by Kyra Gregory
Thane forced a smile and nodded, albeit not entirely convinced by the Prince’s optimism.
Riffin returned to his desk, tucking the parchment that had been handed to him away. “I will draft my requests this evening,” he said, “and have them delivered throughout the night.” Thane nodded curtly, following him with his gaze as he retrieved his jacket from the back of the couch. “For now,” he started, “I have other problems.”
***
Riffin left, fixing the collar and cuffs on his jacket as he walked. Stepping out into the square, the sun stinging, he stood and waited for the carriage that entered the Capital’s gates to come to a stop. His eyes burned but the sun wasn’t to blame for that. Instead, he blamed the sight of Malia’s parents as they descended the carriage.
Jared exited first, his attention quickly turning to his wife. Kara appeared frail. While she still stood on her own two feet, she required Jared’s helping hand as she crouched out of the carriage and watched each of the steps she took to descend it. She had paled significantly, a testament to the extent of her illness, and Jared looked tired, as though he had aged another ten years just from caring for her.
He sucked in a breath, willing himself to exude calm, and approached them. “Have you heard anything?” Kara asked before he could say anything.
“Nothing new,” he replied. Tempted as he may have been to declare that the Queen was doing nothing to help, he resisted. “I’m so sorry,” he added.
“Can’t blame yourself,” Kara said, shaking her head.
“You couldn’t have known. We’ve all made the same journey hundreds of times,” Jared said.
“There was no word of unknown ships in those waters,” she added. “Not a single disturbance, not even on trade routes.”
“But she’s alive, so they say, and that’s all we can hope for.”
Jared’s gaze flickered in Kara’s direction and then stayed there. He extended his hand to wipe the strands of hair as they clung to the sweat emerging on her brow. “See she is taken care of,” he said, pleading in his eyes. “I will speak to the Queen.”
Before Jared could turn on his heel and leave, Riffin spoke, “I’ll get her back.”
Jared smirked, nodding slowly, somewhat reluctant and uncertain, “I’m sure,” he said.
Riffin did his best to smile, to recompose himself. “Don’t worry,” he added, looking from Jared to Kara.
Jared smiled, “We’re not worried,” he said. He looked to Kara, and the light in his eyes brightened, “She has her mother’s resilience,” he said.
She smiled through her exhaustion, a similar glimmer of warmth in her eyes, “And her father’s resourcefulness,” she added.
Riffin’s shoulders dropped, a smile lingering on his lips. With Kara stood before him, on her own two feet after all she had endured, with Jared moving to make his way inside, calm and collected... That allowed him to breathe. It filled him with hope.
Reaching the end of the corridor, before Jared could walk in the opposite direction, Riffin took him by the arm, stopping him from going any further. “Whatever they tell you,” he started, “you have to know that I’m doing everything in my power to bring her back safely.”
Jared recoiled slightly. Understanding soon sunk in. Although he had become aware of the potential resistance he could face from the Queen and her husband, little concern showed on his face. He nodded curtly, clapping Riffin on the back of the arm, before leaving.
“She will be fine,” Kara said.
Riffin looked to her, his shoulders dropping. She seemed so convinced. He hoped, with so much desperation, that she was right, and that all his attempts wouldn’t prove fruitless.
***
Malia sighed at the sound of the cell door creaking open. She sucked in a deep breath, each one becoming more pained than the last. When she opened her eyes, wiping at the exhaustion from them, she huffed at the sight of the empty-handed guard, “What? No food?” she asked.
“Walk first,” the guard retorted.
Malia rose to her feet, leaning against the wall for support. The world around her often blurred into nothingness, her body swaying, her knees almost incapable of supporting her as time went on. A painful and familiar twinge in her abdomen kept her from standing upright immediately, a thing that the guard had little patience for. He grabbed her by the arm, sighing before leading her down the narrow path and up the stairs that would see her taken out of the darkness.
Cisco was stood at the top and it was then that the guard let go of her arm. She raked her fingers through her hair, her eyes scrunched shut against the intense sunlight that threatened to blind her. “And how do you fare, Princess?” he asked, a sound of triumph in his voice.
“How do you think?” she asked, her voice cracking. It had been a day since she’d been given water, two days since she’d been given food.
“I would like to say I have good news to brighten your spirits,” he said, “but that would be a lie.”
Despite the heat, the sun that was beating down on her, the chill that had worked its way into her bones as she sat on the floor of her cell only intensified. “You’ve heard nothing?” she asked.
Cisco shook his head, “It would appear your family is not so intent on bringing you home after all,” he said.
She felt herself shrink away at the sound of those words. She wanted to find it difficult to believe that they wouldn’t want her back, safe and sound, but... It was just as her captors had said; the Queen had been through this before and it didn’t bode well for the one being held prisoner.
She couldn’t say she was surprised, after all. The kingdom was what mattered above anything and everything else. They weren’t going to sacrifice it for a single person, one that hadn’t been in their family long enough to prove her worth.
“Which is why I have a proposition for you,” Cisco said, a touch of amusement.
Malia felt her body go cold. What sort of proposition could he have for her? She was no diplomat, no soldier, no tactician. “And what is that?” she asked, boldly.
“Marry me,” he said, looking to her out of the corner of his eye.
Malia recoiled and there was no containing the horror she felt at the notion. So many words wanted to tumble from her lips. “Why?” she asked. A single word was about all she could manage.
Cisco shrugged his shoulders, “My wife passed away some time ago,” he said. “My children have, thus far, grown up without a mother and they have begun to seek more attentions of one.” Malia’s brows furrowed together—of all the political reasons to marry, she didn’t expect his to be a personal one—and Cisco chuckled. “Don’t look that way,” he said. “It would benefit us both. I would have a wife and you would have the children you so crave to mother.”
“No,” she scoffed, looking him up and down. She needn’t even give it a second thought. Were she to live, she would find a way out of this place, one way or another, and none of it involved building a life—she’d sooner let him kill her.
He laughed, “I’m sorry,” he said, “I said ‘proposition’ so long as you were agreeable. Since you are not, it’s more of a demand.”
Malia froze in her tracks, stopping short of the bench she often rested on. Her vision blurred as she retreated into herself, her heart starting to pang furiously against her ribcage, echoing in her ears until she could barely hear her own thoughts over it.
“But I’m already married,” she said.
“Not here you’re not,” he retorted with half a shrug. “And if your husband has done nothing to get you back by now, I reckon this marriage will quickly be dissolved without your presence. The young Prince will likely be wed again before the end of the month.”
She wanted so much to argue against it. She wanted to refute his claims and tell him that it was all nonsense. She meant too much to Riffin, of all people, to be undone this way. But, deep down, she knew. She knew that even if she denied it on those grounds, Cisco would reveal the truth of the matter; nothi
ng was up to Riffin. But she did it anyway—and so did he.
“I wouldn’t grow too attached,” she whispered. She looked up and met his gaze, defiant above everything else—she needed to be if she wanted to survive. “My husband will come for me.”
“It’s not up to your husband, unfortunately,” he added, circling her like a shark around its prey. “You may have thought yourself lucky to marry a future king,” he said, “but, so long as his mother is alive, your husband is powerless.” He came to a stop beside her. She could feel the heat radiating from him and the sickly scent of aniseed that drenched him. “Should we hear nothing by tomorrow, the marriage will take place in the evening.”
A shiver ran down her spine. He extended his hand to her, rough and calloused, and she tried to pull away. With his palm against her cheek, his fingers sank into the back of her neck. She felt her body go cold, unmoving as he inched towards her and pressed his lips to the corners of her mouth.
Chapter 20
RIFFIN STOOD IN HIS chambers, flipping through the letters he’d received. “Ten ships,” he whispered, finally.
“Should be enough,” Thane said. “They await your command but cannot be seen to be stalling for too long without getting noticed,” he added. “Should you have no orders for them by their fourth day, they suggest a meeting point elsewhere—away from your mother and her informants.”
Riffin scoffed, never taking his eyes off the parchment in his hands, “If there’s anything I’ve learnt, it’s that my mother has informants everywhere.”
It’s what made their actions such a risk. He’d been taught plenty about conspiring in secret, and all he’d learnt was rooted in the fact that there was no network of spies more elaborate than that which his mother had.
There was a hard knock on the door, startling them both. Nobody entered and Thane made his way to it, revealing a guard on the other side. “The Queen is requesting both your presence in the throne room,” he said.
Thane glanced at Riffin out of the corner of his eye. Riffin’s shoulders dropped. He placed the letters in a book, then tucked it away in a drawer.
A nervous energy built up in the pit of his stomach. His mother discovering his plans was always a possibility. He’d been taught at a young age that there were very few schemes, most certainly those conducted within her own palace, that she wasn’t aware of. His father’s defection to Ludorum had been one of the few that’d caught her off guard, though years later she blamed her pregnancy as the reason she was so blind towards his intentions.
The throne room doors were sealed behind them as they entered. The Queen sat back in her throne with his father beside her. She made no move to say a word. The silence lingered and their nerves only grew. Thane seemed to hold his breath and, thinking it smart, Riffin did the same.
His father leaned forward in his seat, brushing his bottom lip with the back of his thumb. The Queen was known for her severity, but she was always direct. Meetings with her were always brief, concise and to the point—she wasted no time. When she held her silence, allowing her husband to take the reins, neither of them knew what to expect.
Eventually, he got to his feet and skipped down the steps. Riffin bit his tongue, meeting his mother’s gaze for a second before following his father’s actions. He stood at the marble-topped table, tight-lipped as he bent over, taking a pen and etching his signature on the page in front of him.
He walked past Thane, stopping short of Riffin. He met his dark-eyed gaze that mirrored his own. His father handed him the page, though never breaking the hold of his stare. “Five of my ships are currently in port in the South of Evrad,” he said. “They’re being repainted and stripped of all identifying features that tie them to my lands in Ludorum.” He pushed the page closer, willing Riffin to take it. “They now await your order,” he added.
Confusion flickered across Riffin’s features. His gaze intensified as he searched the depths of his father’s for his sincerity before allowing his fingers to come in contact with the parchment.
Riffin quickly tore his gaze from his father and shifted it to his mother. She remained sat back in her seat, rubbing her index finger and thumb together as she watched the scene play out in front of her. “And you’re allowing this?” he asked.
His mother, the Queen of Lionessa, Evrad and Azura—a woman with more power than he has ever wielded—shrugged her shoulders, her lips turned down at the corners as she did so. “Your father is his own man,” she said. “They are his ships, they are his forces, and he is capable of using them for whatever he sees fit.”
Riffin shifted his weight, brows twitching together, “Even if it goes against your desires?” he asked, intrigued.
With a short nod of her head, she replied, “Even then.” Although there was a hint of amusement in her tone, none of it showed on her face. “And if I have allowed it of my husband, I have allowed it of my son,” she said.
So she did know, Riffin thought, winded by the remark.
“Go,” his father ordered. “Make your preparations.”
Again, Riffin eyed his father, and then his mother. When he saw not an ounce of resistance from either of them, he looked to Thane. The two of them exchanged weary smiles before turning on their heels and leaving as they’d been commanded.
***
Late in the evening, a rebel guard came and pulled Malia out of her cell. Her heart rattled inside her chest with fear. She knew she wasn’t being pulled from her place for anything good and she struggled to contain the dread that came with awareness. Taken up a flight of stairs, the guard shoved her into a room.
It was modest in size. A few, small windows did little to add any real light or air and it was about as damp and as uncomfortable as the cell was. The bed at the helm of the room was made, covered in silky linens that glistened in what little sunlight the room was allowed. A trembling breath escaped her and she felt her heart threaten to cease in her chest.
“We’ve yet to hear anything,” Cisco said.
Malia glanced in the direction of the voice, finding the man sat at a desk, his feet perched upon it. A shiver of fear ran down her spine. She didn’t want to believe his words from the other day. She didn’t want to think, naive as it was, that this room was anything more than an improvement on her dusty cell.
“If anything happens to me, you’ll get nothing,” she reiterated, seeing the gleam of mischief in the man’s eyes.
“I have yet to get anything as it is,” he said. “Getting a wife out of this, a mother for my children… Well, that will at least balm the wounds of this failure.”
The man rose to his feet and, before he could advance, Malia grabbed the letter opener from the desk. Her hand trembled as she held it out. The thought of sinking it into the man’s throat like she was so tempted to do caused her stomach to churn. Her heart raced to the point of deafening her, unable to hear anything over its persistent thudding. Uneasy as she may’ve felt at the notion of using the blade on the man, she had little doubt that she could find it within her to execute it.
The choice was taken from her as arms wrapped themselves around her from behind, prying the blade from between her sweating fingers.
Cisco smirked, running his fingers through his hair. “There’s no need to fight this,” he sighed. “I can be as good as a husband as you can be a wife.”
Her nostrils flared and, unleashed from a place within her she didn’t know existed, she spat at him, lunging forward in her captor’s arms as she did so. Cisco looked unfazed, wiping the spittle from his cheek. In the blink of an eye, the look on his features changed and the back of his hand struck her face with force. The sting it left behind was painful, causing her skin to throb as her eyes watered.
The world shifted out of focus. That was how she underwent her second marriage. The ribbons that entwined her hand with her captor’s were a blur—and everything after that was too—as she placed distance between her inner self and the world around her.
***
Plans
were put into motion significantly faster once there was no longer any secrecy involved. The ships lingered in the ports with permission from the Prince, waiting until he could make the final arrangements from the palace. There, he sent word ahead to his father’s ships in the South of Evrad, instructing them of their course of action and timing so that they could move to join the fleet at the right moment.
Riffin was afforded the same number of men that would normally accompany him on journeys. Although they were just fifteen, they were a fifteen that he could trust.
Hurrying down the steps of the palace, his heart uneasy in his chest as he overlooked the preparations, he counted one extra horse amongst them.
“I’ll be joining you,” Jared said, noting his confusion. He sprinted down the steps with a satchel in hand. “You’ll need someone experienced in commanding a fleet,” he remarked. “Since such Captains aren’t being tripped over around here, I shall take the position.”
Riffin glanced around, finding his other half absent. It was no mistake that there was no horse for her. She wasn’t coming. “And Kara?” he asked.
Jared stalled for a moment as he attached his belongings to the horse’s saddle. “She will be staying behind,” he said. His voice threatened to break, albeit for only a second.
Riffin’s shoulders dropped, a frown forming on his lips. “If you want to stay—” he started.
“We haven’t been apart for anything longer than a day since before Malia was born,” he said. “And, while I wouldn’t like to entertain the notion of Kara living without the both of us, the idea of sitting around doing nothing while others fight for my daughter unsettles me in ways I cannot put into words.”
Riffin exhaled heavily, nodding in understanding.
