Tanith & Shaw (The Fealty of Firstborns Series Book 1)

by H. V. Rosemarie

  Chapter 1

  There were nine of them once, rich and thriving in the way that only lands blessed by the Ghods could be. Now there were six, and slowly, tantalizingly, they ruined from within. According to the records in Tanith’s books, kingdoms were fragile like that, and as far as she was concerned, history was never wrong.

  If she’d been given a choice, she’d be a historian herself—an honorable field to dedicate her time, had she not been born a cursed royal.

  As she braided her younger sister’s coarse, tawny hair down her back, carefully tucking small white daisies between the twists as she went, she wondered how life could ever be so simple. For her, it couldn’t, but for Meelah, there was still a chance. If she did her job right, her little sister could live for both of them.

  Tanith was the eldest at twenty years old, and Meelah was her only other sibling at sixteen, save for Coatis, their eight-year-old half-brother. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure if the little devil counted. It didn’t matter how many of them there were, though, nor were their names, genders, or passions any concern to the Kingdom of Ellesmere. The only thing that mattered in the realm was their order of birth, and the importance of it stretched across the six standing kingdoms.

  Three had already fallen in the last seven centuries, and by the reports, one of Ellesmere’s nearest neighbors, the Kingdom of Xeres, was the next in danger of crumbling.

  “Your hands are shaking,” Meelah noted softly, her voice a mockery of a gentle ocean breeze. “Are you afraid?”

  Tanith took a moment to ensure her tone would be even when she answered, determined to put up a strong front for her gentle-hearted sister. “I’ve been preparing my whole life. I still have a few days.”

  “Only three.” Meelah sighed, picking at the soft fabric of her purple gown. Her nails were unpolished and jagged, bitten to nubs in the stress of what awaited her sibling. “I would be scared. Even if I’d been preparing since the day I could walk, I’d still fear the responsibility.”

  When Tanith finished, having tied a cream-colored ribbon into a bow at the end of the braid, Meelah turned around on the ottoman, facing her older sister. Sometimes, Tanith wondered how they were related. Whereas Meelah was the most envious shade of golden brown, paler in the winter months, with curly chestnut hair that glowed in the sun, Tanith wore a skinsuit of solid bronze, her hair raven black where it landed straight at her defined collarbone.

  If her sister was soft, an ethereal beauty, then Tanith was the most intense kind with her sharp and unforgiving manner. Beauty was beauty, she supposed. Even the unconventional kind.

  “I’m not afraid,” she stated firmly, but it was a blatant lie. She knew it by the way her throat tightened, though Meelah didn’t believe her anyway.

  “It’s alright if you are. You drew the short stick. You and the other firstborn royals.” Her hazel eyes drifted to her lap as though in shame. “I’d take your place if I could. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

  Pursing her lips, Tanith reached for her sister’s hands, squeezing them tightly. “I’m coming back, and this is my burden to bear. Head up, now,” she tried, tapping Meelah’s narrow chin. “Our guests will be here shortly.”

  With a sniff, the younger girl straightened as though she’d forgotten what they were so dressed up for. Ellesmere was the middle ground, the kingdom where the royals of the other five territories would be gathering for the upcoming events. It was an honor and a burden all in one.

  “Are you excited to see the Shaws? I heard King Bristowe will be stepping down if Kent returns after the mission. Is there any truth to those rumors?”

  Tanith shrugged; her mind muddled with emotion. She felt disgust at the thought of Shadow Hunt’s king. Sick at the memory of her internship in Shaw castle those Summers ago. Fond of Kent, her best friend who was impossibly related to the callous king, and eager for him to arrive.

  “He hasn’t said anything to me,” Tanith admitted. “I’ll ask. You’ll likely be starting your internship when I’m away. Have you given any thought to where you’ll go?”

  Not Shadow Hunt, she wished. Anywhere but Shadow Hunt. The scars on her body burned from her time there, and she didn’t know how Kent was able to endure the horrors. He was strong, more so than she was, and too stubborn to leave his kingdom behind. It made sense that he might soon be crowned because he’d more than earned it.

  “Either Larune or Ograboden. They’re the only kingdoms I’ve never been to.”

  Tanith nodded in approval. “Good choices. I’m sorry I won’t be here to see you off, but I know you’ll excel. With your talents, perhaps you’ll be teaching them a thing or two.”

  For the first time that morning, Meelah smiled, exposing her gapped front teeth. “I most certainly will, and I know you won’t be fooled or led astray on your quest. If anyone can make it out alive, it’s you. You’re the one who’s going to save us all.”

  “And if the other firstborns are half as talented, this year could be a major turning point in history.”

  It was their mother’s voice that had spoken, drifting from the doorway where she stood in a deep crimson gown with cream lace ruffled around the elbow-length sleeves. It was one of her favorites, and Tanith had guessed she’d wear it for the special occasion.

  “Are they here already?” Tanith wondered, not wanting to dwell on the expectations that had been placed on her from birth.

  Her mother shook her head, the brown curls piled atop remaining stiffly in place under a mountain of ruby pins and jewels. “No, but we expect the Ravenmarks to arrive within the hour.”

  Meelah hummed in thought. “Isn’t it so strange that the royals gather here and leave their kingdoms behind? They’re all sitting there unprotected for the next several days. Surely I’m not the only one who thinks it’s dangerous.”

  Queen Avret smiled slightly. “The reason they’re here is to deliver their firstborns so that we might save the realm from the Crish. It affects us all, and there’s no one foolish enough to stage an attack when all we’re seeking is peace.”

  Tanith shivered at the word. The Crish was not a people. It was a disease. A virus. An infection that took root in humans. People died and kingdoms fell because of the infected, and there was no way to know who it had gotten a hold of. Not unless they captured the Sight, and they had been trying and failing to do so for a thousand years.

  “The castles aren’t empty either. They still have guards and servants milling around,” Tanith added in an effort to move her thoughts away from the plague of the realm.

  “Mama! Mama!” Coatis screeched from down the hall. It was only a matter of seconds before he was in the doorway, tugging on their mother’s skirt.

  The queen gasped. “Where are your clothes? Our guests will be here soon!” she chastised before a frustrated maid appeared to drag him away.

  Meelah laughed shortly as the blond, curly-haired prince darted out of reach in his undergarments, sticking out his tongue and soaring back down the hall. “You can’t catch me!” his voice echoed.

  Their mother shook her head and sighed. “Come help me downstairs, dear. I’ll expect you to join us once you’re dressed, Tanith,” she said, extending her arm towards her youngest daughter.

  Meelah rose to her feet and approached, tucking herself beneath the queen’s jeweled hand and Tanith nodded, enduring a stern look before she was alone.

  For as long as she could remember, she considered herself born in the wrong time, not because she favored the older days of fashion and music, but because of the dreadful future that awaited her from her first day in the world.

  It was th
e curse of her people in the realm the Ghods had placed them, and she was the answer to their predicament. All the firstborn royals were, and their time had finally come.

  Every two hundred years, the realm offered them a chance at peace, but it had to be earned. Won by the children born in the right place at the right time. To the right families. In the right generation. Tanith was one of the lucky ones, or so she’d been told her whole life. It was her duty as the firstborn princess to play for Ellesmere, and there was only a fifty percent chance she would make it back alive. The odds were less than promising, but her tutors assured her that faith would get her through.

  In a measly handful of days, the Invisible Island would appear off the coast, and all six of the firstborn royals would travel to it in the hopes of capturing the elusive Sight. It was the only thing that could help them see the Crish and who it had infected, but Tanith had never been told what it looked like, or what form she would find it in. She didn’t even know what to look for, but she’d been warned time and time again not to fall for the illusions of the island.

  The landmass was deadly, beautiful in its form, but they were taught never to be fooled and to stay away from the false pleasures it offered. Five generations of firstborns before them had tried and failed to return with the Sight, half of them never even returning at all. Her many-greats grandfather had been one of the royals lost and Ellesmere had not forgotten.

  All year, Tanith had been overwhelmed with lavish gifts of thanks—an apology almost, for the sacrifice they demanded of her. Her life for flowers and chocolate. It didn’t seem like a fair trade.

  Less than eager to face the day, Tanith rose from the ottoman and approached the bed where her dress had been laid out. It was a lively thing, fit for the end of spring. The silk was pale pink, a compliment to her skin, and the silver laces seemed woven from moonlight themselves. It was beautiful, but she wasn’t fit to wear it. She wasn’t happy and her soul didn’t reflect the fabric that day, so she turned towards her closet and chose another dress. An outfit befitting a woman of her responsibility.

  It took ten minutes to slip into it and to tie her dark hair at the base of her neck, leaving shorter pieces in the front to cascade down should she feel like hiding her face. She smiled in the mirror when she was finished, smug almost.

  Her dress was not fit for spring, nor any merry event, but it was perfect for the situation. She wore mourning black, a sleeveless, heavy lace fabric that tucked tightly against her narrow waist and flared at the hip. It was shorter in the front with a dragging train in the back, the opposite of what everyone else would be wearing. It was a funeral dress, and since she risked death in the following days, she considered it was more than fitting.

  To add insult to responsibility, she picked up the brushes on her vanity and made her eyelids dark, death personified, though regal enough to still pass as royalty. Had she not been late by the end of it, she’d have painted her nails dark too, but they remained bright like shining rubies as Meelah had opted to make them days before. Because of it, Tanith drew on a red lip and chose her red heels before stepping outside the safety of her bedchamber. She almost turned, but at the sight of a servant’s eyes widening and scurrying off, she decided to throw caution to the wind.

  Maybe being the firstborn was an honor like they said, or maybe it was a curse like she’d always silently thought. Either way, it was her life for her kingdoms, and in some ways, every royal experienced the good and bad in tandem. For her, the lesser parts were simply more direct.

  She could hear the bustling and chatter before she even reached the stairs, and she followed it all the way down, carefully avoiding eye contact with her mother as she and Meelah pointed in different directions, ensuring the food, flowers, and decorations were all delivered to the right places. Momentarily, she feared that if they locked gazes, her mother’s finger would point back up the stairs.

  “What have you done?”

  She heard her mother’s voice before she mustered the courage to meet her eyes. “It looks lovely down here,” Tanith noted as she approached, glancing around the foyer observantly.

  Almost everything structure-wise was marble, but the gold decoratives, fine paintings, and floral arrangements were what made the scene truly grand. The sight of it all with the orange sun cascading through the open doors only added to the heavenly scene and it was sure to impress their guests, though clearly, the queen thought Tanith’s dress wouldn’t.

  “The Ravenmarks arrived ten minutes ago, and the Ichenburns aren’t far behind. Go put on something more appropriate before they arrive, won’t you?” There was an irritability to her tone that left little room for argument, but still, Tanith tried.

  “I’m much more comfortable in this, thank you. What do you think, Meelah?” she asked, running her hands down the lace skirt. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  The brown-haired girl nodded, hesitating and leaning in. “It certainly makes a statement. Isn’t that the one you wore to papa’s funeral?”

  Tanith nodded. “Before I had it altered,” she answered. It had once been floor-length and long-sleeved, a matching cape to go with it, but now it was a dress fit for a woman and not a ten-year-old girl.

  “Speaking of fathers, where is the devil spawn’s? Won’t your lover be joining us for this jovial event?” she asked her mother. She’d never remarried, but Coatis had been conceived after an affair with a foreign diplomat. The man left their mother to return home, and only visited once or twice a year when it suited him.

  “Don’t speak of your brother that way,” she corrected, “and no. I’m afraid he’s concerned with other matters at this time. Go change, now. We don’t have time for your rebellion today.”

  She was almost shooed off, an argument on the tip of her tongue when a familiar brooding face cast a shadow in the doorway. King Bristowe’s large frame was a taunting sight, his dark blue velvet coat as unfitting for the events as Tanith’s black dress. She considered trying to hide before a familiar figure stepped out from behind him.

  Kent Shaw.

  In the years she’d known him, he’d foregone a complete transformation. He was an ugly child—an eyesore almost, but time had favored him in his twenty years of living. Where he stood in the doorway, his hair was short and messy, a strawberry blond that looked like living flames in the sunlight. His eyes were blue and bright, his body lithe with lean muscle that had packed on in the months since she’d last seen him. His smile eased her nerves as he bowed to her mother.

  “Queen Avret. Thank you for having us,” King Bristowe greeted, not bothering to bow himself. His hair was darker, an inky black that he combed to the side and a trimmed mustache with streaks of silver that had been on his face for as long as Tanith could remember.

  “It’s an honor to host the firstborns until the island appears,” Avret answered. “Please come in. Leeanne will show you both to your rooms.”

  “I’ll go with Kent,” Tanith interjected quickly, stepping away and weaving her arm through her friend’s. It was an out—an excuse not to change, and her mother knew it.

  “I’ll expect you to take dinner in the dining hall with everyone else when they arrive,” she told them, defeated. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d hidden away and had their food delivered upstairs.

  “Of course,” Kent smiled as Tanith pulled him away.

  She barely heard King Bristowe’s grunt of disapproval. “Is it proper to allow a royal daughter to hideaway with young men?”

  Queen Avret’s laugh bubbled through the foyer as Tanith began climbing the stairs. “Oh, your humor hasn’t dulled one bit, Bristowe. Those two are practically siblings!”

  Her mother had a point, and Tanith was willing to admit it when she closed her door to the chaos of the castle. If she had been with any other man, it would have had to remain open, but not with Kent.

  Locking the door, she turned to face him, reaching for his coat and lifting his shirt. “How bad has it been?” she asked immediately, stepping
around him as he tried to slip out of reach.

  “It’s nothing, Tanith. Really, I can handle it.”

  She didn’t buy it. “Stop moving,” she demanded, lifting the fabrics to get a better look at his back.

  It certainly wasn’t nothing. His pale skin was littered with old marks and new, some pink welts rather fresh and no doubt only a few days old. “This would have had to happen before you left Shadow Hunt,” she figured. “What made him so angry?” she asked, lowering his clothes again.

  There was dread in his eyes when he faced her again. “You know Bristowe.” He lowered his head, disgusted and ashamed. “How are your scars healing?”

  Tanith lifted her chin, refusing to let the memory shake her. It was the year of her royal internship when she was sixteen, Meelah’s age. She’d chosen to study in Shadow Hunt where she could spend her Summer with Kent, but she hadn’t known what his father was like in those days. Hadn’t known how he treated his son.

  One thing Kent didn’t know either, was that his father would be incapable of containing his anger, even with a guest present. He’d lashed out at Tanith during her stay on more than one occasion, and she learned to bear his beatings the same way Kent had been forced to his whole life. She could wear her strapless dresses. She could wear a design with a low-cut fabric because unlike Kent with his entire back littered with scars, hers stretched lower. The small of her back, her bottom, and the backs of her thighs received the brunt of King Bristowe’s attacks, and they were easy enough to hide.

  Back then, Tanith had begged Kent to return to Ellesmere with her, but in his stubborn, stupid pride, he chose to stay. He made her swear that even if she came clean about what happened to her, that she would never tell what his father was doing to him. She could share her truth, but not his.

  As far as Tanith was concerned, their truths were one and the same, so they carried the burden together. It was risky and foolish, but it was their secret. Theirs and no one else’s.

  “I’ve done some treatments. They’ll keep fading as the years go on, or so the healer in the city tells me,” she answered, trudging to the mint green ottoman and plopping down on it. Kent was quick to follow, sitting across from her.