by Simone Pond
A shadow passed over the prince’s eyes, but only for a second. Did he know she was scheming? Or was he suddenly aware that he’d just sealed his life with hers and there was no turning back?
He took her hand up to his lips and kissed her fingers. Each touch burned like the flame of a candle. “You are too generous, my wife. And yes, you are correct, I have many ladies who can appease my carnal appetite. A healthy pregnancy is my main concern.”
She curtsied, graciously. “As is mine, my lord. Speaking of which, would you please call Stanner and ask him to escort me to my chambers. I must get out of this gown and into bed. It’s well past my bedtime.”
The prince gave her one more kiss, then went off to find the watchman. Ciara hoped he’d gather up a gaggle of girls along the way to keep him occupied while she got Stanner to deal with the Watlington issue.
12
Ciara and Stanner sat by the fireplace in her chambers.
“We must get rid of Watlington tonight,” said Ciara, brushing out her long raven locks.
“Watlington? Why?” He stood up and walked over to the fireplace and began poking at one of the logs.
“What have I told you about asking why?”
Stanner stared at the fire; the lines across his forehead had become more pronounced over the last few months. “What do you need done?” He sounded defeated.
“It’s quite simple, really.” She pulled a piece of folded paper out from under the cushion of the chair and held it up for Stanner. “You must get this into his nightly tea. Since there’s the wedding festivities, who knows when that will be. But the swine is a creature of habit and will most definitely partake in the tea ceremony prior to sleep. Regardless of the hour.”
Stanner set down the poker and took the folded paper, tucking it into his uniform. “And how do you propose I get to his tea? Tea service is the maid’s responsibility, not mine.”
She grinned a bit wickedly. “I think it’s obvious how you’re going to get to the tea. Need I explain the workings of a man and woman …”
He groaned. “Have you seen Watlington’s maid? She’s a cow.”
“Dear sir, that’s no way to speak of a lady,” Ciara goaded.
“She’s no lady. She’s … a beast.”
“Well then, you have your job cut out for you, now don’t you.” Ciara gestured to the door.
Stanner started to say something, then pursed his lips together and remained silent. He knew better.
When he got to the door, he turned and asked, “Why now? Why pick him off now that he’s leaving tomorrow to assist in the war campaign?”
Ciara grinned. “Report back after the task is completed.”
“Yes, your majesty.” He bowed and stalked out the door.
Ciara didn’t necessarily need Watlington out of the picture to fulfill her goal of taking over the kingdom. But she refused to allow the revolting pig of a man to have what was owed her—full ownership of the estate in Eshlan.
A few months prior, Ciara had made an appointment to meet with Declan, the head knight. She used the guise of wanting to secure the grounds for the wedding celebration. They strolled through the rows of tall rose bushes when she stopped and turned to the head knight.
“As soon as Clovis and his tribe have been annihilated, you are to clean up and prepare the castle in Eshlan for my arrival.”
Declan stared at her with incredulity. “Does Prince Kieran know of this arrangement, Lady Ciara?”
She plucked a red rose from the bush and tucked it into the breastplate of his uniform. “I think it’s best if the prince doesn’t know everything that happens within Verubri … For instance, what would he think of your extracurricular activities with some of the other knights?”
Declan’s face hardened, and he remained silent for a few long moments. Ciara picked another rose and sniffed it nonchalantly.
He took the rose from his breastplate and tossed it to the ground. “Fine.”
“You’ll send for me once it’s all arranged,” she told him.
Declan grunted his confirmation, turned, and stalked away.
Ciara stood at the window of her balcony. The autumn breeze sifted into her room. She reveled in knowing that Watlington would be dead by morning and soon Eshlan would be hers. She still had a crucial piece of unfinished business: getting rid of Prince Kieran.
13
No one shed a real tear at Watlington’s funeral. Token eulogies were spoken and respectful words shared among the upper echelon. But it was obvious everyone wanted to hurry up and be done with the whole affair.
Ciara assumed that after Watlington’s “untimely” demise, the next phase of her plan would be straightforward. Stanner would murder the prince. Ciara would seize leadership of Verubri. The king would pose no threat; his interest in conquests went no further than bedding ladies of the court. And the queen was as fragile as a thousand-year-old parchment; she could barely manage sitting propped upright on her throne. But in Ciara’s haste to off Watlington, she had overlooked one important detail …
Watlington and the prince were the only two men in all of Verubri privy to every single minutia concerning the war strategy. The information had been compartmentalized and dispersed between the top counselors and captains. If anyone were captured and tortured they could disclose only a fraction of the plan. With Watlington dead, the prince would now have to travel south with the army to keep the captains informed. He’d be out of reach for months.
To make matters worse, Stanner had stopped coming by in the evenings. Ciara knew something wasn’t right. Of course, the prince had grown increasingly suspicious after Watlington’s sudden death. His daily visits had become less doting and more interrogational. Then one day, he ordered the staff to keep Ciara locked inside her chambers for the remainder of her pregnancy. He said it was for her health and safety, but Ciara knew better. She grew more weary as the inevitable approached. Her and Olen’s baby girl was coming. And soon.
On a cold October morning when the prince was preparing to depart for Eshlan, the door to Ciara’s chambers opened. She sat up in bed, surprised to see her husband.
“I’ve come to say farewell, my wife.”
The prince stalked over to the bed and placed his hands on Ciara’s round belly. He’d come to say goodbye to the baby, not Ciara. He had no affections for her, despite his ongoing performance. The feelings were mutual.
“Must you leave?” Ciara strained her voice to sound disappointed.
“I must go with my army. But I promise you I will return for the birth of my son. Even if we are in the midst of battle, I will make my way back to Verubri—on the wings of an eagle if I have to.”
Or a dragon … Ciara thought as her chest roiled with nausea. Time was running out. What if she were to give birth while the prince was still alive? Or what if he discovered the baby wasn’t his? She didn’t want to consider the repercussions …
“But I’ll be so lonely without you, my lord.” She faked distress as best she could.
The prince leaned down and sealed his promise of return with a blistering kiss. Ciara realized that regardless of the baby’s gender, Prince Kieran wasn’t planning on keeping her around after the delivery.
“Stay well, my wife. Let nothing interfere with the health of my child.” He turned away and left the room. No smiles or glances back.
As she lay in her bed, rubbing her large belly, she stared off to the looming Vindius Mountains. The constantly changing emotions caused by the pregnancy must’ve affected her ability to think straight. Everything seemed to be crumbling around her. She needed some immediate assistance in finishing her plan before she gave birth. Stanner was most likely dead. But she had an idea …
She tugged on the string to call on her chambermaid.
A few moments later, the frumpy woman shuffled into Ciara’s suite. Her cheeks were ruddy and her frizzy gray hair a mess. After the betrayal of her former chambermaid, Kateline, she had become discerning. Clarice was an obvious simp
leton who—as far as Ciara could tell—had miraculously bumbled her way this far through life without accidentally falling off a cliff. This one would cause no trouble or distractions; her very limited vocabulary, intelligence, beauty, and breeding ensured that.
“Yes, my lady?” The chambermaid attempted a curtsey.
“Bring me the head knight, Declan. It is of vital importance that I speak with him now. And no one must know about this. Not even the prince.”
The woman bowed her head and scrambled off.
Ciara remained in bed; she didn’t need to make herself more attractive for the knight. Seduction wasn’t the way to pull Declan’s strings.
14
A distant clinking penetrated the far off corners of Evelyn’s mind. She recognized the familiar pattern. She reached toward a dot of light from the folds of blackness, but she couldn’t pull herself up out of the pit. It had sucked her under like a whirlpool …
Voices muffled in and out. The clanking of chains echoed from somewhere far away. She stayed down underneath the layers of earth and existence, where it was safe. Where she was free from any pain or conscious thoughts. It was better down in the pit all alone …
More voices tried to pry their way into Evelyn’s cocoon, but she stayed safely tucked beneath the surface. How much time had passed? Whoever was above the tomb of darkness was doing something. Moving her body? Was she dead? She just wanted them to leave her alone and let her rest in peace. Whatever awaited her up there would be a world of only agony.
Icy water jolted Evelyn out of her limbo. She sat up and stared at her feet—the source of agonizing torture. Her ankles were crooked and knotted like tree trunks. The pain, though far less than before, still throbbed through her bones.
“She’s awake!”
“Oh, praise the heavens!”
Evelyn looked up from the disaster her feet had become to see Doran and Aine standing close by. Their bright smiles were further amplified by the glowing torchlight. Evelyn leaned back against the wall, at a loss for words. Her father, Lugh, came forward. No longer did he shuffle in that pathetic, hunched over manner. He didn’t look like a fragile bird that could be snapped in two. He stood boldly, his physique solid and firm. Everything had been restored to fullness—even his stringy gray hair had returned to a lustrous golden hue. Like in the book of legends, Lugh of Gorias was godlike.
“Daughter.” He kneeled down and took hold of Evelyn’s hand.
“You’ve been restored,” she murmured.
“Now it is your turn,” he said.
“But how?”
He rose to his feet and opened his palm. A blue-white light radiated from within. He lifted the magnificent spear. Of course, the spear of Gorias! Aine had brought the crystal stone with her to the dungeons. And Lugh knew how to use its magic to heal. He was the real dragon slayer, Evelyn thought to herself.
“I’ve failed,” she whispered.
“You have not!” Aine’s little voice carried far. “You killed the dragon.”
“It doesn’t matter …” said Evelyn.
Doran kneeled down and rested his hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. “It does matter. You killed it without the spear.”
“But the villagers … we must get to them and stop Prince Kieran.” She attempted to stand, but pain shot through her bone marrow and she sank back down.
“We must heal you,” said Lugh.
He handed the spear of Gorias to Evelyn and positioned it over her heart in a horizontal fashion. “Hold it in place—no matter what.” He stepped away.
“That’s all?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Lugh nodded and gestured for Doran and Aine to move back.
Evelyn held the spear horizontally over her heart—if felt good to have her partner back. She’d missed the feisty thing that had a mind of its own.
The spear began to glow brighter, heating up Evelyn’s palms. She kept her grip firm, making sure it stayed in position. The spear grew white hot, but she held on. A streak of light shot out like a beam, covering her entire body. She pressed back against the wall as the spear’s healing light got to work rearranging all of her broken parts.
When the healing was finished, Evelyn stood up and gave proper hugs to everyone.
“I have to say,” said Doran, “I’ve seen you in some interesting attire, but that dress absolutely takes the cake. You could fit another you inside of it.” He laughed and Evelyn looked down to the filthy gown covered in her dried blood and dungeon muck.
She grinned. “I had a change of clothes, but I seem to have misplaced them …”
Aine opened her knapsack and pulled out a bundle of clothes. “Doran was prepared.”
Evelyn handed the spear of Gorias to her father and took the clothes—a pair of trousers and a tunic. “Turn around, please, gentlemen.”
She let the oversized gown slip to the ground, and she quickly put on the dark wool trousers and pulled the tunic over her head. She found her boots on the ground across the prison cell. She put them on and laced them up. Once again, she was properly attired.
“I’m hoping this time we don’t have to cross the moat,” Evelyn joked, though she was completely serious.
Lugh held up the spear and told the group, “We’re walking right out the front doors.”
Evelyn laughed. “I know you’re a legendary warrior, but that’s a bit ridiculous. Have you seen how many guests are here for the party? How did you two even get into the castle?”
The prison cell grew exceptionally quiet as they stared at Evelyn.
“What?” she finally asked, annoyed by the silence.
Aine stepped closer to Evelyn. “Guests? Party?”
“The celebration for Ciara’s birth announcement … You couldn’t have missed it if you tried.”
Doran came over and placed his arm over Evelyn’s shoulder. Why were they acting so strange? She pulled away.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“The party for Ciara was months ago. June,” said Doran.
“What month is it?” Evelyn swallowed hard.
“It’s almost November,” said Doran. “We met up with my friend, Gaberdine of Tulles, in the west hills a while back. He told us that he’d dropped you off at the castle the night of the villagers’ sacrifice. It’s taken us a long time to get back to Verubri and figure out a way into the castle. With the war going on, security has been intense.”
“I don’t understand,” she muttered. “How am I still alive?
“Someone’s been giving you water and broth,” said Aine, pointing to a stack of empty bowls.
“And the villagers are definitely dead?” Evelyn’s voice cracked.
Doran nodded.
“He sacrificed them to awaken another dragon. Because of me they’re dead.”
“No,” said Doran. “They’re dead because of Prince Kieran.”
Lugh approached and handed her the spear of Gorias. “You couldn’t have saved them, Daughter. It was their destiny. Just as it was your destiny to be in these dungeons during the summer solstice ceremony and the months that followed. Because you were not sacrificed, the entire clan of Galician dragons could not be awakened. Try to see the good in these circumstances.”
“Good? The prince continues to rule Verubri and another dragon has been awakened. And an entire village is no more.”
Lugh patted her back. “All has not been lost, Evelyn of Gorias. Had you not killed the one dragon there would now be two. And the villagers would still be dead. And let us not forget, you were able to slay the beast without the spear of Gorias. That has never been done before.”
“Thank Mother’s cleverness for that.” She paused a moment. “I’d like to go home. Back to Ocelum and Mother.” As the words flew from her mouth, she knew they’d be met with debate.
“There is still work to be done. A new dragon,” said Lugh.
Doran added, “It is traveling with the prince and his army toward Eshlan.”
“Why Eshlan?” asked
Evelyn.
“Clovis and his tribe of Oxybii,” explained Doran. “They’re dragon warriors. Many months ago, Prince Kieran had gone down to Eshlan to negotiate with Queen Boudicca for the release of Clovis and his men. He’d been tricked into believing they were going to join him in his battle to conquer Russex. However … upon their release, Clovis and his warriors double-crossed the prince, stormed the castle, and killed Queen Boudicca and her people. The prince is seeking revenge upon Clovis. They’ve been marching for months, slaughtering and pillaging villages along the way to Eshlan.”
Out of everything Doran had said, two words stood out for Evelyn. “Dragon warriors?”
Lugh said, “Men who have fought alongside dragon slayers for centuries. We must get to Eshlan and join them.”
Evelyn paced around the dungeon, absorbing the information. She might not have been able to save the villagers, but she could stop Prince Kieran from slaughtering more innocent people. She could stop his kingdom of blood. With the help of the dragon warriors, they could end the dragons of Galicia.
“We will go to Eshlan,” she told them. “But I must first go to Ocelum. I must see my mother.”
Nobody uttered a word of protest.
Aine spoke up. “I will go ahead to Eshlan and give word to Clovis that the dragon slayer is coming.”
Evelyn shook her head. “Absolutely not. You’re a child.”
“All the better to make the journey.” She reached for Evelyn’s hands. “You must promise me, Evelyn of Gorias, that you will hurry to Eshlan.”
Evelyn kissed the top of Aine’s head. “I promise I will be with you soon.”
The girl looked up at Evelyn and smiled, her large blue eyes sparkling with excitement—she loved a good adventure. “I know you will, my friend.”
