Four Kings (The Rothhaven Trilogy Book 2)

by C. J. Pinard

Frustrated, she rolled over, grabbed the book she’d been reading the night before, and tried to calm her stormy mind with a good story.

  Chapter 23

  Zackary looked down through the window of the turret at the angry mob below. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he groaned.

  “Sire! Sire!”

  He turned his head to see one of the castle’s pageboys come running up the stairs toward him. He bowed sloppily and said, “An angry mob, sir!”

  “Yes, Stephen, I can see that.”

  “What do you want us to do?” he asked, his eyes wide in his young and pale face.

  Zackary looked out the window again. He could only see pitchforks and torches, and a lot of heads. They were shouting, “End the curse! Death to the king!” over and over.

  He looked at Stephen. “Nothing, for now. Just have everyone standing by.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing and then scurrying back down the stairs.

  The mob didn’t seem to be moving toward the bridge that stretched over the moat in front of the castle. They just kind of stood there, shouting. As King Zackary stood there and watched, he wondered, Where had this come from?

  This curse had been almost a mainstay in Syracuse at this point. After ten years, he figured the townsfolk and peasants had just come to accept it. He knew he had. Mariselle had brought a spark of hope, and as much as he wanted to be the one to help break the curse, he wasn’t optimistic, since his two brothers had already tried.

  But maybe they hadn’t tried hard enough. He had found out from Alexander that after deflowering her, Griffin had gone back to the East Haven and they had only been together the one time. And he could tell by the look on Alexander’s face that he had only taken her a handful of times. So perhaps he needed to think about quantity over quality.

  But first—what to do about the angry mob outside? They were calling for his death. What would that prove? It wouldn’t break the curse—would it? He stormed down the steps, withdrew his sword from his waist, and skulked through the foyer.

  “Your Majesty, just what do you think you’re doing?” Lord Francis asked, grabbing his arm. “They are calling for your death. You cannot fight them all.”

  Zackary looked at his faithful duke and said, “I had no plans to fight anyone. I’m going to address the crowd.”

  “Zackary?” a feeble voice called out.

  He and Lord Francis spun around to see Mariselle standing in the entryway between the library and the foyer. She looked like she had thrown on the closest dress she could find, as it was half buttoned. She also seemed to be hunched over, her face a grimace of pain.

  Zackary rushed over to her and pulled her into his arms after re-sheathing the sword. “What’s wrong?”

  Ignoring the question, as it was way too embarrassing to answer, she said, “What is going on? There are people outside calling for your death. I’m scared.”

  “Shhh,” he soothed. “This is what happens when you rule a haven. The townsfolk blame the one in charge. I will go out and tell them to go back home, and that we are handling it.”

  She pulled back, her red-rimmed eyes looking up at him in alarm. “No, Zackary. No. Please don’t. They will kill you!”

  Zackary found her concern for him endearing, and while, no, he hadn’t ever been through something like this, he knew it came with the territory. One did not get to enjoy the luxury and benefits of being king without having to deal with the bullshit, too. Nothing in life was ever easy, or free. His father, Edward, had instilled that in all of them.

  “My knights will go with me,” he said, just to make her feel better. “You needn’t worry. Now, what is ailing you, sweet love? You look to be incapacitated in some way.”

  She stared up at him, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, a war seeming to rage behind her eyes. “I…” She stalled and looked down.

  He put his finger under her chin and made her look up at him. “You what? Has your monthly arrived already?” he asked, hoping not.

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. I’m just… it’s been a while since I’ve been on a horse. I’m just having trouble walking is all.”

  Momentarily confused by this, he looked to Lord Francis, who was pretending not to listen, but Zackary knew he had. With a desperate questioning in his eyes, he stared at his faithful sidekick. Francis nodded with a smile.

  “So, you’re just a bit sore from horseback riding? Is that it, sweetheart?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but I’m also scared, Zack. I’m frightened the people outside will hurt you.”

  He chuckled and looked down at her. “Have you met me, Mariselle? Do I strike you as the type who fears much?”

  Looking up at him, she slowly shook her head. “Well, no. Of course not, my brave king. But you cannot take on an army by yourself.”

  With amusement dancing in his eyes, he quipped, “Who says I’m by myself?” Before she could reply, he looked at Lord Francis and said, “Please go get her maidservants so they may escort her back upstairs.”

  “I can manage,” Mariselle said, straightening up and untangling herself from his embrace. She turned to walk, but Francis had already scurried up the stairs to go find Shawna and Serina.

  “I wish you weren’t so goddamn stubborn,” Zackary said.

  She stopped dead in her tracks and turned her head to look at him. She straightened her back, and with her shoulders pushed back, she said, “Nobody is going to look out for me, but me. So what other choice do I have? I know that once I am not carrying your child, you’ll just pass me off to the next Rothhaven. Which is fine. I just need to learn to develop a thick skin about me, in order to not develop feelings or get hurt.” She pointed at the entryway to the castle. “Good luck with your angry mob.”

  “Mariselle…” he said, holding out a hand and starting after her.

  But her two chambermaids were now on the stairwell, helping her to climb up.

  “Sir, I’m sorry for your dilemma with Miss Langer. However, we have a bigger problem at hand. What do you propose we do?”

  The truth was, Zackary knew little to nothing about being a king. He hated all the bowing and formalities and pleasantries that came with it. If he’d had a choice, he’d be out hunting game with his bow and arrow and bedding maidens. Not having to deal with politics and angry mobs. But so was his lot in life. He wished his father were still alive so he could get some counsel. But that was not to be. He had to figure this out on his own.

  So with the steely resolve of a Rothhaven, he drew his sword, stalked through the castle’s foyer, and flung open the front door, ushering the knights to go before him.

  Six knights armed with swords entered out the front door and posted up in a horizontal line, their stances at the ready. Once they were in place, Zackary sprinted up the indoor steps and kept running until he reached the turret. He went through his chamber and opened the door that led to the balcony. After snatching the crown that sat on a pillow atop a small pillar, he plunked it on his head and stepped out to the balcony. Lord Francis and one knight escorted him.

  He had no idea what he was going to say, but he knew he had to do something, so he basically decided to just wing it.

  “May I have your attention, please?” he shouted.

  The crowd had somewhat quieted down since the knights had posted up, as they knew that meant the king—or someone—would be addressing them. They all looked up and became silent, only the sounds of the fires crackling on their torches and the occasional bark of a dog could be heard.

  “I realize you all have just about had it with this curse.”

  Grumblings started, but he wouldn’t be letting it get out of hand. He put up his palms. “Stay calm and know that we Rothhavens have consulted every witch and warlock in the land—and beyond. The curse Angelique placed was strong, but we haven’t given up trying to break it. I realize you all are hurting, unable to bear children. Believe you me, even the royals are feeling it. We would like to have children, too. We haven’t
taken any wives for this reason. It would hurt too badly to not be able to bear children.” He was really laying it on thick now. He had no desire to get married. “Please. Go back to your homes and your loved ones. This doesn’t serve a purpose. If there was something I could do—we could do—we would have surely done it already.”

  “Why don’t you all go and kill yourselves! That would break the bloody curse!” a voice yelled out.

  A man with a black mop of fringe over his face and a hood over his head holding a torch, was waving his balled-up fist at the young king. Zackary didn’t recognize him at all. Sure, the West Haven village held a few hundred people, but he pretty much knew or knew of every family. But he had never seen this man before.

  “And who will rule over you, then? Huh? Make sure water is brought it when there’s a drought? Send animal doctors to you when your cattle and horses get sick?”

  “We will find new rulers!” he said, a hate and anger burning in his dark eyes.

  “And what is your name, sir?” Zackary asked of the man, and he could see his six knights had taken up a defensive posture, six swords lined up in perfect sync, ready to defend their king against the man’s deadly threat.

  “Rot in hell, Rothhaven scum!” the man shouted and then dropped his torch into the moat. He turned around and tried to disappear into the crowd.

  The angry mob and the two standing next to Zackary gasped. Knowing he couldn’t tolerate the disrespect, he looked down at the knights and said, “Seize him!”

  He and the rest of the crowd watched as the knights charged forward, but the man seemed to have disappeared into thin air. All they were able to find was his robe, discarded on the ground, but no sign of him.

  As the rest of the mob had calmed down, they seemed to be just as confused as the knights. Where had he gone? While Zackary let his guards do their job, he looked down on the crowd and said, “Go back to your homes. We are handling this the best we can. Please, go be with your loved ones.”

  With that, he left the balcony and Lord Francis closed and locked the doors behind him.

  Zackary threw off his crown and stood next to his bed, his hand to his mouth.

  “Sire, you look deeply disturbed. Is there anything I can do?”

  He looked at Tyson. “Had you ever seen that man before?”

  Tyson shook his head. “Never. I’ve no idea who he was.”

  “What about you?” he looked at the knight.

  “No, Your Majesty,” he said with his face shield still down. Zackary had no idea who was even in the suit at this point. Normally he’d ask them to put the face shield up, but he was too preoccupied with the situation at hand.

  “Very well. You may go. Both of you,” he said, dismissing them both and ignoring Sir Francis’s question.

  Once they were gone, the king sat on his bed and blew out a big breath. He knew he had taken a chance by going out on that balcony, so exposed. A whole quiver of arrows could have been shot at him, and he wouldn’t have been able to avoid them all. But he trusted his townsfolk. Even though he was an extremely young king at twenty-three years old, he had the maturity of someone twice his age when it came to matters of his people. His father had taught them all that the people needed to be treated with respect—they had to know and feel that they mattered. He had done that… this far, or so he thought. He knew this was why they hadn’t protested or called for his death since the kingdoms were divided.

  So why now?

  He thought back again to the man in the hood with the black hair and the pale skin. Who the fuck was he? He was a nobody, that was who. He had to have been the one who’d riled up the townsfolk. He would figure out who he was, and then let the town watch as he put him into the guillotine and lobbed his head off.

  Growling in frustration, he got up and stalked down the stairs toward Mariselle’s chamber.

  Chapter 24

  King Zackary dismissed the guard he had placed at the door to Mariselle’s room and told him to take the night off. When he entered the room, all was quiet. He could see Mariselle asleep beneath the covers, the moonlight shining in through her window and illuminating her face in a cool blue. He smiled at how beautiful and peaceful she looked lying there, her auburn hair splayed out on the fresh white pillow, her pouty lips slightly open, her brow furrowed as if she was having an intense dream. The bedclothes had slid down to expose her nightdress, and one of her creamy breasts had threatened to come out of it.

  Zackary went to the window and looked out over lawns spread over the back of the castle property. His beloved stables were off the left, while the forest was further to the right. Seeing them brought to mind his ride out there the previous day, and how he had seemingly fainted right off of Violet. That had never happened. Then he remembered how he’d had a dream about a witch who smelled like jasmine and how she’d told him Mariselle was the key to breaking the curse. And how she’d told him to keep her close by whilst she was at the castle.

  Seeing those woods also reminded him of the waterfall and how he’d tasted that sweet spot between Mariselle’s legs, and how he’d never come so hard in his life. His cock twitched and began to thicken at the thought. He left the window and walked back over to her. He pushed the bedclothes back and squatted down, shoving both thick arms under her. She stirred a little as he picked her up and cradled her in his arms.

  Leaving her bedchamber, he made his way up the stairs and to the king’s chamber in the turret. Once he was almost at his door, her eyes lazily slid open.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked softly.

  “I need you tonight, M.”

  The knight guarding the room quickly opened the door when he saw them coming. Once he had lain her on the bed, he dismissed the knight, and then closed his door, throwing the bolt that held the door shut.

  He tucked her into his bed and then quickly disrobed. He scooted over close to her and slithered his arm under neck so he could pull her close. She sighed contentedly and smiled.

  “I know you’re sore from the horse, but I needed you close to me tonight.”

  “Mm-hm,” she replied, burying her face in his warm, bare chest.

  His dick was painfully hard now, but he wanted to respect her and let her sleep.

  He closed his eyes to try to drift off, but his brain was too riled up, thinking of the events of the day.

  Zackary took some deep breaths and tried to calm himself. And just when he thought he may be able to fall asleep, he felt a warm hand grip his cock under the sheet.

  With her head still resting on his chest, she wrapped her fist around him and began to slowly stroke him up and down.

  “Ohhh,” he groaned, wondering how she knew just what he needed.

  Mariselle began to stroke him a little faster until she lifted her head, shifted her body, and flung her leg over his so she was directly on top of him.

  Thinking she was going to sit on his very strained cock, she instead smiled lazily at him, her hair wild and covering half her face, and scooted down lower. It wasn’t long before her mouth was swallowing him entirely, and then she removed her mouth with a pop.

  “Woman,” he breathed. “Oh…”

  She went back down on him, and once he was about there, he warned her. “I’m close.”

  She hummed her response and that was it for him. She didn’t move once he blew his load, and she swallowed all his salty goodness.

  When she was sure he’d expelled every drop, she lay back down and snuggled into him while he lay there completely boneless and one hundred percent sated.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly, a little laugh ending the compliment.

  “You seemed a little tense,” she whispered.

  “It’s your turn now,” he said, running his hand down her hip and toward her center.

  “No,” she murmured. “I need a couple days. You and that horse… I can barely walk. I’m good, I promise.”

  He felt bad, but soon he was too tired to care. He knew he’d make it up to her la
ter. They both fell asleep with smiles on their faces.

  Hecate spent most of her time in a cave in the mountains of the North Haven. She liked it there. Lots of solitude and quiet where she could work on her spells. Concentrate on perfecting them.

  Existing between the living and the dead had taken a toll on her. Dream-walking was a huge undertaking and took much out of her. She had retired to her cave several days prior to regenerate and recharge with spells, nature, and incense. She was meditating there, when she felt a stirring in her spirit.

  Slamming her eyes open, she knew something dark and sinister swirled in her belly. She had existed long enough to know that it was something Gaylen was doing. She hated to admit that she had formed some kind of supernatural bond with the evil wizard, but she had. And this stirring had told her that he was up to no good—again!

  Not that she was surprised. He had said as much during their quarrel in the West Haven dining room while Zackary, Mariselle, and the other staff had dined and carried on as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

  With a deep sigh, and abandoning the spell she’d been working on, Hecate used her magic mirror to see what fuckery Gaylen had gotten up to this time. Waving her hand in front of it, she said, “Ostende mihi faciem Gaylen!”

  As the mirror cleared of its fog, she saw him in a forest. He looked around, and Hecate watched as he disguised his true and disgusting old self and masqueraded as a young, dark-haired peasant. Once he had entered the town, he began shouting in the streets about how all the Rothhavens should be killed in order to end the curse. A few people joined him, lighting torches and just blindly following this stranger whom they’d never seen before. Gaylen was openly encouraging the townsfolk to riot, then demand the murder of the young king, and then to take over his castle. Then, when the evil old wizard threw the hood over his head and led the mob toward the castle in a display of misplaced anger, she gasped at his audacity.

  So this was his “plan” all along? Hecate wondered.