On the verge of tears, I pushed the avian from my mind and gazed out the window to lose myself in the new sights. We’d reached the top of the mountain and come to a bustling market set in the shadow of the castle; it was double the size of Fleur’s markets, and I marveled... Weeds. More avian. They flew overhead in wide, sweeping laps. Did they patrol the skies, guarding their future king? Or did they have more sinister intension?
I shook. The males were shirtless, wearing only skintight leather pants. The females wore similar pants and covered their breasts with cutouts of leather. All displayed a colorful array of bracelets on their wrists. I’d read different accounts about the meaning of those bracelets. Some claimed they represented feats of strength. Others believed they told a story about each avian’s individual life, like the job they held, the family they came from, and the vows they made.
On the ground, mortal males wore tunics of varying colors and dark slacks. Mortal females wore fur-trimmed gowns in brighter shades. Mixed with them were a handful of witches, a couple of trolls, a centaur family, and the occasional fae.
Some sellers peddled linens and jewelry. Others offered food, everything from meats and vegetables to fresh-baked breads, the scents drifting into the carriage. My mouth watered, and my stomach rumbled. One vendor offered enough copper, iron, nickel, and platinum to make my head spin.
I pressed my cheek against the window, staring at the glistening metal as long as possible. The weapons I could make. The armor. A hint of gold glinted in the sunlight, and I groaned.
All too soon, the market disappeared from sight. We traveled through a long, wide archway of hanging pixielilies, colorful flowers with soft yet sturdy petals shaped like birds, where pixies preferred to make their home. The lingering odor of food was replaced by a sweet floral perfume, and I drank it in. It was like inhaling magic.
We finally came to a stop in front of the fortress. Up close, the sight enraptured me. Not so dreary, after all. Moss grew over the walls and pillars. An elaborate marble fountain sprayed water near the palace steps, where two uniformed guards waited.
They rushed over to open the carriage door. The first one offered me a gloved hand, as if I were a grand lady despite my dirty rags. Feeling as if I was floating, I accepted and eased into the cold air.
He couldn’t hide his disgust when he spotted me.
My cheeks blazed, and I snatched back my hand.
Ophelia emerged with the help of the second guard, who motioned us to follow him up the steps. Raising my chin, squaring my shoulders, I lifted the hem of my ragged skirt and followed him. I’d worked hard to achieve this look of sweat, dirt, and fatigue, and I wouldn’t let anyone shame me.
Ophelia kept pace beside me. Her breathing remained steady. Mine didn’t. I panted, afraid I’d faint before I got inside. What if I did something bad? What if I started another fire?
Deep breath in. Out. Good, that was good. As we passed more guards, a handful of guests, and a servant, I searched each face, hoping to see a smile or welcoming nod. Something! I just... I wanted to make a friend. I craved companionship, someone to talk to and exchange secrets with. Someone to comfort me when I got scared, perhaps. To encourage me when I was sick. I would happily return the favor.
“Dude,” Ophelia whispered, nudging my shoulder with her own. “You look like you’ll do anything to make these people like you, and it’s, like, super embarrassing. Learn to mask, or they’ll eat you up and spit out your bones.”
Dude? I would have asked what the word meant, but my mind got hijacked the moment she touched me. Upon contact, strength had seeped into me, chasing away my fatigue. She really did wield energy magic, then. And at an apple baby level.
Why would she help me without first demanding payment? No way she’d accidentally touched me. Not a warrior like her; she knew what she was doing every second of every day. But what she’d done was just so...so...un-witchlike.
Two new guards waited at the top of the staircase. They opened a set of double doors, allowing us to pass without a hitch in our step. We entered the foyer, and I could only gape at the incredible luxury. How long since I’d beheld anything so fine? Shimmering gold veined the floor, glittering as sunlight streamed in through large, stained glass windows. A breathtaking battle-scene mural covered the far wall. On another wall hung portraits of past kings and queens with elaborate frames. A hand-carved dragon flanked each side of the staircase.
Visual stimulation overload.
“Keep moving, Princess Staresalot.” Ophelia gave my shoulder another nudge and another boost of energy.
“Thank you,” I said, beaming a smile at her.
“It was an accident,” she lied, as if embarrassed for herself.
We stopped in front of another set of double doors, where two more guards waited, their swords drawn and crossed. They eyed me with distaste. No big deal.
“Princess Ashleigh Charmaine-Anskelisa to see King Philipp,” Ophelia announced, her tone tight. “And I suggest you rearrange your expressions before I rearrange your faces.”
The men sheathed their weapons and snapped to, shoving open the doors. Tremors plagued me as I stepped inside a throne room overcrowded with courtlings—the upper class, dressed in their finest garments and jewels.
Everyone turned to eye me up and down. Whispers and short bursts of laughter soon erupted, and my cheeks blazed anew.
Ophelia waved her hand, and the courtlings parted as if they’d been pushed, creating a pathway to the royal dais, where my father perched upon a golden throne. A girl I’d never met sat beside him, and Milo stood behind him, stroking the key that hung around his neck. The same key he’d worn the day of my mother’s funeral—the one my mother used to stare at with longing.
An invisible fist punched the air from my lungs. I needed to speak with the warlock. Alone. But first... I swung my gaze back to my father, the parent I had here and now.
In our time apart, he’d barely changed. His dark hair might possess more gray, and new lines might branch from his brown eyes, but everything else remained the same. Regal cheekbones. An aquiline nose, and a strong jaw. A chin with a slight dent in the middle.
Wearing a large golden crown and a red robe flecked with gold, he appeared every inch the king.
The witch stopped, so I stopped, too, and moved my attention to the girl. My stepmother? No, surely not. We must be the same age. Could she be one of my stepsisters, then? The tournament prize?
Whoever she was, she was a stunner, with long hair as dark as a moonless night, eyes just as dark with a slight up-tilt, and pale skin. She wore wrist cuffs. Her gown...my heart fluttered with envy. Soft pink with flowers sewn into the skirt.
I glanced down at my sackcloth and wished the floor would open up and swallow me. All right. So maybe I could be embarrassed by my appearance, after all.
Ophelia gave me a little push forward. “Go get ’em, queenie.”
I trudged the rest of the way alone and stopped before the dais. My knees quaked as I executed a wobbly curtsy. “Hello.”
Father compressed his lips into a thin line. “You dare appear before me dressed in such filth?”
“I—I’m sorry, Father. There wasn’t time to change—”
“I’m a king twice over. When you address me, you will refer to me as Your Majesty, just as my other subjects must.”
He hadn’t forgiven me at all. I stared down at my feet. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Never let them know they’ve hurt you.
“I’m so happy to meet you, Princess Ashleigh. I’m Dior,” the girl said. Such a gentle voice, even melodic. “I would love to—”
“If you are in Sevón—Majesty—who is ruling Fleur?” I said, speaking over her. I wanted a friend, yes, just not her. Anyone but the one who occupied my mother’s throne. A stranger who oh, so clearly had everything I’d been denied. The king’s affection and respect. A bright future. Magic.
Why were some people so privileged and others so...not?
“Who do you think?” His tone suggested I was a fool for asking. “My wife, Queen Andrea, rules in my stead. But she is none of your concern. Let us discuss the reason for your visit.”
His new wife, my stepmother, was none of my concern? And what did he mean, “visit”? I wasn’t here to stay?
“You have other concerns.” Radiating smugness, he waved at a tall, raven-haired man who stood ahead of me, off to one side. I directed my full attention at him, and my stupid heart skipped a stupid beat. Massive azure wings arched at his sides. Azure. Wings.
Saxon. Here in the flesh. Standing inside the palace. He was several inches taller than I remembered and a hundred pounds of brawn heavier. The muscles in his broad shoulders bulged with suppressed tension, as if he wanted to turn around but he refused to heed his body’s demand.
As if I’d said his name aloud—had I?—he finally glanced over his shoulder, his whiskey-colored gaze finding me. The way he looked at me...such furious heat, with a tinge of yearning.
This boy longed for my misery.
He had long lashes, high cheekbones, and soft lips. A shadow of stubble dusted his strong jaw. He’d shaved the sides of his hair but had grown out the top strands to create spikes. The danger he emitted...
Tremors swept down my spine as he dropped his attention to my mother’s ring, then jerked his gaze back up to mine, hitting me with pure, undiluted hatred.
My next tremor almost rocked me off my feet.
“Tomorrow, a tournament for Dior’s hand in marriage will begin,” the king said. “If you’d been a normal girl, Ashleigh, you would have been the prize. Alas. A husband likes to know his wife will survive the wedding night.”
Laughter sounded behind me, setting off a chain reaction inside me, different parts of me beading with cold sweat.
Saxon reveled in my discomfort, unveiling a slow, wicked smile. A mere baring of his perfect pearly whites. “I hope you’re ready, Princess.” His deep, rumbly voice rang inside my head, a challenge. A curse. “Your life is about to change, and not for the better.”
I gasped a breath as I looked to my father, who rose to his feet.
The king told me, “I’m sure you need no introduction, Ashleigh. Prince Saxon has agreed to participate in the tournament, and you are to act as his royal liaison. What he needs, you will provide.” His tone told me what his words did not: or else.
My head spun. Obey Saxon for three weeks? “Do all tournament participants receive a palace liaison?” The question escaped through clenched teeth.
“Only the royals. I chose you to serve Prince Saxon so that you may make full restitution for your past misdeeds at long last. Your new duties will begin after the first battle. If he survives, of course.”
More teeth grinding. Serve the one who’d sent his men to harm me, when I’d already been banished? “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I won’t do it.” I’d endured enough for a crime I couldn’t recall.
Gasps sounded from the crowd.
So what? I refused to back down. I had to talk Father around. “Prince Saxon served as Roth’s second-in-command, did he not? They are notorious best friends, as loyal as brothers. How can you trust him, even for a moment? What if he’s here to aid King Roth and take back the kingdom?”
A muscle jumped beneath my father’s eye. “Am I a simpleton who would fail to consult his oracle? I have been assured the prince’s intentions are as pure as my own. And, Ashleigh? You will do as I tell you, which means you will do everything the avian tells you. Without argument.”
Saxon turned to face me fully, sweeping that whiskey gaze over the rest of me. I shivered even as my blood heated.
“King Roth has aligned with an evil sorceress,” Saxon said, “and Princess Farrah betrayed my trust in the worst way.” Truth rang in his tone. “I’m no longer interested in aiding your cousins.”
I shouldn’t ask.
But I did, my curiosity too great. I had to know. “What are you interested in, then?”
A brittle pause before he quietly admitted, “I live to ensure you receive the fate you so richly deserve.”
3
Caught up in a plight?
Do your best and fight.
SAXON
Finally, Princess Ashleigh Charmaine-Anskelisa is in my hands.
How I despised her. And yet, every time I glanced her way, I experienced an intense and familiar connection to her. A pull I could not deny. A sense that I’d finally found the missing puzzle piece my life desperately needed. A sense that I’d found the female able to make me happy. The one person I would recognize as my fated mate as soon as my wings produced a special dust only for her. But that sense was a lie. It had tormented me in two other lives as well, yet I’d never actually produced the tiniest speck of the amour dust.
It had even plagued me the day of her mother’s funeral. The day I’d realized the memories of my past lives featured her.
We were fated to be together, just not as husband and wife, lovers, or even friends. Princess Ashleigh was a reincarnation of Leonora the Burner of Worlds, and I was a reincarnation of Craven the Destroyer. We were destined to war.
Our war had raged for centuries—just not consecutively. If I failed to end her reign of terror this time, the war would last centuries more. At some point, she would obliterate all of Enchantia.
So, no. She wasn’t my fated one. I would end her reign of terror, no matter the lines I had to cross to do it. In doing so, I would become the king my people needed.
The one they’d always needed.
I hadn’t lived in the Avian Mountains for over a decade. I didn’t know my soldiers, and my soldiers didn’t know me. They didn’t like me much, either. I didn’t care. Until I proved my mettle, one way or the other, I expected them to respect my position. One day, the like would come; I had no doubts. They would learn my capabilities and my strengths. I would teach them.
As an added bonus, I would have the opportunity to utterly destroy King Philipp. Thanks to a royal oracle named Noel, who Philipp wrongly believed worked for him, I knew the king hoped to use the tournament to eliminate anyone who threatened his reign, or supported Roth, or had insulted his great pride at one time or another.
He had no idea Noel was my friend and ally—and I was his biggest threat of all. For stealing Roth’s kingdom, I would steal Philipp’s life. Always pay back double what is owed. It was the avian way. Roth wasn’t avian, but I loved him like a brother, and I would deliver justice on his behalf.
I just had to complete the tournament before I struck. Noel claimed there was no other way to get everything we’d ever wanted.
So, I would use the tournament to watch the king, learning his strengths and weaknesses, to secretly protect anyone loyal to Roth, to showcase my skill to my people, and to obtain unlimited access to Ashleigh. I could better orchestrate her downfall. Everything I’d ever wanted, as promised. But the pressure of it all...
I ignored the pit in my stomach. For all my troubles, I would receive great rewards. This was a time to celebrate, not lament.
While I could never achieve full restitution for the things Leonora had taken from me in the past, I could achieve some type of restitution for the unprovoked attack Princess Ashleigh had made at her mother’s funeral. I grinned. By the time I finish with her, she will want to die and stay dead.
To my consternation, I couldn’t simply kill the girl as the Craven side of my nature desired. I couldn’t give her a chance to be reborn and restart our war for a fourth time. No, I had to weaken her instead. Then, when the tournament ended, Ophelia would cast a sleeping spell, ensuring Ashleigh—Leonora—never aged, never woke to harm anyone else, and never died.
Never again would the avian be endangered by her fire magic or army of dragons. And Leonora always raised an army of dr
agons.
Dragons existed in Craven’s era, then seemed to die out. At the time of my second life, the scaled creatures had been nothing more than a legend. Then, Leonora managed to raise a new army, and I’d learned dragon mothers buried their eggs throughout Enchantia, and those eggs could live in stasis for hundreds of years, completely indestructible. In this third life, dragons were once again a footnote in history books. And yet, Ophelia had told him Ashleigh had already acquired four of their eggs. More proof of her true identity.
So, while doing everything else, I had to prevent Ashleigh’s eggs from hatching.
“Nothing to say?” I asked her. “Not going to beg me for mercy?”
“Do you have mercy? And you can’t be enemies with Prince Roth. You can’t be.”
I’d told her the truth about everything...almost. Roth had fallen in love with an evil sorceress. Her name was Everly, and I adored her, too. She was an apple baby able to cast lifelike illusions, heal the wounded, grow a seedling into a tree in a matter of minutes, and build walls of dirt with only a thought. And Farrah had betrayed me in the worst of ways, compelling me to stab an innocent girl. But work against the pair? No.
The day the Charmaine siblings took me in as a young child, shielding me from a father who wanted me dead, they made advance restitution for any and every action, at any time, in any way, for always.
“Ashleigh, you may leave us.” King Philipp’s voice boomed through the throne room. “Bathe. Change clothes.”
“I’d like her to stay just as she is,” I announced. I extended an arm in Ashleigh’s direction and crooked my finger. “Come here.” If she resisted in any way, she would find that I did not issue threats, only promises. The key to getting what you wanted—always follow through.
She’d asked if I had mercy. I didn’t. Not for her. Not with the tasks I had planned for her, each one designed to drain whatever strength she possessed, keeping her too weak to use her fire magic, making her as miserable as she made me.
Lips parted, the princess glided closer to me. No threats necessary, then. How disappointing.
The Glass Queen Page 6
