Traitor's Crown (Stones of Terrene Book 3)

by RJ Metcalf

  Irritation beat out any sense of desire in his blood, leaving him far too warm in his formal jacket. So this was how his father was going to try to deal with their encounter earlier? Bribe him into complacency with a whore?

  And of course Niles didn’t say anything. How many times in the past had Weston berated Niles for making sly comments about Weston’s extracurricular activities? Niles didn’t know that this wasn’t a woman that Weston had requested.

  And it just wasn’t going to happen.

  Andre had taught Weston how to behave with honor, and Weston wasn’t about to insult Andre’s memory by hooking up with a prostitute while legally engaged to a lady who once called Andre her uncle. Not only did Weston have no interest in empty sex, but he wasn’t about to give his father any more proof that they were alike. They weren’t. Not anymore.

  Weston turned away and marched back to the door. “Sorry, but I’m not interested. You can leave.”

  Fabric rustled, and the faint sound of bare footsteps behind him made him turn. He hadn’t seen her shoes, so where––Silver glinted in the gaslight, and he jerked back, wide-eyed at the blade that skimmed scant inches from his face. The blonde’s eyes narrowed, and she lunged forward, leading with a dagger that she must’ve been lying on. He scrambled toward his dresser, hand outstretched to grab his sword. She bared her teeth and danced forward, hips swaying with deadly intent. Her dagger traced a line across his vest, and it split open, a faint whisper of pain following the path of the blade. His fingers melt cold metal as he yanked his sword from its sheath. He threw the belt at her face, trying to buy himself a half-second of time.

  She swatted it away and clucked her tongue. “Naughty prince. You need to be punished.” She sprang forward during the last word, the tip of her sword gleaming as it shot for his chest.

  Weston parried the attack, and kicked, catching her in the ribs. She stumbled into his dresser and the priceless gas lamp on the edge teetered and fell, crashing onto the floor. She leapt out of the shards, kicking them off her bare feet.

  Weston backed farther into his room. “Who sent you?” He edged closer to his bed. If he could somehow catch her in his bed curtains, maybe they could detain her and question her?

  A harsh laugh shook the blonde’s shoulders. She grabbed a nearby book and threw it at his face.

  He ducked and realized to his terror that in that heartbeat, she had crossed that small gap between them. There was no escape. He lifted his sword, barely moving her blade away from his chest and to his arm. Her steel bit into his flesh. He gasped and kicked, his boot catching her in the knee. She grunted and stumbled back. He shadowed her earlier movement, holding his sword out at her throat.

  He’d already dismissed Niles for the night. There was no way he’d be heard if he even called for his bodyguard.

  She dove to the side, and he instinctively jammed his blade down. The edge of his sword slid into her chest. Her eyes widened in shock.

  Nausea rippled through him as blood soaked through her sheer dress, turning it opaque as it stuck to her like a second skin. He hadn’t meant to kill her. Only stop her from constantly attacking him. He looked desperately at the thick curtains hanging around his bed. He’d meant to lure her there! Trap her! Not kill her!

  Her weight pulled his sword from his hand, and he eased her to the ground, his hands shaking as her mouth opened and closed in soundless agony. She coughed once and blood splattered the floor. She stilled, her body twisted, crimson blood soaking into the plush blue rug underfoot.

  Weston stared at her for a heartbeat that passed with the slowness of an eternity.

  What just happened?

  His mind felt empty, though it raced with a thousand thoughts at once.

  Argument. His arm stung. Assassin. Father. The Summit. Jade. Blood. The carpet. Sightless eyes staring up at him.

  Niles. He had to find Niles.

  If there was one assassin in here, who knew what danger everyone else was in.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Weston

  Weston burst out of his room, hastily buckling on his sword belt with sticky hands. He looked around, noting the odd lack of guards. He pounded on Niles’s door. Before he could call out, the door burst open. Niles stood there, wearing only pants, sword in hand. Shock overtook his grumpy scowl, and he leaned past Weston to take in the empty hall, then he grabbed Weston’s shoulder, drawing him into the dark bedroom. Weston let the door close as Niles turned on a nearby lamp.

  “What happened, Your Highness?” Niles snatched a discarded uniform tunic off a chair and slipped it on, then sheathed his sword long enough to buckled on his belt. His eyes traced over Weston and thinned at the sight of Weston’s slit shirt, then Weston’s slashed sleeve. “This wasn’t your normal escapade.”

  Absurdly, a small laugh escaped Weston. “No, assassins aren’t my style.” He sobered. “There’s a dead girl in my room, and I don’t know if her presence means there’s more than one assassin in the palace.”

  Niles blinked and stepped back slightly, examining Weston again, a measure of surprise in his eyes. “And you prevailed?” Pride glowed until it darkened and hardened into anger. “I’m proud of you. And I need to get you to somewhere safe.”

  “My mother.” Weston interrupted. “I need to make sure she’s fine first.”

  Niles twitched a thick eyebrow, but to Weston’s relief, he nodded without argument. Niles gestured at Weston. “Your injuries, Highness?”

  Weston blinked and pulled the ragged edges of his shirt apart, revealing the angry line of blood that marred his otherwise smooth abdomen. He touched it with a finger and winced, then let the shirt drop. He tried to twist his arm to see the cut that stung with sweat. “It’s minor. I’ll live.”

  Niles snorted and ripped a long strip of fabric from his shirt, then wrapped it around Weston’s bicep. “Let’s at least keep up with the appearance of me trying to protect you, eh?”

  “Right.” Weston winced as Niles tied off the strip. He jittered in place, the after-image of the dead girl imprinted on his eyelids, and his imagination superimposed the image with his mother’s broken body. He had to know she was safe. “Let’s go.”

  They blazed through the halls, adrenaline and fear adding wings to Weston’s speed. Guards rounded the corner ahead of them and gave a shout, rushing toward Weston. Relief shone clearly on their faces, and they saluted as they drew near. “Highness!” One stepped forward and bowed. “I am glad to see that you are well.” His gaze roved over Weston and his expression darkened. “Highness, are you—”

  “There was an attempt on my life,” Weston interrupted. “The assassin is dead and still in my room. I need to check on my mother.”

  “Queen Violet is safe, Your Highness. We just came from her.” The guard bowed again. “The lost Prince of Doldra protected her and saw to the capture of her would-be-assassin.”

  The fear that had tightened his lungs eased, and Weston had to widen his stance to keep from falling over as the relief surged through him. “My father?”

  “Unknown, Highness.”

  The guard had barely finished speaking before Weston took off again, Niles at his heels.

  Father. He’d always pushed Weston to learn to fight stronger, better. He’d talked of tactics and how Aerugo needed to be more powerful, but he’d never attended any of the sword training classes that Weston had, and his father rarely walked with a sword. Would he still be alive if an assassin came for him?

  Bitterness coated Weston’s throat. Who was he kidding? If an assassin showed up in his father’s bed, dressed in next to nothing, his father was likely already dead. If there was one weakness his father had, that would be it.

  Weston’s shoes skidded on the marble as he turned the corner. What would happen if his father was dead? He couldn’t think straight. How would the succession fall?

  His steps faltered as they neared Everett’s chamber door. Niles pushed past him to jar it open. He held his sword at the ready as he plunged
into Everett’s room, two of the guards that had followed them on Niles’s heels. Weston trailed after them, and stopped short at Niles’s arm barring his way.

  Niles looked at Weston, his jaw set and eyes hard. “Your Highness, you shouldn’t have to see this.”

  Weston nudged Niles’s arm down and peered around him, dreading what he was about to see, but unable to not look. Twisted sheets covered his father’s body, but did little to hide the fact that blood stained the bed, and his father’s hand was whiter than it should be. The scent of sweat and blood hung heavy in the air. Weston stumbled out of the room and leaned against the wall as his head spun.

  His father was dead.

  His father had been murdered.

  By whom? And why? Weston slid down the wall until he sat on the cold marble, head tilted back to stare blankly at the gold designs etched into the high arches of the hall. Had the same girl who killed his father tried to kill him, or was there another assassin on the loose?

  Fear tightened his throat.

  All the delegates. All the royalty here. Jade.

  But Jade was at Francene’s. She should be safe there.

  Weston closed his eyes and bumped his head against the wall softly. Francene. The marchioness of pleasures. The assassin that had come after Weston was posing as a prostitute. Undoubtedly, it was the same for his father. Did Francene have a hand in this? It would surprise him, but he didn’t know all of her girls. But Francene wasn’t the type to send someone into the palace like this. She’d confided once, long ago, that if she had to off someone, it was through poison. A ladies method to murder, she’d laughed. This bloody dagger stuff wasn’t a method she’d employ. But he’d have to investigate nonetheless.

  “Niles,” Weston croaked. He barely recognized his own voice.

  “Highness?” Niles knelt a knee down next to Weston. “Are you ill?”

  “I’m fine,” Weston shook off the concern. “Send guards to check on all other delegates and royals. And send your most trusted to Francene’s. Find Zak or Jade or both. Don’t let her go anywhere without one or both of her Monomi protectors.” A muscle throbbed in Weston’s neck and he consciously tried to relax his jaw. “And have your man keep an eye on Francene.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jade

  Jade smothered a yawn and swayed where she sat in the common room, blinking at the notes in front of her. The words blurred on the page, and she pushed them away from her with a groan. “I give up. I don’t know what to make of Brandon’s move today, and I don’t care right now. I’m going to bed.”

  Zak and Zaborah both looked up from their mostly silent game of Compatibility. Zak shot her a sympathetic smile. “Sleep sounds like a good idea.”

  She stood and stretched before moseying over to check on the game board. Unsurprisingly, Zak and Zaborah were almost exactly tied. Jade snorted. “Well, let me know in the morning who won.”

  Zak grinned up at her. “Let us know when it’s time for breakfast.”

  “We won’t be up that late.” Zaborah rolled her eyes and loosed a short laugh. She tossed her blonde braid over her shoulder and hunched over the board. “I’m fond of my sleep, thank you very much.”

  Jade settled her hand on Zak’s shoulder, willing to risk Zaborah’s disapproval, just to feel the warmth of him. He slid his hand over hers, gently pressing her fingers into his shirt.

  Sharp footsteps echoed in the hall just before the door opened with a bang. Zaborah jumped to her feet, brandishing her sword at the same time that Zak pulled Jade’s hand and pushed her behind him. Jade’s heart pounded in her throat, banishing all traces of fatigue.

  Two men in Aerugan black livery entered the room, panting. They saluted at Jade and one stepped forward, his fist over his chest. “Your Highness. Lord Everett was assassinated tonight.”

  Astonishment rooted Jade to where she stood, and she stared at the brunet guard, not quite believing. Zak eased to stand by her side as Jade found her voice. “What of everyone else?”

  “An attempt was made on Queen Violet’s life, and not only did King Brandon stop him, but also detained him.” Earnest concern shone in the guards eyes. “Prince Weston was also attacked, and he survived, though his assassin did not. He strongly urges that you don’t go anywhere without either of your bodyguards, Highness.” The guard stepped forward, lowering his voice. “We know not who to trust right now, and he asks that you stay in one place for your safety.”

  Jade clutched Zak’s arm, her mind whirling with possibilities. Was this an internal dispute, from displeased Aerugans? An assassin from the summit? Were they after just Everett, or all the leaders? A Void Born? “Thank you,” she managed to whisper. She looked up at Zak to find him having an indecipherable silent conversation with Zaborah. Jade squeezed his forearm, drawing his attention. “What should we do?”

  Zaborah spoke before Zak could. “Do we know how the assassins reached them?”

  The man’s face darkened. “Our best guess at this time is that an assassin masquerading as a prostitute murdered Lord Everett. The same tactic was used for Prince Weston, but he’d turned her down, which ended up saving his life. For the queen, the assassin was disguised as a server.”

  Zaborah huffed a sound that was almost a laugh. “Prostitutes. Go figure.” Her smile at Jade was equally comforting and disconcerting. “No one is getting to our princess except through a river of our blood.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Weston

  Weston rubbed his face with his free hand, and squeezed his mother’s fingers. The lights in her room had been dimmed as a concession to their exhaustion, and yet they stayed on as a necessary acknowledgment to everything happening. How long had he been awake? He’d gotten up before dawn in preparation for the summit, and now it was sometime after midnight. Weariness pulled on his shoulders.

  The other delegates had been confirmed safe, to his great relief. And General Titus appeared not too long ago to take care of the cleanup and start the investigation, scouring for any clues as to who executed Lord Everett.

  That had been an unpleasant detail that Weston wasn’t sure he needed. It wasn’t just an assassination, according to Titus—after he’d been in to see to Everett. The general came back and reported that it looked like an execution. Just what Weston needed. More fuel to haunt his nightmares whenever he slept.

  There was still no news regarding Jade, but he had to assume she was well. She always had Zaborah or Zak with her. There was no need for her to be on anyone’s hit list.

  Weston rubbed the pad of his thumb over his mother’s knuckles, amazed at her show of strength, how straight she sat, though the circles under her eyes and the lackluster shine in her eyes betrayed her own exhaustion. Still, she handled everything that came her way with a quiet air of dignity and authority. He glanced up at her. “I’m calling off the engagement.”

  Violet blinked as if she’d been in a distant place and was just coming to. She focused on him. “With Jade?”

  He nodded.

  A tender smile curled one edge of her mouth. “Of course. We have no need for that anymore.” She leaned back in her chair, regarding the guards around her room, and the bustle and lights in the hallway. “Granted, we’ll see how the other leaders feel about giving loyalty to Aerugo at this point,” she commented softly. “If they were hesitant because they didn’t want Everett to have the power, now they can. But if they were hesitant because they doubted our military prowess, who knows how this will affect that decision?”

  Weston’s stomach roiled. “Whether under our flag or another, we need to unite.”

  Violet bobbed her head in a nod. “I know.” She twitched her fingers toward the hall. “Having a strong military leader around may go a long way in providing a stable front after all this. I’m thankful we have General Titus with us.”

  “True,” Weston rubbed his forehead. “I’ll talk to him later about his border preparations, since that was something that fath––Everett had been working with h
im on.”

  Brandon strode into Violet’s room, unhindered by the guards at the door. He didn’t bow or offer any sort of acknowledgment to their ranks. “I’m going to check on Jade. Violet, I don’t know—”

  “Your Highness,” General Titus boomed from the doorway. Brandon shifted to the side, allowing Weston and Violet to see the tattooed General. Titus crossed his arms and shook his head. “We can’t risk the perpetrators getting away. I’m declaring martial law and closing the city. Now.”

  A heavy sigh escaped Violet. “If that’s what we must do, then see it done.”

  “I’m also going to be calling in Marchioness Francene Whelan first thing in the morning,” Titus stated, his voice hard. “She’s got her fingers on all the prostitutes here, and we need to know her possible motives and alibi.”

  The roiling in Weston’s stomach ceased in favor of just sinking to his toes. He still couldn’t imagine Francene being responsible for the attacks. Hopefully she’d be able to provide proof in her favor. Or … something.

  Brandon bowed this time. “I’m still going to check on Jade.” He cast a side glance to Titus through the blond hair that had escaped his short ponytail. “It’d be best if she’s appraised of the situation here, and I want to ensure that she is safe.”

  Titus lifted his chin and regarded Brandon. “I assume you know better than to say anything to tip off the marchioness?”

  Brandon’s eyes narrowed at the general. “I’m going to speak to my daughter and make sure she’s protected. Your suspect holds no interest for me.”

  “See that that’s the case, or I’ll arrest you too.” General Titus turned on his heel. “Once the Doldran King is out of the palace, it remains locked, no one enters or exits.”