by M. Dalto
Reylor glanced at his son before he turned back toward the book and said no more.
“So…what is it?” Jared pressed, his gaze still lingering on the book.
“You’ve heard of the Annals,” Lexan said as he sat on the arm of Reylor’s chair. Reylor glared at him as he impeded on his personal space, but Lexan either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“Of course I have,” Jared retorted as if Lexan’s observation offended him.
“Then consider this its…mate,” he said with a smirk. “Or its twin.”
Sarayna cocked her head to the side as she refocused on the bound pages between Lexan’s hands. “So, this is the Prophecy for the Borderlands?”
Her brother snorted and shook his head. “Hardly. This, my dear sister, would be the counterpart to the very Prophecy the Empire relies upon.”
“It’s no more than the jaded ramblings of a heartbroken prince,” Reylor hissed, barely above a whisper, but he caught the attention of the others in the room all the same.
Lexan gave a knowing grin. “Then you know who that prince is.” He pushed off the edge of the chair and returned to his spot in front of the fireplace, but Lexan’s eyes remained on Reylor.
“It would be an impossible feat,” Reylor countered, looking at Lexan. “If that’s the case, then he would be—”
“Two thousand years old,” Lexan confirmed. “Give or take a decade.”
“Hello?” Jared demanded, waving his hand in the air as if to get their attention. “Can you please tell me what the hell you’re talking about?”
“We’re talking about the very Prophecy that brought you and Sarayna together,” Reylor informed him. The pronouncement stilled Lexan. “It’s the same Prophecy that brought…” Reylor hesitated. “It’s what brought Treyan and Alexstrayna together, what brought my parents together—it’s been the guiding force in continuing the Empire’s line for centuries.”
“But the Borderlands are in possession of the Annals,” Sarayna reminded him. “And the Prophecy has been out of whack ever since.”
“Why ever would you think that?” Reylor asked, turning to Sarayna for the first time during the conversation.
She opened her mouth to respond, but a flush crept to her cheeks before she could get the words out, and she turned to Jared. “I…I don’t know…” she stammered because she truthfully didn’t know. She and Jared hadn’t slept together since he was coronated as King Emperor, so any personal knowledge about whether the Prophecy controlled the bloodline was yet to be determined.
Just as with the book before them, anything having to do with the Annals, or mention of the Prophecy…it felt wrong. As she looked at Jared, she wondered if he felt the same.
“What about you?” Lexan cut in, turning to his father. “This Master…you knew him.”
It wasn’t a question.
As much as Sarayna wanted to block out the events of that night, her brother had a point. It seemed Reylor and Master had met each other in the past. And, once again, it seemed as if Reylor knew more than he was disclosing.
Reylor sighed and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. “Yes, I did. Once.”
“Can someone please just tell me who the hell Master is?” Sarayna chimed in, watching Lexan. “You’re telling us he needs my mother to bring back some long-dead Empress.” She turned to face Reylor. “And now you’re saying you knew this asshole a long time ago in a realm far, far away. But all that matters right now is what we can do to get my mother away from him.”
Jared placed a comforting hand on her knee, and it took all her strength not to push him away. She didn’t need comforting—she needed answers.
Lexan and Reylor shared a silent glance. Whatever passed between them, Lexan appeared to have won, and Reylor leaned forward in his chair, bracing his arms on his legs as he let out a long, drawn-out sigh.
“Master is the Crown Prince Xavon who was banished from the Empire two thousand years ago by the Queen Empress Brynaxia and the Lord Steward Leminol—”
“His wife,” Lexan added. “And his brother.”
Sarayna blinked. “What does that have to do with my mother?”
“Your mother possesses the Mark of the Empress,” Reylor said levelly. “And Xavon wants his wife back.”
Chapter Three
Sarayna had taken to pacing, leaving the couch. Lexan wasted no time settling himself into the now vacant spot. Jared was devouring another piece of pizza, and Reylor returned to his whiskey at the kitchen counter. They had spent a good portion of an hour playing a game of mental ping pong, trying to dissect the history of their realm—her realm—and her head was spinning from the story of Leminol, Brynaxia, and Xavon.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Sarayna muttered during her next lap.
“That’s the fifth time you’ve said that,” Lexan observed from where he lounged. “Do you think maybe one of these times you can tell me why it doesn’t make sense?”
She glared at her brother but didn’t slow her momentum. “Why our mother? Why now?”
“You did see the page I showed you of her exact likeness, did you not?”
“Okay, so she resembles a dead empress—it could merely be a coincidence.”
“Sarayna, you and I both know there’s no such thing as a coincidence in the Empire.”
She was going to challenge him on that, but her attention drifted toward Jared where he sat, focused on his pizza.
The greatest coincidence of her life, she realized as a soft smile came to her lips.
“It has to be the Mark,” Reylor suggested.
“But why would Saratanya do such a thing?” Sara inquired, finally stalling her pacing.
“Chances are she may not have known the extent of what she did, or she did so against her free will.” Reylor shrugged as he sipped his drink. “The magic of dreams can do that.”
“But only the most powerful of mages have the ability to do something like that,” Lexan cut in. “And even then it’s rare—”
“Xavon could do it. Chances are he’s done it many times,” he reminded his son solemnly.
“So Saratanya just decided—or didn’t decide—to give that Mark to my mother?” Sara asked.
“Your mother was dying,” Reylor reminded her, the lingering light in his eyes dimming. “If Xavon was desperate to save her, knowing she was the chosen vessel to bring back Brynaxia, I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“So the Mark determines who’s worthy of playing host to this Empress?” Jared asked, wiping his mouth after swallowing the rest of his pizza.
“In a way, but there’s more to it than that.” Lexan sighed, pointing to the tome. “Xavon used the Mark as a pact. The bargain he forced Brynaxia to make with him before she returned to the Empire. Forcing her to leave their daughter behind. He would allow her to leave, but should anything happen to the Empress, it wouldn’t be Xavon, but their child who would suffer. And if any harm befell their daughter, in whatever happened between them in the future, Brynaxia would suffer the onslaught.”
“And thus, the Golden Child was the failsafe,” Reylor muttered into his glass. “Not only for Xavon, but the Empire as they knew it.”
“A failsafe for what?” Jared questioned.
“Complete and utter annihilation of the Empire as they knew it. Only Brynaxia didn’t know that,” Lexan added. “And neither did Leminol…”
Sarayna spun to face him. “What the hell does that mean?” she hissed, her heart racing. Having been called the Golden Child before, while they were at the castle, trapped by Xavon and Razen…and Lexan, the way he reacted in the cabin when it was mentioned—it was almost as if he knew the truth before they had told him. “Who is the Golden Child?”
“Depends on who you ask,” Lexan mumbled.
“You’ve seen the devastation outside of the Empire’s palace?” Reylor asked Sarayna, who nodded in response. “That was caused by the Golden Child.”
“Yes, but how? Wasn’t she just a child when it occurred? How could a chil
d create so much wreckage?”
“Magic,” Lexan whispered conspiratorially to Jared, and Reylor gave him a glare.
“As Lexan said, neither Leminol nor Brynaxia knew of the Mark’s connection between the two, so when Xavon appeared with her in the Empire, he more or less used the girl as a shield. When the palace guards attacked him for the traitor he was, he used the poor child to take the hit that was meant for him…”
“Killing Brynaxia in the process,” Lexan added. “As well as any guard within at least a mile’s radius. Her magic took her mother with her, and only the gods know how Xavon escaped. He should have died in the blast. No one would have expected him to survive an additional millennium or two, which would also explain why you wouldn’t have been distrustful of him when you met him.”
“No,” Reylor admitted. “It took me a long while after he disappeared to begin to piece it together.”
“But what does my mother have to do with this?” Sarayna pleaded.
“Xavon is calling in his bargain with Brynaxia one more time,” Reylor surmised.
“But she didn’t ask for this!”
“Did any of us?” Lexan murmured.
“Fine,” she growled, turning to him. “If she’s this Brynaxia incarnate, then what about her Golden Child?”
“That would be where you come in,” her brother explained.
“How can I be the Golden Child?” she snapped.
Lexan opened his mouth as if he was about to answer, but shut it as he gave Jared a curious look, and her Emperor returned it. Lexan looked back to Sarayna, his eyes unreadable. “It could have been when the magic was cast on us—”
The slamming of a glass upon the counter brought their attention to Reylor. Fury coursed through the Lord Steward’s eyes as his son vocalized the very thoughts that had been running through her mind since they left the Borderlands.
“While you all may want to debate what could have happened or should have happened in the Empire, I’m growing weary of having the same conversations over and over.”
“So what do you suggest?” Lexan inquired.
“I’m going to Alexstrayna’s apartment—it’s the first place worth investigating if we’re going to find any answers, and perhaps even figure out a way to return home.”
“Do you even know how to get there?” Sara asked.
“No,” he admitted. “And that’s why you’re going to come with me.”
“What?” all three exclaimed in unison, and Sara glanced at the two males sitting on the couch. Her glare darkened. Sarayna had her own reservations about Reylor, but did they still believe Reylor would cause her harm? Or was it more of a belief that she couldn’t handle herself?
“Fine,” she agreed, her tone edged with spite.
“Wouldn’t you rather stay here instead?” Lexan offered, looking between her and Jared. “You should rest—you’ve had a long journey.”
“No longer than anyone else has had,” she reminded him, walking to the door and pulling on a spare sweatshirt that had been hanging on a nearby coatrack. “And if anyone is going to prove his worth by protecting the Empire’s King Emperor, it’s the Crown Princess’ estranged brother.”
Lexan scowled, but Jared stood from the couch. “Are you sure you don’t want any help?”
She rolled her eyes. “Will you two cut the shit? The apartment is only a few minutes away, not hours. We’ll go, see what we can find, and return as soon as we can.”
Both Lexan and Jared looked as though they were going to protest further, but Sarayna had already turned to Reylor.
Who was giving her a rather amused smirk.
“Are you ready?” she asked, growing more annoyed by the moment.
He brushed past her and opened the door, giving her an overly dramatic bow. “After you, Princess.”
Chapter Four
Treyan never pushed a horse harder than he did that night.
The moment he sensed that Alex was in danger, a fury overcame him—none like he had ever experienced before. It was an uncontrollable urge to protect, as if an innate primal instinct possessed every fiber of his being.
He left in such a rush, he didn’t say goodbye to Sarayna, leaving her in Reylor’s care—that was his only regret in his impulsive action, but she would understand. If anything happened to her, he’d kill his brother ten times over.
But none of that mattered, not as his wife’s life was in danger, and Treyan was too much the fool to see the trap for what it was.
He should have known the moment Crystal arrived at the palace.
Alex had been so convinced, and there was no reason to dismiss Lexan’s ability to commit those heinous atrocities. Considering everything else he was more than willing to do for the Borderlands…
But if it wasn’t Lexan, which Treyan still found hard to believe, then who?
Razen?
The mere thought of the Empire’s former Councillor made the rage course quicker through his blood. The same bastard who had tried to kill him. Without a second thought, he betrayed the very land he had spent so many years protecting.
Or did he?
Was it all a ploy, ever since his mother’s supposed death?
Because she hadn’t died.
And their father…
Treyan’s grip on the horse’s reins tightened until his knuckles showed white beneath his skin. If he ever saw Razen again, he would have no qualms about ending his life.
Especially if he had any part in the harm that may or may not have come to Alex.
Gritting his teeth, he kicked his horse harder, forcing the beast to run faster. He was taking too long, wasting too much time. Yes, it was dark, yes he was bound to injure the animal if he didn’t take more care, but all he could selfishly consider was Alex.
He needed to get to Alex.
The suns were rising as Treyan crested a hill that overlooked the carnage demarcating the palace’s lands. Determined, he swung his leg around and jumped down from his horse. He needed to get into the palace first, undetected.
Food and drink…he hadn’t brought any for himself either in his haste, and the thought alone made his stomach grumble and his throat feel dry.
Once he was certain Alex was safe, he would worry about his own well-being.
With that thought, he drew his sword from the scabbard at his hip and walked around the horse who was already paying more attention to the grass at her feet than his movements away from her.
Perhaps it was hunger, dehydration, and the exhaustion of riding all night that distracted him, or merely the consuming thought of saving his Empress from potential threat and danger. Whatever the cause, he remained oblivious to the eyes that were watching him since he dismounted and the presence of the muscled mass of sheer force that knocked him to the ground from behind.
“Rhaid,” Treyan cursed as he collided with the cold, dew-covered ground. Years of training surfaced as he tried with all his might to kick out his feet and wriggle his body out from underneath his attacker. His hand came up to slash at the other man’s legs, but only then did he realize his sword had been knocked from his hand. “Fisc,” he cursed again.
“Are you out of your damned mind?” the form above him hissed into his ear.
“Get off of me,” Treyan ground out as he continued to fight, though he quickly learned it would be in vain given his current physical state.
His attacker knew it too, for a low chuckle escaped him. “You’re just lucky I found you first, with all that noise you were making.”
Treyan stilled. He knew that voice, even if he was half-delirious.
“As it is, they probably already know you’re coming,” the voice continued. “And you’re falling right into their trap like the headstrong bastard you are…”
“I assure you, my parents were married by the time I was born,” he bantered, lazily looking over his shoulder. “But is this any way to treat your prince, Captain?”
Jamison glared down at him. “You’re smarter than this, Trey
an.”
“Not when it involves Alex. You of all people know that.”
Jamison’s features darkened at the Empress’ name, and he pushed himself up to kneel on the ground beside Treyan.
Treyan propped himself up on his hands and knees and took in a few deep breaths before speaking again. “How long were you following me?”
“Rangers saw a rider, I went out to investigate, ready to take him down, and then I saw it was you,” Jamison said, shaking his head. “You’re a fool, Treyan.”
“But how were you able to get here from the palace so fast?”
“Because I wasn’t at the palace,” the Captain admitted with a sigh.
“Why the hell weren’t you at the palace?” Treyan growled. “What about Alex?”
Jamison held his gaze for a moment before standing, walking toward his prince’s discarded sword.
“Jamison,” Treyan pressed. “What happened?”
The Empire’s Captain of the Guard kept his back to his prince, his shoulders slumping slightly where he stood before the sword. With Jamison’s head hung low, Treyan knew he didn’t want to hear the answer.
“We were ambushed, if you can call it that,” Jamison explained. “By Crystal and this…man. A man we had never seen before. But I saw Crystal and tried to call out to Alexstrayna, but…he hit me over the head before I could warn the Empress. I just remember his laugh…like his actions satisfied him. They left me for dead.”
“You seem very much alive to me,” Treyan observed as he moved into a sitting position.
Jamison huffed a chuckle as he glanced back to his prince. “I have a harder head than they realized. That, and I had some help.”
“From whom?”
Jamison shook his head as he reached down and gripped the sword. “Not here…but I’ll bring you to them.”
“But what about Alex?” Treyan repeated, standing and brushing himself off.
“Treyan…she’s not here,” Jamison whispered as he turned to face him, the prince’s sword in his hand.
“Where the hell is she?” he demanded, taking a threatening step toward his Captain, but Jamison held his ground, shaking his head.
