by M. Dalto
She would finish this part of their task—see if there was anything they could find out about her mother’s parents—and then maybe Jared would want to go home. He had been mentioning returning to New York more often than before.
Sighing, she opened the door to the bedroom and made her way down the hall toward the kitchen…
Where all three of the males in her party were already sitting, eating bagels with cream cheese while drinking juices and coffee.
“Was anyone going to wake me up?” she asked as she walked to the cabinets, looking for a coffee mug.
“We assumed you needed your beauty sleep, Princess,” her brother said around a mouthful of bagel.
She glared at him from over her shoulder before she turned toward the coffee pot. “What time is it?”
“Ten,” Jared said flatly.
“Why did you let me sleep so long?” she questioned, turning around to face them.
“I was researching at the library,” Lexan informed her matter-of-factly.
“And I was busy renting a car,” Jared added.
She blinked, looking between the two of them, almost offended that they had been so busy without her. “And?”
“And, using the phone numbers you provided, I wasn’t able to get very far with her father’s number—it was probably disconnected some time ago,” Lexan explained. “Her mother’s registered with an address in Sudbury.”
“Where the hell is Sudbury?” she asked, leaning back against the kitchen counter with a warm mug of black coffee between her hands.
“It’s a town to the west of here,” Jared chimed in. “Just over half an hour or so, which is why I rented the car.”
“You can drive?”
He nodded.
“I never saw you drive.”
“No one wants to drive in New York, so I didn’t,” he informed her. “And since no one else can, I volunteered my time and services to get you there.”
“When do we leave?”
“We aren’t,” Reylor corrected. “You will leave after breakfast.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll stay here, mainly to make sure you’re not followed, secondly to see if I can’t figure out a way to get us home.”
“Third, because he’s never ridden in a car before and is apt to get motion sickness,” Lexan mused over his mug of coffee.
Reylor scowled at his son and Sarayna couldn’t help but notice, in some bizarre way, how much this could have been what a family breakfast should be like.
If not for the Lord Steward who had kidnapped and seduced her mother.
Or the lost prince, who had tried to force himself upon her and destroy their family.
Or the King Emperor, who wanted absolutely nothing to do with her anymore.
“So we’ll be back tonight?” she asked, clearing her throat, and shaking her head of the thoughts that clouded it.
“Tomorrow. You want to make sure to take your time—you won’t know what to expect until you get there, and even then, you won’t know if they’re even living there anymore, or how warmly they’ll receive unexpected visitors,” Lexan informed her.
Sara almost choked on her coffee. “We don’t even know if they’ll actually be there when we arrive? Why don’t we call the number?”
“What would you say, Sarayna?” Reylor asked “That you’re looking for information about your mother’s past and you’d love to come by and chat?”
She glared at him but said nothing as she took another sip of her coffee.
“Let’s finish up,” Lexan announced as he stood, beginning to clear away the breakfast dishes. “The sooner we get there, the quicker we can put this leg of our journey behind us.”
“So you are coming?” Sara asked her brother with a perked brow.
“Of course I am.” Lexan smirked. “Alexstrayna is my mother, too.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jamison cursed Treyan to the high heavens and back.
It took everything he had to not leave the underbrush and chase after him. He wasn’t about to put himself, or his soldiers, in jeopardy. Not now—not like this.
Not even as Treyan was restrained, and all but dragged into the palace while all he could do was watch.
Dammit, Treyan.
“What do we do, Captain?” the female cadet whispered, while they all watched in horror as their Crown Prince flew like a madman straight into their enemy’s hands.
Yes, it looked like Alexstrayna, but even Jamison could tell from their position there was something…off about her. It wasn’t just the dress she wore, or the way she piled her hair around that black crown…whoever it was, it was not their Empress, and sure as hell not worth the scene Treyan created.
Gods-dammit, Treyan!
He knew better than that—he was smarter than that.
Yet he ran right to them anyway. Forgetting his years of training as if a man possessed, Treyan sacrificed not only himself, but their advantage. He ran head-first toward the woman who looked like his missing wife, directly into the arms of the enemy. They looked just as surprised as Jamison was to see Treyan run to them. They had Treyan, and Jamison couldn’t do a damn thing about it…
“We need to go,” Jamison whispered hoarsely.
“But Captain—” the soldier on his other side started, and he cut him off with a sharp glance.
“They may have known Treyan was watching, but I will not chance them finding us as well.”
“So, we’re to leave him?” the other male asked incredulously.
“No,” Jamison sighed, running a hand down his face. “We can’t run in after him, either, not with just the four of us.”
“What do you suggest?”
“You need to get back to your lord—ask for reinforcements. We need to go, now. I don’t know how much time we’ll have—they’d have killed him on sight if that was their intention. Since they hadn’t, it means we’re on borrowed time.” Even Jamison didn’t trust the truth of his words.
“I’ll stay,” the female soldier volunteered. “I’ll keep watch over the palace, and will send word if anyone leaves, with or without the prince.”
“I’ll stay as well,” one of the males said as he moved to stand next to his comrade. “Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”
Jamison assessed them for a moment before nodding. “If either of you see anything, you send word immediately, do you understand?”
“Yes, Captain,” they said in unison.
He gave the palace one more glance before he turned to the soldier at his side. “Let’s move. I want to get back to the camp before nightfall.”
Nodding, his companion gave the others a final salute before leading the way, with Jamison following, though reluctantly.
Dammit, Treyan…dammit all to hell.
“That you lost your prince is not my concern, Captain.”
Jamison was grateful that he was busy warming his hands by the center brazier of Dremond’s tent, otherwise he may have punched the lord in the face.
“I didn’t lose him,” he corrected the lord once again, through clenched teeth. “As I already told you, he was taken captive—”
“By the Borderlands, yes, you’ve said that already,” Lord Dremond reminded him with a dismissive hand. “This still has nothing to do with retribution for the death of my son.”
“Those who orchestrated your son’s death are in that palace,” Jamison seethed. “Now they have your prince.”
“He’s no prince of mine,” Dremond said levelly, and Jamison spun to face him with an inferno in his eyes.
“Say that again,” Jamison threatened with lethal calm.
For Dremond’s own sake, he did no such thing. He appeared to sense Jamison’s promise of violence if he tempted his fate against the Captain. For Jamison would surely challenge each and every soldier and sentry within that camp in his prince’s name. He could tell Dremond knew it.
Instead of pushing Jamison deeper down that hole, the lord sighed and returne
d to his seat at the table still covered in maps. “What do you suggest, Captain?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. Jamison hadn’t thought that far ahead. Instead of joining the lord at his table, he took up a chair near the brazier and continued to rub his hands together—the chill had refused to subside since he left Treyan behind at the palace.
“I remain firm on my current stance—I will not march my troops upon the palace when I do not know what to expect once we get there, even if we have two fools who are wasting their time watching it.”
“Those fools are your sworn soldiers, and fighters who understand what it means to put their own lives on the line for the wellbeing of their prince. Whether or not you consider him yours,” Jamison spat.
“I’m still waiting for your suggestion, Captain.”
It took a lot, but Jamison was losing his temper—so much so he finally stood from his chair and began pacing across the length of the tent, knowing the lord’s attention was fixated on his every movement.
Jamison remembered what Treyan had promised, and it took only a glance at the maps before Jamison formulated a plan.
“If the key players from the Borderlands are inhabiting the palace, then we move toward the Borderlands.”
“And face the armies that await us there? I think not.”
Jamison shook his head, pointing to the illustration of the tree line that separated the two lands. “If our information is correct, which has yet to be seen, the Borderlands are mainly inhabited by the mages and the minions of the north, whose land it was before the Empire took it from them centuries ago.”
“You would be wise to consider that these mages, who are bound to be magic users while we are not, will be at the ready should the Empire attempt to move on them, defending what land they have left.”
“That could be true, if they continue to be under the control of the Borderlands.”
Lord Dremond gave Jamison a curious glance. “I don’t think I follow you, Captain.”
“If the stories are correct, the mages have been at the mercy of the Borderlands for some time. As we know, the power struggle beyond the tree line doesn’t exactly consider them in the equation. With the Borderlands’ attention diverted to the Empire, maybe the mages want their castle back. Of course, maybe they won’t, but if we arrive under the guise of peace, willing to treaty with them, then there’s a chance we can convince them to join our cause.”
“And challenge those who have kept them in servitude for so long.”
Jamison nodded, and the lord rubbed his chin contemplatively.
“You may have something here, Captain.”
“So you’ll agree to move out?”
Dremond held his stare for a moment longer. “I’ll need the night to consider it.”
“My lord—” Jamison started, panic coloring his tone. He’d be more than willing to march on the palace himself, if he thought it would do any good, but he was only one man. One man who needed an army. He did not know where any of his own men had gone, if he even had any left.
If any had even survived…
“We’ll speak again in the morning, Captain,” Lord Dremond said as he stood, a sign of dismissal. “We’ll break our fast together at dawn.”
Jamison wanted to challenge him on principle alone, but knew it would do neither him, his prince, nor his Empress any good to create more enemies.
Instead, he stood, nodded his thanks, and hoped to the gods above that Dremond would come to his senses by morning.
Chapter Twenty
Crystal hated sitting on the sidelines, and that was exactly what happened the moment Xavon arrived with that bitch wearing Alex’s face.
No congratulatory comments on securing the palace. Never a ‘thank you’ for her help distracting Alex for him to successfully make his attack. It was as though they were only pawns in whatever game Xavon had been playing since he started this ridiculous mess.
“You still haven’t told me what happened to Saratanya after I left,” Razen said quietly as he leaned against the desk in the study Xavon had claimed as his own. “Or why you decided it was a good idea, after everything we’ve endured, to leave the Annals behind in the Borderlands.”
“The Annals are a useless menace, and are better served away from here,” Xavon muttered. “As for your former Empress’ body, I disposed of her appropriately—it wasn’t wise to leave a corpse just lying around the castle.”
“Disposed…how?” Razen asked, standing straighter while his gaze darkened, watching Xavon as he moved.
“Burned. Buried. I don’t know—I asked one of the mages to take care of it,” he replied, too casually for describing a person’s ultimate resting place.
Crystal could see the fire burning in Razen’s eyes and was tempted to go to him, to calm him in any way she could, but she knew now would not be the time. Not when others were present. Not while they were discussing such a sensitive topic.
Instead of responding, Razen pushed off the desk and walked to the large window that overlooked the palace grounds, remaining silent as she sensed his temper simmering.
She needed to diffuse the situation and knew that the only way to do it would be to change the subject. She turned to Xavon, ignoring the woman at her side, and leveled a glare that meant only business.
“What of Treyan?”
“What of him?” Xavon asked, hands clasped behind his back.
“She took it upon herself to lock him in the dungeons—are we going to just keep him there?”
“I assume you have a better idea?” he asked, sounding too bored for her liking.
“I do,” she growled. “We should kill him.”
“No,” Razen said from where he stood, turning to face her.
Her look must have been one of complete and utter shock, for he quickly explained. “I killed him once. It didn’t turn out so well.”
“Maybe you didn’t try hard enough,” Brynaxia mused while inspecting her manicured nails.
Crystal wanted to slit her throat where she sat.
“We will not kill him. At least not yet,” Xavon grumbled, rubbing his temples. “He’s too valuable to dispose of so quickly.”
“Anyone who gives a damn about him isn’t here anymore,” Crystal reminded them, glaring at the woman beside her. She looked too much like Alex for Crystal to be certain it wasn’t really her pretending to be this ancient Empress from centuries ago. If Crystal was looking for any reaction from the woman contemplating killing or ransoming the captive prince, there was none.
“Let me have him,” the woman said passively.
The remainder of those in the room turned to look at the Empress.
Her eyes were closed, her brows furrowed, as if she was fighting off pain. It was only for a moment, however, and she opened her eyes and looked up, her gaze focused on Xavon.
“Let me take him. Talk to him. Find out what information I can.”
“And what makes you think he’ll tell you anything?” Razen challenged.
“What makes you think he won’t?” she asked as she raised a brow.
“Because he knows you’re working with us.”
“He also thinks I’m his missing wife.” She smirked. “If one plays the game correctly, you’d be surprised what you can do.”
She turned toward Crystal, the same smirk still on her lips. “Wouldn’t you agree, lady?”
Crystal peered at the woman. What did she think she knew? Most likely nothing—she was just trying to get a rise out of her. Damn her, she wanted to rake her nails across her face.
“Bryn,” Xavon challenged, and Crystal noticed something dark pass over his features. As if there was something else hiding behind those eyes, the meaning of those words.
“Xavon,” Brynaxia said softly, standing and walking smoothly toward him. “You know, and I know, that I am going to be the best way to get any information from him about where the royals are and what they’re planning. And if he doesn’t tell me…” She shrugged her shou
lders with a devious look in her eyes.
“Where would you be doing this…convincing?”
“Have him brought to my chambers,” she mused as she walked toward the door.
“Brynaxia,” Xavon called out, and Crystal heard a new panic in his voice.
She waved a hand over her shoulder as she continued on her way. “I’ll see you for dinner this evening.”
Crystal watched their altercation, an amused smirk on her face. When her glance met Razen’s, he shook his head slightly, as if in warning. Her brows furrowed in response…she didn’t like being told ‘no,’ regardless of the reason.
“You both might as well go,” Xavon said, almost distantly as he stared at the door Brynaxia had disappeared through.
Crystal was going to challenge the dismissal, but Razen cut her off, gripping her elbow gently but firmly and leading her from the study.
“What the hell was that all about?” she hissed, pulling her arm out of Razen’s grasp once they were far enough down the hall.
The former Lord Steward only shook his head. “There are some things that are best left alone.”
And that was the end of that.
Chapter Twenty-One
Treyan didn’t know why they decided to take him from the cell, but he wasn’t going anywhere without a fight.
It seemed they expected the resistance, for with the two heavily armed guards was a mage at the ready. Treyan had never seen him before, but between his complexion and the robes he wore, he knew he was not from the Empire.
Which was all the more evident the moment he started chanting.
Despite his aches and hunger, Treyan lunged the moment they opened his cell door. The guards moved to grab their swords at their hips while stepping aside to allow the mage a direct line of sight. His momentum was too great to consider their reasoning, and the unknown sounds from the mage seemed to be a spell that caught him in the air similar to the one Alex held him in earlier, then a sword hilt of one of the nearby guards collided with the back of his head and rendered him unconscious.
