Book 1
ROSE and THORN
POSSESSION OF THE KING
A COLLECTION OF ROSES TRILOGY
EMILIA RAY ROSE
ROSE AND THORN
POSSESSION OF THE KING
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Emilia Ray Rose.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
Book Cover design by Brosedesignz.com
Editing Services
Amanda N. Ryan, Tarri Stewart, & Ken @ Mrproofreader
Interior Design & Formatting by Faisa ladeel
To my wonderful family, Jade, Jazz, & Jorge.
Thank you for always being my biggest
fans and keeping me going.
You are my inspiration.
Emilia.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About the Author
PROLOGUE
The Prince, the Pirate and the Thorn in Their Sides
Ezra Thorn stood silent with his sword in hand, unsheathed. The cold blade of the metal gave him a measure of comfort in the dark. The night was ink black and full of different horrors. It was best to be prepared.
He was peering hard at the wooded road that led up to the dock. It was the narrow, less traveled one, the most likely source of trouble at a time like this. Behind him stood the gold-studded leather coach; it was a brazen invitation to thieves and marauders desperate for quick wealth and it was Ezra’s duty to guard it and, more importantly, its occupant.
Footfalls coming from the path floated to his ears and he gripped his sword tightly. But it was no enemy, only a member of his guard.
“All clear,” the man said. It was Wesley Heart, his second-in-command.
“And the men?” Ezra asked him.
“Posted just where you asked, my lord.”
“Good.”
Ezra sheathed his weapon and turned to knock on the coach door. “My prince, the vicinity is safe,” he said, “at least for now.”
The coach door swung open and Cavel Alvert, the crown prince of Markenia, stepped out into the fresh night air. Ezra and Wesley moved in immediately on both sides of him.
“Step aside, men,” the prince said.
Ezra was puzzled. “You do realize that we are only trying to protect you, right?”
The prince nodded slowly. “Yes cousin, and you do it so well.”
Ezra leaned in and brought his voice low. “Tell me again why you would risk your life coming out here to do business with a man who was once rumored to have been hired to try to take your father's life.”
The prince laughed, but his laughter rang hollow. “Nonsense. The kingdom of Markenia has benefited from our relationship with Captain Storm,” he said. “Without his crew mining our ore mines, Markenia wouldn't be as strong as it is today.”
“I think the word you are searching for, dear cousin, is slaves.”
“Ezra, you know as well as I do that Captain Storm is an honest man and those rumors are just that.”
“What I know, my prince, is that Captain Storm is a crooked man who would betray you the moment you turned your royal back.”
“And that, dear cousin, is why I have you.” Cavel ended the exchange with a smile.
Through the darkness, several shadows emerged from the fog and out into the light of the moon. Slade Storm was a tall man with an intimidating stature. He stood silent, a hulking shadow half illuminated by the moon, his men lined up behind him with the dock to their backs.
Just then three coaches rolled up to the edge of the dock. The doors opened to let out more soldiers from the Royal Guard. They approached escorting chained men through the ship's entrance.
“Are they all accounted for?” Storm asked.
The prince laughed. He laughed a lot. “What do you take me for, Storm, a fraud?” he asked.
“Of course they are all here. Every last maggot.”
“Tell me again what these men were arrested for.”
“Treason.”
“Treason … really?” Storm stood silent for a moment then pulled in close to Cavel. Ezra grabbed his sword and partially unsheathed the blade as a warning to Storm.
Cavel raised his hand towards Ezra, who hesitated a bit before lowering his weapon.
“Well, Storm, it seems you have my attention and the attention of my men. Talk swiftly, man,” Cavel said.
Storm leaned into Cavel's ear and lowered his deep voice to a mere whisper. “Your Highness, if these men are so personally dangerous to you, I'd be happy to take them off your hands as per our deal, but for a man seeking to … let’s say end his royal problems for good, it can be done for an additional price.”
“Are my slaves not enough for you?”
“Under normal circumstances, yes, but we both know that you would rather have these threats disposed of.”
“I'm listening,” Cavel said.
“For an additional fee I'll escort them traitors across the Siren Sea towards the Markenian mines and pick them off one by one for you.”
“You'd do that for me?” Cavel asked with one eyebrow raised. “What are you after, Storm?”
“The rumor is you've gotten your hands on a priceless possession, a rare red diamond.”
“That bauble. Why would you want an insignificant trinket like that?” Cavel asked.
“You've heard the tales,” Storm said.
“Of the mysterious lost island with a magical purple flower. What was its magic again? Oh yes, it can heal. Well, so can my alchemists.”
“This is not a fairy tale, Your Highness. Every pirate I know has been looking for the secret to eternal life. This flower is said to be able to save you even if you're an inch from death and that red diamond is the key to its location.”
“Captain Storm, I am only interested in reality.” Now the prince’s voice had a hard edge to it. “Now, have you come to do business or not?”
Storm stood silent. His silence was not brief. It was the type that stretches out longer than is expected, the type that breeds unease. Ezra did not like it. He wondered how fast he might need to reach for his sword again if he had to. But there was no need to.
Prince Cavel clapped his hands and, on cue, his guards pushed the men forward, away from the coaches into the open where Storm could inspect them. The man took his time to do just that. He maintained his silence as he walked from one man to the next looking them up and down, sizing them up, and mentally judging their capacities.
When he got to the last man, he stopped and turned back to the prince. “Yes, these will do just fine.” He turn
ed to his men. “Load them onto the ship.”
Storm’s men came forward and took the chain from the royal guards. As they turned towards the ship waiting in the dock, yanking their chain hard, Ezra stepped forward. “Wait!”
They stopped and turned to look at him. The prince and the pirate turned as well. Ezra couldn't help but feel this was wrong. “Cousin, is this necessary? After all, we all know what will happen to these men,” he said, staring Storm down. Storm replied with a wide smirk.
Cavel was not amused. “Cousin, it is not your place to question royal affairs.”
“But these men—”
“Enough! These men are traitors to the crown and nothing more.”
“Traitors? We are not traitors. It is you, Prince Cavel, who have betrayed your people and your father's good name.”
Cavel turned on the man who spoke. He was a tall man with dark hair and deep brown eyes. His skin looked to have been kissed by the sun and the thin lines on his brow gave a hint as to his age.
The prince marched up to the man and stood before him. “Do you have a name, traitor?”
The man did not cower before him. He stood straight with his head held high. “It's Mathius Rose and I am no traitor.”
The prince scoffed, “I know who you are. You are the leader of the Workers’ Guild of Markenia, the cause of my trouble. It is your revolt that led to most of these men's capture.”
“It is no crime to fight for fair wages for the people. At least your father didn't think so,” Mathius said.
“My father is close to death's door and it is only a matter of time before I am your king, and as your future king, I deem you and all members of the guild traitors of the crown. Now Captain Thorn, escort these men to Captain Storm’s ship.”
“No,” Ezra said.
Cavel turned on him, smoldering with fury like a volcanic mountain that would erupt at any moment.
“Cousin, a word,” he said and grabbed Ezra by his breastplate to pull him close. He shook his head in exasperation as he spoke, akin to the manner in which one would speak to an errant child who refused to see the error of his ways. “Tell me, cousin, when did you suddenly become an enemy of the crown? Does my father's safety no longer mean anything to you?”
Ezra had a choice reply readied to address the prince’s faux concerns, but he ground his teeth and swallowed the words, keeping himself from saying what was on his mind.
Against his better judgment, he said, “Men, help Captain Storm load his prisoners aboard his ship.”
"Mark my word, future king, there will be others like me, willing to do what it takes for the people of Markenia,” Mathius said.
Wort Folly, third most senior member of the royal guards, shoved him hard and he stumbled and crashed to the ground.
Ezra flinched, ready to pounce on Wort for this wrongful gesture, but Wesley, knowing the prince’s anger, intervened and held Ezra back.
Storm’s men did not give Mathius the chance to recover his feet before they began to yank on the chain. He crawled swiftly on his hands and knees to catch up with the others and struggled to his feet as quickly as he could.
Ezra watched uneasily. His stomach was in knots and a lump had formed in his throat. It made it hard to swallow. This was wrong on all counts. But who was he to oppose the crown prince?
Cavel was already on his way back to the royal coach with two columns of soldiers covering him on both sides. Ezra gave Storm’s ship a long look before turning his back on those men he knew deep down were innocent.
Chapter One
The sky was a pallet of darkish blue, bright white spots, and creamy clouds. Light from the busy shops spilled out the windows, creating more than enough illumination for the streets, which were still muddy from the heavy downpour the night before. At this time of the night, the people of Markenia were arguably at their busiest as they filled the pubs, brothels, even their own homes with as much noise as could rival the clanging of the city’s alarm bell.
Twenty-year-old Ressa skirted a fairly large pothole filled with muddy water and cussed. Her heart raced, and her fingers trembled. She dug her fingers into the folds of her skirt and clutched it tightly to stop her fingers from shaking. She looked behind her for the umpteenth time and blessed Christoff, the patron spirit of luck, that not one of the stragglers on the street had paid undue attention to her. Secrecy was of the utmost importance if she was to succeed in her planned intrusion. Ressa bit her lip slightly to take her mind away from thoughts of failure.
I can’t fail, she told herself, for my father.
Ressa very well knew that Slade Storm was not one to dally. Once she failed to keep her side of the bargain she was sure he would act swiftly and cruelly.
A wave of music and the chaotic buzz of voices hit her from across the street. She smoothed her hair and cast a glance to both extremes of the street before crossing.
The Seamaids was one of the best brothels in the lower side of Markenia. It was most reputed to be the brothel that satisfied Prince Cavel’s insatiable lecherousness with a loud company of voluptuous women. Through its large arched windows, Ressa got a glimpse of its lobby and the bustle of activity within.
Ressa didn’t go in through the front entrance. That would only complicate things. She walked further past it until she got to the door that led out from the cellar. She looked further down the alley, and when she was satisfied that no one was following her, she knocked on the door just as the doorman had told her to the night before.
The door opened to reveal a short stout man who wordlessly moved to the side, letting Ressa in. Once he’d shut the door, Ressa followed the man into the backroom.
The backroom was full of women who had split into smaller clusters, most of them getting ready while engaging in small chatter.
Ressa’s fingers began to tremble again, and she dug them into her skirt. She felt insipid among this company of women who were beautiful enough to be considered the prince’s mistresses. The quality of their dressing also said as much.
A foreign eye would have had no problem associating Ressa with the company. Her finest dress and the loud make-up on her face were disguise enough. Or so she thought.
“Hey, that one is new,” one of the girls observed rather loudly.
Ressa’s heart lurched massively. It was through sheer strength of resolve that she did not bolt out of the room. She felt like melting wax under the gaze of the girls.
One in particular, a buxom brunette, walked up to her.
“Almost all of us here know one another,” she said calmly. “So it’s easy to spot an unfamiliar face.”
Quickly, Ressa’s mind spun an idea that she hoped would hit home. She cleared her throat then, collecting herself, smiled.
“I think you girls should get ready to see me around more often. I was handpicked by the prince’s guards to join you tonight,” she said, her eyes scouring the group.
It was common knowledge among Cavel’s mistresses the prince was one for variety. He could easily get bored with the same routine of women. Therefore, it was without a spec of doubt that they welcomed Ressa into their company.
She felt a splash of relief. The girls burst out in a flow of excited chatter and, in jest, warned Ressa of the adventurous night that awaited them.
Ressa studied the girls. They were a loud bunch who obviously couldn’t have cared less about the kind of manners that befitted a woman. They yelled across to the other room, where their usual patrons tried to book appointments for future visits. The sight of the men caused Ressa to experience a dreadful chill. However, the feeling ebbed when she remembered that the girls in there had been specifically selected for the prince that night. And, as such, anyone who touched them risked the prince’s fiery and impulsive wrath. The last thing Ressa wanted was to get caught in a situation she had not planned for. So far, everything was going according to plan.
Hold on, Father, she thought. All this will soon be over.
Putting on a radiant smile, sh
e poured herself a cup of cheap grape wine from the jars sitting on the table in the center of the room and mingled with the rest of the company as they waited to be taken to the castle.
When the royal guards arrived, the ladies formed a line, from which they were led, one after another, by the footman—a short silver-haired man—into a fairly large bronze-colored carriage with its windows and doors adorned with red velvet curtains with golden tassels.
Ressa had made sure to be the last in line, so as the footman ushered the girl before her into the carriage, she reached into her satchel. The footman looked at her as she took his hand. With a smile and amazing dexterity, Ressa transferred two silver coins into the footman’s gloved palm.
“Miss Rose,” the footman greeted her and gave a short bow.
Ressa smiled and took the seat closest to the window. The footman joined them, closing the curtains behind Ressa. He gave her a nod before tapping the body of the carriage, signaling the driver to take off to the castle.
As they neared the castle, Ressa was filled with a surge of anger. She was about to meet the man who took her father away from her. Her father had been a prominent member of the recently disbanded Guild, and had, during meetings, incited the people to stand against the prince’s oppressive decrees and the deleteriously exploitative taxes imposed upon them, allowing shops to close and the people to court poverty. In so doing, he had uncovered himself as an enemy of the prince. To teach him and everyone else a lesson, the prince had imprisoned him.
While at loss for any other course of action, Ressa had visited her father at the dungeon. The mental image of the place still gave her goose bumps. The dungeon, a series of connected stone-walled tunnels with cells hemmed in by thick iron doors, had been cloaked by a layer of darkness that only the torches on the wall could pierce. An unhealthy silence reigned over the place and was only broken by occasional bone-chilling screams. Ressa hadn’t feared a worse fate for her father until she was told by a compassionate guard that her father had been secretly sold as a slave to the mysterious Captain Storm.
“Storm normally needs hands on his ship,” the guard had said. “He must have some kind of pact with the prince.”
Rose and Thorn: Possession of The King (Book 1) (A Collection of Roses) Page 1
