by Kyra Gregory
Thane finally tore his gaze away, looking to meet his friend’s. Riffin shifted his weight, licking his lips, “I hope that, one day, I can return the favour,” he said. “That I may, one day, put your world back together too.”
Thane’s lips flinched in a brief smile. He looked away, into his cup, before swallowing the bitter wine in his efforts to dull the ache in his chest.
Riffin threw his arm around his shoulders, pressing his hand into his chest and drawing him in closer. Pressing his forehead against his temple, he breathed a short sigh of relief. “Thank you, my friend,” he said.
Thane smiled greater this time, a short chuckle rumbling in his chest beneath Riffin’s palm. “What are friends for?” he asked.
There was a hard knock on the door and all eyes turned towards it, the room stilling and quieting. It opened. A guard, standing on the other side, looked to Riffin and Thane. His gaze alone was enough.
The spoken news they received was distant and faint, as though they’d been submerged in the depths of the ocean when they’d heard it. The two of them separated.
Riffin marched down the corridor, his heart racing in his chest, emotion welling in the back of his throat as he made it to the throne room. The doors were thrown open.
His father stood in the centre of the room, pacing in the darkness with a letter in his hand. Blinking to clear the mist that’d descended over his eyes, Riffin was sure he could see him shaking. “What’s happened?” he asked, looking him up and down. “What does it say?”
His father wiped at his mouth with the palm of his hand, as though trying to strike all tells of emotion from it.
Footsteps sounded behind him and Riffin glanced over his shoulder to find Malia and her parents had made their way into the room. Their gazes searched his own for answers but he had none. He turned back to his father, marching towards him, “Out with it!” he said.
His father opened his mouth to speak, a croak of some sort escaping him before words could. “Your mother is being held as a prisoner in Ludorum,” he said.
An ice cold wave rolled across Riffin’s body, causing him to recoil and shudder. “Why?” he asked, his voice dropping into a whisper.
His father swallowed, “They blame her for allowing the interference in Theosina,” he said. He threw the letter onto the table and raked both hands through his hair. “They plan to put her on trial,” he said, “and execute her.”
Riffin sucked in a deep breath, approaching the marble-topped table and taking the letter into his own hands. It was a lie. Surely, it was a lie—a bluff of some sort! His eyes scanned the page. The seal at the bottom, sitting neatly beside King Niles’ signature, verified its authenticity.
Taking to the window, he gave the letter one last look, wishing and hoping that the darkness of the room had deceived him somehow and that bringing the parchment to the light would reveal this was all, somehow, a terrible joke.
But it wasn’t.
Beneath the window, in the square below, the carriage that had brought the messenger was unloaded.
Thane’s familiar golden curls shone in the sunlight as he backed away, stumbling on the steps of the palace, watching as his father’s body was brought out.
Riffin’s hands started to shake, knowing what this meant. He looked over his shoulder to his wife and her family as they stared at him with large eyes. They knew it too.
His day had come. He was going to be King.
The End of Book 1
Book 2: Adept
Chapter 1
WITH HIS HEART POUNDING against his rib cage, standing in the centre of the throne room, Riffin recalled asking his mother at six years old what it felt like when she became Queen. With a tender, patient smile, and a gaze that made him think she’d taken a step into the past, she replied, “It was as though the world got a great deal smaller, and a great deal bigger, all at once.”
“They cannot just execute a Queen,” Malia said, hissing through gritted teeth.
As they looked around, nobody seemed to agree with her, no matter how much they wanted to. Of course they didn’t agree, Riffin realised. Other than Malia and himself, all those in the room had seen to the downfall of a King or a Queen in their lifetime. His father had slain his own—the King of Evrad—all those years ago. Kara and Jared had also played a role in the deaths of monarchs and, though few knew Jared had slashed the old Queen’s throat, many were well-aware they were amongst the other pirates on the Lionessan sands when King Alessio and Queen Merra of Azura were executed.
Riffin raked his fingers through his hair. “Of course they can,” he murmured, though it pained him to say it at all.
His father shook his head, blinking the shock from his vision, “I’ll speak to them,” he said, thoughtlessly.
As much as he’d have liked to have faith, Riffin shook his head, “You’ll do no such thing,” he retorted, taking them all by surprise. It shouldn’t have startled them too much; he wasn’t going to let his father go to Ludorum—not when the price was certain death. Faced with their confusion, he elaborated, “You’re staying.”
“They’ll execute your mother!” he retorted.
His heart raced, a swell of emotion and a rise of anger fuelled by his father’s inability to see the bigger picture. He shook his head, tossing the parchment that detailed his mother’s crimes, as well as her punishment, in his father’s direction. “They’ll execute her with or without you there! A decision has been made and they will not stray from it!” He bit the inside of his cheek, doing his utmost to temper his anger. “This—this is what they do when somebody tries to get in their way once they’ve made their decision.”
His father scoffed, an insidious smirk growing on his lips, “You cannot possibly expect me to do nothing,” he said.
Riffin licked his lips, casting his gaze elsewhere. “What I expect you to do is follow an order!” he said. He’d half-turned away from him when he saw his father raise his brows at him and, then, saw the rage fill his gaze. If he didn’t do something—if he didn’t do something now—his father was going to get himself killed. Before he could say another word, Riffin turned his attention elsewhere. “Guards,” he summoned, “seize my father.”
Their shock, resonating throughout the entirety of the throne room, lasted for but a second before they sprung into action, surrounding a man they once took orders from.
While he grappled with his own actions, Riffin could feel Malia’s gaze, as well as those of her parents, burning into him. Though they put him into doubt, there was no doubting the certainty of what would happen to his father if he let him leave the safety of their kingdoms.
“What are you doing?” his father asked, looking him up and down.
“Keeping you from risking your life,” he said. Swallowing the lump in the back of his throat, he blinked away the hurt and the guilt that could place doubt on the authority of his order. “Lock him up,” he told the guards. “He’s not to be allowed out until I say so.”
“Your Majesty,” one of the guards agreed, bowing his head courteously.
The words had Riffin still in his tracks, coming to an abrupt stop just as he’d moved to walk away. He turned to the door as his father was dragged out of the room, half expecting his mother to make her way through with a spring in her step, her head held high. But ‘Your Majesty’ no longer referred to his mother. They meant him. He was King.
When the guards removed his father from the room, Kara and Jared bowed their heads and stepped out, closing the door behind themselves. Riffin didn’t miss the worried glance they shot in Malia’s direction, though his wife appeared to be entirely unfazed by the heinous act he had just committed against his own blood.
“Do you intend on throwing me in a cell also?” she asked, advancing towards him. She looked him up and down, glaring down her nose at him with the authority befitting of her newfound station. If there was anyone unfazed by his ascension to the throne, it was her. “Tell me,” she started, “would you award your wife he
r own cell, or would you put her in with your father?”
Riffin bit his tongue. If a wife who would confront him directly was what he was after, his choice couldn’t be more perfect. Still, a choice of his own or not, it didn’t take away from the sting of her ability to rile him up. “So long as my wife doesn’t try marching herself into Ludorum, I see no reason she’d need sit in a cell,” he retorted, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. An auburn brow shot up in his direction, the gaze beneath it that of disgust. “I’m trying to keep my father alive!” he said, defending himself.
“Was it not your father who allowed you to disobey orders? Was it not him who allowed you to risk your life for mine?” she asked. “I don’t wish to see him dead but why not allow him the same courtesy he showed you?”
“My father is too important to this kingdom to lose needlessly,” he retorted.
“And you weren’t of importance to your kingdom? Didn’t you consider your importance to your mother?” she asked.
“My mother had our children,” he said. “She had other heirs!”
“And do our children not have you in return?” she countered. “Your heirs need to have you! Not your mother! Not your father!”
The anger and the fear, entwining and escalating, he shook his head in a flurry, “I don’t know what it means to be King,” he spat.
Capable of looking beyond the rage, beyond the anger, Malia’s shoulders dropped, brows furrowing together, at the sound of the hurt and the fear. “Your mother didn’t know what it meant to be Queen,” she said. “Even then, she didn’t allow a kingdom to make a mockery of her brother! Why would you allow them to do the same of her?”
Riffin bit his tongue, then pursed his lips together. “I’ve not given up yet,” he whispered.
Tempering her anger, Malia sighed. “Good,” she said. “Now, what may I help you with?”
She took a step towards him and Riffin rooted himself to the spot, hands clenching into fists at his sides. He couldn’t have her near him when he felt this way. His hands shaking, the fear causing sweat to trickle down his back, skin clammy and cool to the touch—he didn’t want her to see him like this. “See the children to bed,” he murmured. He turned on his heel and tossed the parchment on the marble-topped table, swallowing the lump in the back of his throat.
Malia gave no reply. Taking a few, short, quiet steps, she stood behind him and reached out, taking his fist into both her hands. Threading her fingers with his, she rubbed the back of his knuckles with the palm of her hand, attempting to relieve the tension within his enclosed fist. “We’ll see ourselves through this,” she whispered. “We cannot have endured so much in a year of marriage not to.”
Licking his lips, Riffin hummed in agreement. He nodded, turning around long enough to press a kiss to Malia’s forehead. “Go,” he whispered.
Malia’s fingers slipped away, no longer enveloping his clenched fist. She walked away slowly, as though waiting to be called back. A part of him wanted nothing more than to do it—the other part reeled from the power he’d wielded within minutes of becoming King. It was dizzying. It was frightful.
Laying in bed, Riffin’s thoughts, and his fears, raced about inside his mind, keeping him from slumber. How did his mother ever sleep, he wondered? How did she find it in herself to put her concerns to rest and allow herself to do the same? For as long as he could remember, she always acted with such determination, exuding such an unshakable confidence. He always aspired to be just like her, sure he would be a King capable of the very same. As the day came, he felt he was no more ready for it today than he was the day he was born. Try as she might to prepare him, he feared it had all been for nothing.
With Malia sound asleep beside him, unmoving if not for the gentle rise and fall of her chest, Riffin slipped from his bed. The guards posted outside his door jumped as it opened, surprised to see him awake and standing there. They said nothing, much like they always did, though Riffin didn’t miss the particular depth with which they bowed their heads in their effort to show him as much respect as possible.
Sucking in a deep breath, he puffed out his cheeks as he made his way down the corridors. Strange as it was to suddenly be treated as though he were already King, he was flooded with far too many concerns to think about it. Coming to the spiral staircase that would lead him to the cells, his heart rate accelerated, thundering inside of him.
Peering into the empty cells as he walked, Riffin recalled coming down here often as a child. Imprisonment under his mother’s rule was rare—not because she had no quarrels, but because those that dared do so often didn’t live long enough to take up a cell in the first place.
Seeing the once-vacant dungeons housing anyone was startling in itself, but laying eyes on the man it now kept within its steel bars—that stirred another feeling inside of him entirely.
His father stood in the largest cell at the end of the corridor, pacing back and forth, raking his fingers through his hair as though he struggled to come to terms with the events that had unfolded. His eyes grew wide as they shot in Riffin’s direction, surprised to find him standing there. Before he could say a word, Riffin spoke, “I’ll be leaving for Ludorum first thing in the morning,” he said.
His father took a step towards the bars that separated them, into the light. His strained and tired eyes adjusted to the golden glow behind him. There was confusion in them, an uneasiness over something he couldn’t quite place in Riffin’s words. “With an army, you mean?” he asked.
Riffin swallowed. Puffing out his chest, he stood tall, feigning confidence in his decision. “No,” he said. “I’m going to speak with King Niles.”
“They will kill you!” his father exclaimed, rattling the bars on the cell with clenched fists.
Yes, they would, he thought to himself. But, as it stood, they were going to kill his mother anyway. “They’re meant to be our allies,” Riffin declared, fighting the lump in the back of his throat.
Slowly, he shook his head, glaring at him out of the corner of his eyes, “Not anymore,” he said. “Let me go to them and—”
“And do what?” Riffin asked, scrutinising his every movement. A look at him alone served to remind him how easily he had been made a prisoner in his own home, let alone what could happen if he went as a Prince into the castle of another King. “Even if we could put an army together in five hours, they’ll cut you down.” The fact they were family meant nothing in the slightest; his father had killed his own, the Queen had killed her own brother, and Riffin… Though, it ached to so much as think about it, if he didn’t go there himself, his mother would die. He licked his lips, stifling his fear. “If I let you leave for Ludorum, I will lose you both,” he said.
“You cannot let them execute her!”
No, he couldn’t. He wasn’t like his mother; he couldn’t sacrifice family for a kingdom. Though his mother was shunned at the time, she was hailed a strong woman for what she’d done. But he wasn’t his mother. He wouldn’t sacrifice family—not her—for a kingdom. Not without trying something else first. “I will be the one to speak to them,” he said. “If anyone is going to beg for her life then it’s going to be me.”
“They will kill you too!” his father growled.
“As they would you!”
“I am not the King!” he countered.
“No,” he agreed, “but you would make the more experienced ruler! If we are to go to war over this then you are the better man to avenge the lives lost!”
His father recoiled. “Is that what this is about?” he asked. “Fear? Do you fear being King?”
Riffin’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He wouldn’t admit it, not in words at least, but he did. He feared being King. Not because of the threat of death that would linger over him, but the threat of death that lingered over the people, hanging in the balance of every decision he made. “It wasn’t meant to happen this way,” he said.
His father gripped at the bars, leaning into them, “You might thi
nk this is your way out,” he said, “but the people will not follow a man that’s not a King.”
“They will follow the man who will see to their survival,” Riffin said, “and who acts in the place of my heirs.”
His father shook the bars again, a scowl on his lips, “Your mother and I did not teach you everything we know just for it to end this way,” he said.
Riffin shrugged, pulling a face of indifference, “So long as I’m King, you have no say in this matter,” he said. He backed away slowly, slipping into the shadows of the corridor, “It’s in writing; should anything happen to me, Malia is to be declared Regent until the girls are of age, and you are to be her adviser—by order of the King.”
Chapter 2
RIFFIN STOOD AT THE foot of his bed, stuffing a singular clean shirt onto the top of his supplies. In the background, standing across the room with her hands on her hips as her skirt was tied in the back, Malia’s anger had reached its peak and couldn’t be contained any longer. “When I said something needed to be done I didn’t mean this,” she said.
There was little use in arguing—he wasn’t sure he was even capable of it. She was right. His father was right. They were all right. But, just like others must’ve tried to talk his mother out of going to Evrad to bargain for her brother’s life, it wasn’t going to work. It frustrated him that, despite his mother’s efforts to keep him from making the same mistakes she did, he was on course to follow her path in its entirety. Even so, though she had always been clear about what it was she regretted, and what she wished she would’ve done differently, no decision she’d ever made on that path seemed like a failure to him.
Malia followed him out of their chambers, light on her feet as she flew down the corridors and round the corners to keep up with him. “You’re going to get yourself killed. Surely your father warned you against this.”
