Crimson Bird 3

by L B Keen

  Running her fingers through his hair, Bird’s gaze focused on the blue canopy above. “I didn’t love him.”

  Hearing this, Talon lifted his head slightly, and she dropped her eyes from the canopy and met his stare. “I never loved Fitzwilliam. He was merely a hope… a possibility for something more than being just a damphir.”

  Turning his head, Talon rested his head down once more and nodded. Nothing else was said between them as Talon now mentally prepared himself for what was to come. He would confront his father and the stepmother he wished to see six feet under misery.

  He tightened his hold on Bird. He would not lose. He would gain her heart, and if a kingdom was her price, then so be it.

  BRITAIN

  {The return}

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was raining.

  The sky was angry and dark grey as people gathered before St. George’s Cathedral. Many stood outside simply to watch those who’d been invited to the most talked about affair in London. As those of the upper echelon alighted from carriages, being swiftly led inside, crowds cheered, each calling out names of certain famed figures in the gossip rags.

  The rain lightened as two carriages approached. The unmarked vehicles caused a murmur of curiosity amongst those who watched as it approached. It was obvious that they belonged to someone of wealth, and its driver wore a grim expression.

  When the driver let out a sudden shout. The drive began pulling on the reins to slow the four mounts who restlessly pawed at the cobble. The driver alighted as the servants who wore thick jackets hopped off and quickly reached up and opened the doors.

  When a familiar head of blonde colored hair appeared, a gasp rippled through the crowd. All of London swiftly realized the prince, the golden prince that hadn’t been seen nor heard from for the last two months was now standing in his royal regalia of ivory crème colored jacket and flashing boots, alive. His red eyes searched the crowd. The rain having slowed, it seemed in reaction to his presence.

  He was as handsome as the crowd had remembered. None could stop their eyes from following his movement. As he approached the carriage, he reached out and a lace-covered hand reached out. The delicate lace seemed it would fall apart at a mere gust of wind. The hand was swiftly followed by the dark and curling hair that brushed against the jaw of a delicate and exotic beauty. Her gown was covered by a long cloak of ivory beads and blue thread, which made those who worked in milliners mouth water at the idea of its expense.

  Such a gown must cost a fortune, and as violet colored eyes lifted to the sky, the crowd surged forward, calling out to the prince, demanding he wave to them, but his eyes and attention was solely for the woman whose hand he held.

  “It is still wet,” Bird said, as she observed the ground outside of the church. “And cold.”

  Talon smiled at her description. “And if it all goes well, it will be yours.”

  At this, Bird sent him an unreadable look before she nodded. “Yes, perhaps,” she said, as she rested her hand lightly on his arm. “Have you prepared yourself to confront your attempted murderers?”

  “Do you mean, am I ready to confront my stepmother and father?” Talon said with humor. “Indeed, I am. It will be my greatest achievement yet.” They waited as another figure alighted from the carriage that had been following theirs. The person remained covered by his cloak, and together, all three entered the large church.

  Every Lord, Lady, Duke and Viscount had shown. The cathedral was filled with the crème of society, and Fitzwilliam stood proudly with his golden bride by his side. Her eyes were lowered modestly, and her hand was securely held by his.

  The priest’s voice droned on, carrying over their heads as he preached for modesty and obedience in a wife and intoned for them to be loyal to one another. “And whoever is against these two’s union shall speak now, or forever hold their peace.”

  The doors behind them opened. “I object!”

  The familiar voice and shocking pronouncement caused all those to immediately turn and observe the First Prince Talon standing in the doorway, his fiery red eyes glaring at Fitzwilliam. “I object as my claim upon the Lady of Carthage has not yet been agreed upon.”

  “You dare!” Fitzwilliam roared, his expression paling with rage.

  Queen Anne and King Malic rose in shock at the sight of Talon and all his glory. He held himself. Malic stepped forward, his eyes wide in shock. It had been two months and aside from two letters, he’d heard no other word from Dubh, or his son. He gave up a silent prayer as his son stood before him alive and whole.

  “Yes, I dare!” Talon rebutted as he sauntered in, leaving the doors behind him open. He greeted those he recognized with a short bow. “I am owed an explanation as to why upon my return, you are marrying the woman I was to wed.” Talon finished his statement, stopping before the podium. His thumbs thrusting behind his belt, he lifted his chin. “I have not agreed to its annulment.”

  “We don’t owe you anything.” Gwen stepped forward, her expression pale. “We believed you dead, and it is only natural that we have moved forward with this wedding.”

  “Believed me dead?” Talon repeated in wonder. He glanced towards his father. His voice curious, he mildly asked, “And none thought it necessary to check and see if I had been lowered into my grave?”

  “A messenger told us of your death,” his father offered, rising. He glanced for a moment at those who were hearing the business of the royals private life. “We— I believed, as he claimed to be a friend of yours.” His father motioned towards the side where a man had lowered himself. “Signor Gutierrez, it-it is Talon, my son. He has returned to me.”

  Slowly, Talon glanced over at Gutierrez, who’d been huddling behind a larger, holy man. The man shakenly lifted his head as he was forced to face Talon, who twisted his head back and forth as a malicious grin came to his lips. “Yes,” he hissed, “a good friend.”

  Inhaling sharply, he returned his attention to his father. “Father, I am overjoyed in your gladness of my return, but the fact still remains that I will not agree to this annulment unless certain conditions are met.”

  “You cannot do this. The marriage has already been consummated!” Fitzwilliam shouted out as he came from the podium. Stopping on the last step, he glared down at Talon. “You’ve lost, brother, accept it.”

  Talon’s eyes narrowed on Fitzwilliam’s face. “That is exactly why I do not agree to it. You violated my bride in my absence. Like the coward snake you are, you crawled to her on your belly and took her.” Stepping closer, they, too, seemed to share the air and tension that rippled between them. Talon added in a whisper, “I knew you to be a coward, Fitz, but I did not know you were so low as to whore yourself for the throne.”

  Pulling away, he smirked in the face of his brother’s growing rage and grunted when Fitzwilliam lashed out, punching him in the jaw, forcing his head to the right.

  The audience gasped, shocked by such violence. The two princes had till now always shown the most princely and respectable face. Though Fitzwilliam had been considered a rake, he’d never shown his temper in public.

  “I will be king, and Gwen will marry me!” he growled. “I. Am. Better. Than. You.” His red eyes appeared like red wine as hate flowed from him.

  “Enough!” Malic shouted, stepping forward. Having regained his composure from learning his eldest remained alive, he moved over to Talon’s side as Talon rubbed his jaw. “You both have done enough!” Facing Talon, he demanded, “What is it that you want?”

  Spitting out blood, Talon smirked, straightening. Releasing a sigh, he stated his demands boldly. “The crown, my kingdom… it is my right as the eldest.”

  “No!” Queen Anne screamed, moving forward, her yellow colored eyes filled with desperation. “You cannot, my king. The agreement was that whoever gained the Lady of Carthage’s hand in marriage, he would be king. You cannot go back on your word! It would disgrace us.”

  Malic, who desired to keep the throne from those who we
re tied to the House of Echimedes, looked from his wife to his son, who wiped a trail of blood from the side of his mouth.

  “The queen speaks true,” he relented. “How can I give you that which you have not earned?”

  “Oh, but I have earned it, father.” He turned and lifted his hand out towards the still-opened doors. “Come, my princess.”

  A hush fell as she stepped from the darkness, her figure revealed from the heavy cloak she’d worn to prevent her being drenched in the rain. The gown was tighter than she remembered and the white material matched the delicate lace gloves she wore. Her train of blue fabric trailed behind her. The only ornament she wore after she’d removed the large hat was a simple golden circlet. It was old and spoke of a ancient history; that is why she’d chosen it. Her slippers were soft against the red-carpeted aisle. Her entrance brought about reactions from many, but she only had eyes for one person.

  The person who previously had been defiant, and angrily glaring down at Talon now, his eyes shifting uncertainly in her presence as she drew closer, his brow furrowed. His lips worked soundlessly, but she knew he spoke her name. His eyes widened and she saw wonder, shock and fear, a fear she greatly enjoyed seeing.

  Arriving at Talon’s side, she reached out and laid her hand in his, their eyes meeting for only a moment before he turned his attention back to his father. “This, father, is the Princess of Katari. Her name is Kahlia.”

  Surprised, his father stared at her in confused shock.

  Talon continued. “She saved my life,” he pronounced loudly, resting her hand on his arm. “And in my time there, I grew to love her, and she I. We are now married,” he finished, meeting his father’s confused stare.

  “Then if you are already married, you should not care who I marry,” Gwen snapped, her violet colored eyes snapping. She lifted her chin. “Leave with your heathen princess and speak no more of thrones and annulments.”

  “I will not leave,” Talon said, resting his other hand over Bird’s. He didn’t look at her. “And I will not give up my birthright.”

  “Do you not recognize me, Lady?”

  Gwen frowned at Bird, who’d suddenly spoke up. She looked over Bird with disgust. “Why would I know of a heathen princess of a nameless country?”

  “No, you would not know this heathen princess, but surely, you remember the damphir of the name Bird?” she asked innocently, feigning no knowledge of what she’d revealed.

  Gwen’s face paled at a startling rate. “The…,” she paused, pressing a hand to her chest. She jerked her head towards Talon. “You brought your whore here?!” She lunged for Bird but was stopped by a single raised arm by Fitzwilliam, whose eyes were solely focused on Bird.

  It was odd seeing him now in the grey light of the cathedral where hundreds of royals and priests and their followers stood, observing them. On this stage, he and she now met. It was truly a mystery, fate.

  “I thought you dead…” He trailed off, the look in his eyes gentle as he looked over her. “Now I see you are alive, and a princess.”

  “But, Prince, I did die.” Her voice was soft and her brown eyes started to brighten with purple light. “After your cold rejection, I became sick, very sick, and there was nothing but death left for me.”

  Licking his lips, Fitzwilliam felt as if all words he’d wished to speak, words that he wished to speak now, were frozen within.

  “Do you remember?” Bird asked, speaking to him as if they were the only two present, not seeing the looks of jealousy Talon and Gwen held in their eyes. Though Talon had already made his peace with Bird’s ties with his brother. “The day it rained and we both stood wondering at the possibility of freedom.”

  Fitzwilliam nodded. “You spoke of there being nowhere for you to go to.”

  Nodding, she smiled. “I now know where I would go. I now have a place that I can call my home.”

  Envy took Fitzwilliam’s breath away. Bird had found her place and that place—he looked at where his brother’s hands tightened over top Bird’s—was next to his brother.

  “G-good for you.” He said the words, but he felt only sand in his mouth.

  “Enough,” Gwen spoke sharply. Stepping forward, she took Fitz’s hand. “I will marry Fitz, and there will be no argument.” She sent Talon a sharp look. “You’ve married, and so shall I.”

  “Then marry him,” Talon said easily, smirking, motioning at the priest above. “I give my permission, but… you will marry a prince and no king.”

  Her temper flaring, Gwen snapped, her eyes flashing. “I have no need of a prince! And it would please me if you would not speak. I’ve already been forced to settle for less than I wished.”

  As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake when she felt Fitzwilliam tense at her side.

  She jerked her gaze to his face, shaking her head. “My prince… I did not mean—”

  “You did not mean what?” he asked as he pulled his hand from hers, his expression pained. “Settle? Your words imply that you did not desire to marry me… is this true?”

  “No, no, that isn’t what I mean.” She tried to save herself by clinging to his arm as she searched his face, a pleading look in her eyes. “I love you… I-I…” She searched her mind for an excuse but could not find any.

  Seeing this, Fitzwilliam shook his head slowly as he forced her arms from his. “I-I will not marry you.”

  “No, no, no, no.” She tried to cling to him, but he’d already removed her hands from him and retreated. “You cannot do this to me. You have ruined me!” she screamed after him.

  Fitzwilliam turned to descend fully from the podium, only to find his way blocked by Queen Anne, her hard gaze meeting his lost one. “I will not allow you to leave. You cannot leave here.”

  His lips parted, but before he could speak, another voice spoke from behind. “Talon, I thought you said this would be a quick affair.”

  Muttering began once again as those in the pews, stood at the sight of the male who entered. The room with a loose gait, and appearance bringing the dramatic scene to its peak.

  Upon seeing the male who reached the podium, Queen lost all bravado as her arms fell to her side. “Jorin?”

  Spotting his mother, Jorin’s expression turned solemn and he bowed at the waist, straightening. He gave his mother a nod. “It is I, Mother. I’ve returned.”

  “That will be enough!” All eyes turned their attention to the Duke of Asher, head of the House Echimedes. “I believe it would be prudent if all of those unrelated to the current situation be allowed to leave.”

  It was a true testament to his social status and power as no one questioned him as the entire audience followed his dictate and rose to leave, no one

  Barely glancing at his family, he motioned for them to follow him, and like a wave, others who’d been sitting arose and exited the church, quickly donning their hats and cloaks.

  King Malic gained all their attention by speaking aloud. “It seems that much has happened this day.” He closed his eyes, just thinking of what the gossip rags would say. Sighing, he glanced at those who still stood frozen at the sight of Jorin. “Return to your lodgings. I will not see any of you till the morrow… in the morning.” With that, King Malic left the church followed by the queen and his guard.

  Gwen was helped down from the podium by her maid. She stopped short and attempted to speak to Fitzwilliam, but he gave her the cut direct by turning his back fully to her. Reluctantly, she turned from him and continued on her way out.

  Talon took Bird’s hand and the two of them left the hall holding onto each other’s hands tightly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bird stood in the window of their bedroom. Talon was still abed, and the covers were mused from their lovemaking a few hours before. He had wrapped her in his arms, and fallen asleep immediately while she hadn’t yet been able to fall asleep. The city lights of London were still lit, and the noisy traffic down below of carriages and their wheels rattling against the cob
blestone streets could be to blame for her restlessness.

  But Bird knew what truly caused her restlessness: it was the plan she’d spun. She glanced over her shoulder at Talon, who laid in peaceful slumber, unaware of her future plans. She turned her eyes back to the window, lifting the blanket she had wrapped around her higher.

  London was colder than she remembered, but something about its temperature reflected how she felt. She had made a bet with herself as the prize and she wasn’t sure she would be seen as worthy of it. Well, if Talon would believe her worthy of it.

  Turning away from the window, she made her way past the bed and reaching out, she opened the door. Shutting it silently behind her, she descended the long staircase and turning a corner, headed towards the back garden. She felt a bit of sadness at the familiar walk, a walk she’d made with hopes and dreams in every step.

  As she drew closer to the back of the house, she pushed the glass door open. Its glass texture was cold to the touch. She released a small shiver when she felt the rainy wind brush against her skin. She glanced at the tall wall of brick and mortar. The iron-wrought gate still stood, innocently. Vines having at some point crawled their way between the iron loops now graced it.

  Stepping out onto the path, she wandered closer to the spit. Stopping short, she glanced over her shoulder to assure herself that no one was following her. The new servants Talon had hired were mixed with those who’d remained through Talon’s rage.

  Bird hadn’t been able to pull the entirety of the story from him. He’d swiftly changed topics when it’d been mentioned and had eagerly gone ahead with his showing of his townhouse.

  “Dua,” she called. “Are you there?”

  The shadows shifted to her right and Dua stepped forward, his head bowed as he knelt before her. “Yes, princess. Dua is here.”