The Queen's Consorts Box Set: A Reverse Harem Fantasy Trilogy

by Elena Lawson

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. But even more so than that, when I asked him if he had regained any of his memories and he said he hadn’t—well, I could tell he was lying. Something in his eyes. In how he looked away, just for a second, when he answered,” she paused, “But, I could be wrong—”

  “I have a feeling you’re not.” A rogue shiver sprinted up my spine, and I shook the frost from my fingertips.

  Aisling noticed the white veins of frost before I was able to hide them, and stared at me agape, before she realized her mistake and clamped her mouth shut, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

  I rolled my eyes, “I don’t blame you. Most would. At least those who wouldn’t want me burned at the stake.”

  “You really need to learn how to control that.”

  “You think?”

  “Are you buy this evening? I’m going to help Loris with Valin again, and I’ll see if she can speak to why his memory hasn’t returned—if there’s a reason for it I don’t know of. But afterwards, if you’d like we could practice your healing Grace.” She phrased it as more of a hopeful question than an offer which made her hard to refuse.

  I had been looking forward to alone time with Alaric, but I supposed that could wait…

  “That would be great.”

  “Great,” she chimed, her eyes bright as she jumped from the settee, “I’ll be back after dinner.”

  “Good luck—with Valin, I mean.”

  She gave me one bouncing nod, before leaving the parlor, her long rich brown hair bouncing as she went.

  How amazing it would be—to be someone like her. Not a care or worry in the world other than minding her studies. Was it wrong of me to get her involved?

  Was it dangerous? I wasn’t sure, but I wouldn’t deny her the chance to help. I would expect my men—or anyone I respected to extend me the same courtesy.

  Chapter Twelve

  I fiddled with a particularly large knot in my hair, deciphering Melîn scrolls and books with Finn in the dining room. I had offered to help and though I was glad he accepted, he truly knew how to bring his work home.

  We were just about to start eating lunch that Jaen was finishing up serving with a little more light in her eyes than I thought I’d noticed before. But though the lunch was abundant—the table laden with platters of various fruits, baskets of fresh buns, and wooden planks meticulously arranged with salted meats, and cheeses—the sheer amount of food was nothing compared to the mountains of tomes and scrolls he had carted from the library and royal archives. Yes, carted, with a wood and iron trolley now sitting bereft at the other end of the long table.

  “Thank you, Jaen,” I said as she finished setting down the tea and honey.

  She beamed, curtsying in her apron—holding it up as if it were a gown, though it fell only to mid-calf. I wondered how old she was. It was hard to tell—harder than I’d thought it would be. The seven sisters had this air about them—you could tell, almost right away they were ancient, though they looked no older than I did. If I had to guess, I’d say Jaen was young, maybe only recently changed to immortal.

  That was one thing you could tell—whether someone had been through the change. It was a sense—sort of. The skin loses its imperfections. Hardens slightly. The hair shines, and the eyes grow brighter. But the most obvious trait all changed Fae share is the slight pointing and curving of the ears. It’s all part of the heightened senses of immortality, or at least, that’s what they say. All I knew was that pointed ears made the simple task of pulling a shirt over my head more annoying than it had ever been before.

  “Liana,” Fin said, and my head floated back down from the clouds, “Did you hear me?”

  I shook my head, “No, sorry. What did you say?”

  He pointed to the scroll he had laid out in front of him, barely concealing his amusement. “It’s interesting, though not very helpful—”

  “Like everything we’ve looked at.”

  He rolled his eyes with exaggerated slowness, “Just listen, would you?”

  “You have my undivided attention,” I said, pouring my self a cup of tea, and beginning to fill my plate.

  “Wait for Rin,” Finn warned.

  I waved him off, “I’m waiting, just read me the godsforsaken thing.”

  “How can you be so infuriating and so… so adorable at the same time?”

  I pursed my lips to contain the urge to burst into laughter at the confused look twisting his features, “It’s a gift, I suppose.”

  He cleared his throat before going back to examining the parchment with a thoughtful and focused scrutiny. So like, and so unlike his twin. Even with hard lines in his forehead and tension in his jaw, he was still soft. Like a big hulking fell-cat that just wants to nap and play.

  “It’s a poem, or maybe a song,” he said, narrowing his gaze to make out the faded ink.

  In the shadow of the mountain they meet

  In darkness she goes, Serena sweet

  There they wait, the Gods of old

  For their mate, a female bold

  Graced they were, with power strong

  Their sweet Serena would never belong

  What could they do but give her a part

  Of each of their soul

  Of each of their heart

  Together they remained, five Gods and one Fae

  Until that last, sorrowful day

  The water, they had blessed

  Her last request

  In shadow she lived, alone in her grace

  Her five had gone without a trace

  Night after night sweet Serena did yearn

  But the Gods of old, they would never return

  I sipped my tea, contemplating the song’s meaning. If it was to be taken at face value, then the gods of old were real and had loved one of our kind so much that they each gave her a Grace. And together they remained, five gods and one Fae female—until the gods departed the land without a trace.

  They left her.

  “Do you believe in the gods?”

  He made a noncommittal shrug, “I don’t not believe in them. But it doesn’t matter. In all the tales of the gods, it’s clear they abandoned us here—to go where, I couldn’t say. Our kind stopped worshiping them as deities some millennia ago.”

  “Well, you’re right. It’s interesting, but more of a storyteller’s yarn than a documented event.”

  Finn nodded his ascent, “I agree, though it’s odd. Not to mention the first thing I’ve been able to find that mentions anything about a Fae with more than one Grace.”

  “And what of the Mad King? Have you found anything about him?”

  He inclined his head towards the stack of weathered tomes next to his elbow, “Take your pick. There’s no shortage of tales and documents about him. I’ve read just about all I can stomach.”

  Rin poked his head around the arched entry to the dining room, “Hello,” he said, “Do you mind if I come in? Or are you—”

  I waved him inside, “Please do, my tea is getting cold.”

  He tensed, as though he expected a lashing for making me wait, “Rin, it’s alright. You’re doing great.”

  And he was. Since appointing him as my official royal taster the week prior, I had had no regrets. Despite his past crimes and violations, he was loyal. And he was just a boy. Still mortal, too. And the envy of every one of the other more-qualified tasters who had wanted the position.

  “You’re looking much better,” I commented, remembering the entire week it took for him to recover from the verbane poisoning, where it took Thana only a couple days. He was brave, indeed.

  Rin paused between small mouthfuls as they had taught him, and offered me a rushed, “Thank you, majesty.”

  A sharp chirping screech heralded the falcon’s arrival. He swooped down onto the sill of the window at the other end of the room. “Hello, Arrow,” I called to the creature. He ruffled his feathers, peeking at me with steady black eyes. I’d caught him watching me on several
occasions in the last weeks. Checking in on his queen when his master could not.

  I’d tried to get near him like Tiernan could—to reach out and touch his silken feathers, but he always flew away long before I got near enough. Screeching at me like he was astounded at my forwardness. I shot the bird a playful snicker and he gave me an insulted caw.

  Rin finished up with tasting the tea, and bowed, “See you at dinner?” he asked, eager to get going.

  I wondered where he was off to in such a hurry, but nodded anyway, “See you then. Thanks, Rin.”

  “What did you mean?” I asked Finn the moment Rin had left, “About the Mad King.”

  Finn halted his examination of the yellowed parchment to lift his eyes to mine, “He was called the Mad King for a reason, Liana. Those document his reign, in every gory and disgusting detail.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like when he had the queen regent—his bonded mate hanged in front of their children for doing nothing more than looking too long at another man. Or when he passed a decree that demanded the attendance of every noble at his daughters blessing ceremony, by penalty of being drawn and quartered. Or—or when he—”

  I shook my head, holding a hand up to stop him, “Alright, I get it, he was raving mad. Anything documenting his death?”

  I had little reason to doubt the validity of what Morgana said, but I still held on to that shred of hope that maybe she was wrong.

  “Strangely, no. There isn’t a single documentation of his death. It’s only recorded that he fell in the battle at Mount Ignis, but his corpse couldn’t be found amidst the carnage on the battlefield.”

  “Great,” I breathed, “So what do we know?”

  “Not enough,” he breathed, “We know that he was Graced with persuasion, like Alaric is, but we have no idea what that would be like, now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, our Graces develop over time—become stronger.”

  I nodded my understanding, “Ok, so?”

  He looked at me long and hard, “So, imagine Alaric’s Grace developed—evolved—over the course of a thousand years. That is what we are dealing with if he’s still alive.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A set of long languid footfalls echoed towards the dining hall. Arrow’s attention piqued, and the falcon turned on his talons and dove from the windowsill into the evening sky. I knew instantly who was coming. His falcon only watched me when the male himself wasn’t there to do the job.

  “Tiernan, you aren’t supposed to relieve me for another two hours,” Finn said, his jaw tense.

  The golden-haired warrior shrugged, “I had nothing else to do, but feel free to stay. I just wanted to talk to Liana.”

  “About what?” I asked as he dragged a chair out from the table and sat next to me, pouring himself a cup of tea from the pot.

  He took a sip before answering, seeming to enjoy the way I watched his mouth as he did. I looked away,

  “We didn’t finish our conversation about the Blessed Blade. I told you my uncle was a collector of all things pertaining to old myths.”

  I nodded, “Yes, and that you read much of what he had in the household.”

  “Exactly,” he said, brushing his hair back from his face and leaning into me with his forearm pressed flat against the smooth grain of the table, “But in all the things I read, there was never once mention of a fifth stone adorning the hilt of the Blessed Blade.”

  I cocked my head at him, but I was sure…

  “Are you certain there were five stones on the blade?” He asked, a note of seriousness deepening his baritone.

  I thought back, remembering that night so many nights ago. I remembered Thana, my Thana attacking Kade—attacking me, no—trying to kill me. I shivered, taking a swallow of tea to soothe the burning in my throat and stop the stinging in my eyes. No, I wouldn’t cry over her anymore. I’d done enough of that in the days following her fall.

  The blade. She had it raised, ready to strike, four stones in its tarnished silver hilt… and a place for a fifth, a setting where a stone was missing.

  “No,” I answered him, “There were only four stones in the blade’s hilt.”

  He nodded as though satisfied with my answer.

  “But,” I continued, “I am certain there was a setting for a fifth stone. That setting was empty.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” Tiernan said in a low voice, more for himself than for anyone else to hear.

  Finn looked up from the scroll before him, “None of this does. The Mad King shouldn’t be alive. The Blessed Blade should be a myth. And it’s impossible to be Graced with more than one Grace.” His gaze flitted to me for an instant, and I wanted to bury my face in the extravagant pleats of my dress.

  Why should I have to be the one? The impossible one. The different one. Why couldn’t I be the scullery maid, who only wanted to finish her day’s work and get home to her mate? Why couldn’t I be her?

  You were born to do great things, Thana’s words whispered in the recesses of my mind, echoing through muddled childhood memory. You aren’t like other Fae, you’re destined for more. Little did I know her true meaning was that I was destined to meet my maker by the pointy end of a mythical blade wielded by her own hand.

  Stop it, Liana. Stop thinking about her.

  “Impossible,” Tiernan repeated, meeting Finn’s narrow-eyed stare with one of his own, “Nothing is impossible anymore.”

  “Tell me about the stones.” Finn demanded, setting aside his scroll for the moment. Giving his full attention to Tiernan. “Tell me everything you know.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Talking had gotten us no closer to answers. We already knew the Blessed Blade passed a Grace from a slain victim into its master—the one who wielded it. But we still didn’t know what the fifth stone did. It was easy enough to assume that the dragons-eye stone set into the band on my finger was the fifth stone.

  But that didn’t tell us what it was made for. It could serve any purpose. Never take it off. That was what Morgana told me. She wouldn’t have said something like that unless the stone was important. But I couldn’t remember the exact shape of the setting of the missing stone. It could have been a diamond—in fact, I was almost certain it was. But almost certain wasn’t enough to make anyone believe it to be true.

  The one thing we all agreed on, was the fifth stone was an addition to the original design and purpose of the blade. After looking over what Finn found about the blade as well, we knew that to be true.

  I watched Thana fall—the Blessed Blade still clutched in her pale claw-like fingers. So, perhaps it was lost to the sea. The issue with that theory was the simple fact that there is a large outcropping of rock beneath that terrace. And if she fell how I saw her fall that is where she would have met her end—not in the sea.

  So, then why have they still not found her body? Or the Blessed Blade?

  “We have to assume the worst possible scenario,” Finn had said, “We have to assume that the blade somehow made it back into the hands of its master.”

  Tiernan regarded me with an apology in his polished jade eyes, “And we have to accept the possibility that Thana could still live.”

  I shook off the tremor tripping down the length of my body, coming back to myself at the sound of a gentle knock on my bathing room door. “Liana?” Alaric called, “Aisling is here to see you, would you like me to tell her to come back later?”

  Right. I had forgotten. “No,” I called back, “Tell her I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Forcing myself from the steaming water of my bath was a struggle, and I hissed when the chill night air brushed my skin. I dried and dressed quickly, pulling on my nightclothes, and then covering them with a soft deep blue robe stitched with patterns of silver and red flowers. My hair I twisted into a tight bun at the nape of my neck. I wasn’t exactly presentable for a visitor, but for Aisling, it would have to do.

  I wandered into the parlor and found i
t empty, “Alaric,” I called, my blood chilling.

  “They’re in the drawing room, majesty,” Jaen said, seeming to appear from thin air. I jumped, my heart lurching into my throat.

  “I’m sorry, majesty, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, worry creasing the soft skin of her forehead.

  I shook my head at her, slowing my breaths, “That’s fine, thank you.”

  I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been in the drawing room. Not unlike the parlor, it was a room filled with plush furnishings and low tables. The only difference was the walls were filled with shelves and those shelves were filled with books. And it was smaller.

  There were doors, I realized as I approached. Heavy oak with giant brass knobs. That’s why they were in there. To hide from prying eyes and passing servants.

  The doors opened for me before I could open them myself. “There you are,” Alaric said, and it surprised me to find him there with Aisling—instead of outside my bedchamber. I was glad he thought I could handle myself for at least a few minutes alone.

  “Alaric was just telling me all about Valin,” she said, her brows raising, and lips pressed into a hard line of a smile.

  “Was he?” I asked, shooting Alaric a cheeky look, “About how incredibly super great the long lost warrior is, I assume?”

  Alaric returned my joking glare with one of his own. Cleared his throat, “The queen and I don’t agree on the subject.”

  But I was glad we didn’t have to agree. I accepted that I could be wrong about Valin, and I think Alaric accepted that he too could be wrong. For now we would simply agree to disagree, but it would be fun to tease him a little…