her head, she’d totally forgotten. “I couldn’t find it.”

  The King’s gaze darted downward.

  She followed it. The paper laid right beneath her chair.

  He leaned toward her, his hand reaching for her face. She flinched away from his touch, uncertain what he was trying to do.

  His fingers brushed her forehead as he straightened her circlet, lingering a second too long. “There.” He sat back, gaze and smile softening.

  She blinked as she tried to process his behavior. Seriously. Was he bipolar or something? Was he being nice to her now because he wanted something? But he’d said he only required her existence and cooperation, so what else could he be after?

  A blush scorched her cheeks. There was only one area in which he hadn’t forced her to do her duty as queen.

  And with that, Duke Strauth continued.

  Someone nudged her knee. Draven’s gaze slid to her, then away. Evelyn reached underneath the table. A smooth cylinder slid into her hand as her fingers brushed with his, causing warmth to shoot up her arm.

  Had he already read her note? What had he given her? And how was she going to hide it? With no other options, she clamped onto the cylinder with her clammy palm.

  Strauth finished reading. Then they continued discussing points from their last meeting, a budget for purchasing the latest metal from Taijeng to use for armor, road repairs, and hiring more stable keepers.

  She tilted the cylinder, and the weight in it shifted. Did it contain some sort of liquid? And whatever for?

  “I doubt the Queen would appreciate that…” The King glanced at her in such a way that she knew the statement was more of a question.

  She blinked. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Strauth snorted through his ski-slope nose and muttered, “Obviously.”

  Her blood heated, but she didn’t even spare him a glance. If she were going to remain queen in Torva, making him respect her would be her first project. But she wasn’t staying.

  The King massaged his right temple. “There are some in the Council who doubt that you’re truly a Hybrid.”

  “Then how can I speak and read Torvan, even though I’ve never been taught it?” she asked. “Surely that’s proof enough.”

  “Not for some, unfortunately. There’s still the possibility that you could have been taught Torvan. Since your Hybrid blood is still in question, Duke Strauth suggested we yield to the Council’s demands for a medical examinat
ion.”

  Duke Strauth cleared his throat. “And to ensure the King’s bride isn’t… physically defective.”

  “A medical… exam?” Her voice squeaked on the last word. “What would that entail, exactly?”

  The men suddenly fell silent. She sought out help in Duke Draven and the King, but neither quite met her gaze.

  Draven cleared his throat. “Duke Rin, you’ve had some training as a physician, haven’t you? Perhaps you could elaborate for the Queen.”

  Duke Rin flushed. “O–of course.” He twisted to face her, but his gaze was fixed on her chin. “Well, you see… the exam would primarily study your health and other various features to test if there’s any Torvan in you, and if so, how much.”

  Now the fidgeting and silence was beginning to make her uncomfortable. “So how does it test my health? And what kind of features will they look for?”

  “Health will include testing the heart, hearing, condition of teeth and gums… a pelvic examination.”

  “Pelvic?”

  The color in his cheeks deepened. “For fertility, yes.”

  Yuck. Didn’t sound fun. She sat forward. “What happens if I fail the exam or if I’m not fertile enough or something?” Perhaps they’d let her go home.

  The King snorted. “You needn’t sound so excited, Evelyn. The health results are primarily to inform me of your physical health.”

  Duke Strauth raised his eyebrows. “Though the Council does want to ensure an heir will be possible.”

  “Of course,” the King said, “but if she happens to fail a portion of the health exam, it will be my decision as to whether or not the marriage will be dissolved.”

  Duke Strauth nodded, his pointy nose dipping down then up into the air. “Naturally. But testing for her Torvan blood will most certainly concern the Council.”

  So essentially if she could fake that test, she was out of here. “What do those tests involve?”

  Duke Rin’s color seemed to be gradually receding, his skin returning to a fair tan. “Underarm glands, coloring, proportions of body fat, body width and height, blood acidity, and tolerances of certain foods.”

  She studied the wood grain in front of her. She couldn’t really fake any of that, except for tolerances of certain foods.

  “Evelyn.”

  She turned to the King.

  His gaze was unnervingly steady. “Failing any portion of the test won’t go well for you, particularly when you’re tested for Torvan blood. It’s unlikely they’d simply release you considering everything you know. Life imprisonment is more probable.”

  She wanted to deny she’d been thinking of failing the test, but doing so would sound childish, and the King would likely see through a lie. “That’d hardly be fair, since I haven’t committed any crimes.”

  The hard line of his lips softened. “I know. Ideally, I’ll be able to prove your genealogy to the Council, and the tests won’t be required.” He peered around her at Duke Draven. “Duke Draven, perhaps you could escort the Queen elsewhere for her etiquette lessons. I don’t believe any other portion of the meeting will concern her.”

  As Duke Draven rose, his tall figure towered above them. “But of course.” He extended a hand toward her. “Care to join me, Your Highness?”

  At Draven’s request, the King permitted them to leave without a pair of guards shadowing them. The King trusted Draven—more evidence that Draven could be the one to help her.

  They strolled through the eerily empty ballroom before entering the gardens. The gardens looked much safer in the daylight. Evelyn released her clasped hands. Her palms cradled a vial of iridescent purple liquid. “What did you give me?”

  Duke Draven led her to the back of the gardens, where the flowers were sparser and the bushes thinner. Thankfully, the fountain she’d nearly drowned in was nowhere in sight. He seated her on a bench beneath a gazebo. “Manasseh.”

  “Manna what?”

  “Manasseh.”

  She held it up to the sunlight and arched her eyebrows in suspicion. “Poison.”

  He leaned back against the bench. “Do keep your voice down. Manasseh is ideal for our purposes, because it’s non-lethal, scentless, and tasteless. You only need one drop to touch someone’s mouth, and they’ll become unconscious instantly. When they awake several hours later, they won’t remember anything that happened an hour prior to being indisposed.”

  She popped the cork off and sniffed. Nothing.

  “You’re welcome to drink some, if you’d like. From what I’ve heard, it has no effect on those with human blood.”

  She laughed. “You really think I’m so dumb that I’d let you poison me?”

  Draven clapped a hand to his forehead. “I am not trying to poison you, my dear. You’re going to have to learn to trust me if you truly want my help.” He plucked the vial from her grasp, his fingertips brushing hers.

  The warmth grazed her arms, traveling all the way back up to her chest. She snatched her hand away and folded it tightly with the other on her lap. There was no room for attraction in this relationship.

  He swirled the liquid. “Isn’t there any way I can get you to trust me? If you don’t trust me, assisting you will be rather difficult.”

  She plunked her chin onto her fist and studied him and the Manasseh. “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “First of all, do you have human blood?”

  Now it was his turn to become suspicious. “No…”

  “Then drink the Manasseh.”

  He looked at the vial. Then at her. “But… why?”

  “That way I know it’s not lethal. For all I know, this could be legit poison. Maybe you’re trying to incriminate me by having me poison someone when I actually think they’ll just be knocked unconscious.”

  “I see.” He stared at the vial in distaste. “If I take it, will you remain with me until I awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when I awake, you’ll tell me what happened the hour hence?”

  “Yes.”

  “And if I do as you’ve requested, I’ll have your trust?”

  She held out her pinky. “Pinky promise.”

  A soft smile snuck across his lips, and a moment later, his pinky wrapped around hers. Though the touch was so light it barely qualified as contact, that didn’t stop heat from rippling across her cheeks.

  His green gaze held hers. Unlike the King’s flinty eyes, his were a softer green, the promise of new life shimmering within. “Very well then.” His pinky slipped away from hers. “You’ll have to pour the Manasseh for me. If I hold the vial, I’ll drop it as soon as I’m unconscious and spill its contents. It’s rather rare, so I’d like to avoid acquiring more if at all possible.”

  She stood and took the vial from his outstretched hand. “Of course.”

  Draven’s breath shuddered through him as he settled against the bench and leaned his head back. “Are you ready?”

  She studied his slightly tensed expression. Was her trust really so important to him? “Are you?”

  He nodded, and his lips parted.

  She delicately tipped the vial over. A shimmering drop spilled from the glass rim and landed in his mouth.

  11

  A Trap Fit for a Queen

  The effect was instantaneous: Draven’s lids fell shut, his body went limp, and he slumped over the bench.

  Nervousness fluttered through her, and she pressed a finger to the right of his trachea. His heartbeat was steady and strong. She corked the vial and slipped it down her dress.

  Draven’s expression took on a youthful softness. She hadn’t even realized there was tension in his face until he had completely relaxed. She reached out hesitantly, almost brushing a curl off his forehead, but pulled her hand back at the last second.

  So he’d been telling the truth. She glanced at the garden, clothed in sunbeams and flowers. What would she do until he awoke? And how long would that take?

  She wandered the garden, plucking flowers along the wa
y and never roaming beyond sight of the gazebo. She plucked the pins from her updo, removed the circlet, and braided her hair, tucking flowers into the woven folds of her tresses. Strangely enough, she didn’t see any other nobles.

  The sun was directly above her and her cheeks were burnt pink when the wave of exhaustion hit. Evelyn loosed a yawn, remembering all the early mornings of the past two days. Perhaps she deserved a nap. She staggered back to the gazebo and curled up on the opposite side of the bench.

  The bench was surprisingly comfortable—so much so that Evelyn didn’t want to open her eyes when she stirred awake. She felt warm and cozy, her head cushioned on the softly rising and falling wood.

  Whoa. Wait a second. She blinked in the afternoon sunlight. Wood didn’t move. Unless this was a fantasy world thing.

  Evelyn turned and stifled a gasp. She was curled against Draven’s side, his arm snug around her waist. She must have moved in her sleep. Now, how to extricate herself from his hold before he awoke?

  She wriggled in his grip and gently lifted his arm. Draven moaned and sat up. Well, so much for that. She tried to inch away, but his arm was still curled around her.

  He glanced down at her, and his eyes flared wide with shock. Then he jerked away, bolting to his feet.

  Evelyn folded her arms. “It’s about time.”

  “I… beg your pardon?” He ran his hand through his ruffled curls. His gaze drifted to the bench, where he’d been sitting moments ago holding her, and his face flushed. “What happened, exactly?”

  Right. He didn’t remember the Manasseh. She studied his alarmed gaze and colored cheeks. Seeing him concerned and a bit embarrassed was rather endearing.

  Draven froze. “You’re smiling… Why are you smiling?”

  She pressed a hand to her lips, trying to stifle the grin.

  “We didn’t do anything,” he cleared his throat, “improper, did we?”

  She gave up on trying to suppress her smile and shook her head. “You were the epitome of propriety… except for agreeing to help me escape and giving me a vial of poison.” She held up the Manasseh.