The Wayward Prince (The Redfern Legacy Book 1)

by N. C. Hayes

  He looked different.

  His once shaggy hair was cropped short and neatly combed. He wore all black: a well-tailored jacket embroidered with Zathryan’s winged lion crest in gold on the breast, fitted pants, and shining boots, with a short cape pinned to his shoulders. The Crown Prince’s mouth was a hard line. He and his entourage stopped as Stefan stepped forward and bowed deeply.

  “Your Highness, allow me to escort you to the king’s—”

  “I know where I’m going. Thank you, captain,” he said curtly. “But please, join us. I know your presence is a comfort to my father.” Stefan bowed again and fell into place behind them as they crossed the hall, eyes fixed forward as they made their way to the door on the other end. As soon as it shut, the crowd exploded into whispers.

  My stomach knotted. I muttered something about breakfast as I pushed my way toward the exit, but no one so much as glanced at me. I left the hall and, for the first time, walked through the castle freely. I didn’t quite know what to do with myself and wound up wandering the corridors in a daze until I found myself in the kitchens, where the cooks had not yet abandoned their posts to join the others. One of them was called Henry, a sorcerer with dark curls and deep dimples when he smiled. He wasn’t smiling now, instead looking rather grim, but he picked up a plate when he saw me and piled it high before placing it in my hands and shooing me out of the kitchens.

  I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do than lie in bed, so I headed back to my room and did just that. Once I’d returned to the familiarity of my quarters, I found that my stomach had settled, and I was grateful to have so much food in front of me. Catchfly was grateful for both the roast chicken and sliced ham I tossed to her. She ate greedily before coming to snoop around my plate for anything I’d left, which wasn’t much. She pawed at it a few times and I relented, setting it on the floor for her to lick clean.

  “You’re disgusting,” I said over her slurping. She ignored me. I spent the next few hours reading before I eventually fell asleep, napping for most of the afternoon. When I woke, there was still not a soul to be seen outside my door, so I returned to the great hall.

  Everyone was still there. Tables with food and wine were set out, as if it were a party. It crossed my mind that for some, it very well might have been. All of us, however, were witnessing history. Medeisian kings didn’t die often.

  Another hour passed, and it was fully dark outside. I overheard some people say they might turn in for the night. Then the door opened.

  Stefan marched out and stood in the center of the room, his face hardened and pale. And then he said, “The king is dead. Long live the King.”

  “Long live the King!” the courtiers echoed. My heart was in my throat. The hall fell silent once again as footsteps sounded, and the herald cried out:

  “His Majesty, King Aydan of Medeisia.”

  Nearly in unison, the crowd dropped down to one knee. I peeked up and saw King Aydan approach Stefan, who knelt. Stefan unsheathed his sword and presented it to the new king.

  “Your Majesty, I offer you the protection of my blade.” His head remained low. “May it guard your body, your throne, and your realm, all the days of my life.”

  “Captain Whittaker, you served my father well, and I trust you will continue to do the same for me. You knelt before me a captain. Rise and face me as a lord of my court.” Stefan stood, looking shocked when King Aydan shook his hand. The king turned his attention to the crowded, silent hall. “My father, King Zathryan, served Medeisia well. Tomorrow night we shall lay him to rest upon his pyre and honor his reign with a feast. Until then, I shall retire to my chambers.” He did not look at anyone else before turning on his heel and walking back through the doors.

  Chatter erupted in the hall as the nobles began gossiping. Some of the ladies cried quietly into handkerchiefs, comforting one another. I looked across the room at Stefan, who made eye contact with me for half a moment, looking bewildered. I turned to leave the hall, knowing he would get the message.

  Back in my darkened room, I leaned against the door, smiling. Zathryan was finally dead.

  I rubbed my hands together and willed a ball of light to form in my palm before sending it to the ceiling to illuminate the room. For the first time in a year, I was not scared of being found out. My heart fluttered, and Catchfly rubbed herself excitedly on my legs.

  “It finally happened, Catchfly,” I whispered. “He’s finally gone.” And he had returned. The door opened behind me, and I stopped trying to imagine what life would look like under the new king’s reign. Stefan entered, grief-stricken.

  “Hi,” he croaked, and I wrapped my arms around him.

  “Stef,” I murmured. “I’m so sorry.” A lie.

  I pulled him down to the bed, where he lay his head on my shoulder. We stayed like that for a while, and whether he cried or not, I didn’t see.

  “Did you do that?” he asked suddenly. Stefan was pointing to the ceiling where my ball of light remained.

  “Yes,” I replied cautiously. He pushed himself off me.

  “Are you insane?” he hissed. “Do you not remember what the consequences are for using magic?”

  “I remember.”

  “Then why would you risk—”

  “Because King Aydan taught me to use my magic in the first place.” Stefan’s brow furrowed. “He knows the truth about me, my intentions. He’s not going to hold me to Zathryan’s standards.”

  “You can’t know how he’ll be as king. That kind of power, it—sorcerer kings are not the same as lords and princes, Shaye. They’re chosen by the gods.”

  “Maybe so, but King Aydan was . . .” I wanted to say my friend, but instead I said, “He was a fair man when I stayed with him—” We both jolted at a sudden knock. “Does anyone know you’re here?” I asked softly.

  “Of course not,” he said. Another knock.

  I motioned for him to stand away from the door as I stepped forward and grabbed the knob. I took a deep breath before cracking the door to peek through the opening. I gasped and threw it open wider.

  Elise stood before me, her hands folded neatly in front of her. An eager smile spread across her face. She looked the same as I’d last seen her: golden brown hair pinned neatly at the nape of her neck, dress crisply ironed. Tonight she wore no apron, but had a small golden brooch in the shape of a winged lion pinned to her front.

  “Elise,” I breathed. “I-I can’t believe it’s you.”

  “Good evening, my lady.” She smiled. “It’s lovely to see you again.” She glanced at Stefan, who had emerged from his corner, then back at me. “I am so sorry to interrupt. However, I have been sent here to ask if you might feel up to an audience with His Majesty.”

  I swallowed. “He wants to see me?”

  “Yes, my lady, if you’re not otherwise occupied.”

  “I’m not. I mean, I am available, that is. To meet with His Majesty.” I gripped the door. “Could I have just a moment to freshen up?”

  “Certainly, my lady.” Elise inclined her head. “I’ll wait in the corridor. Take your time.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Why does the king want to see you?” Stefan asked the second the door shut.

  “How would I know?” I replied, sitting at my vanity. I splashed a little of the cold water on my face and patted it dry.

  “I don’t understand,” Stefan continued, then chewed the inside of his cheek. “Zathryan isn’t even cold yet and the king wants to see you privately.”

  “Well,” I said, wrapping my hair back into a long braid, “I’ll be sure to tell you all about our mundane conversation when I return.” I stood and turned toward the door, but Stefan gripped my wrist.

  “Be careful, Shaye,” he warned. “He’s not the Wayward Prince you thought you knew—he’s a king now.” I took my hand back.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.” I opened the door and joined Elise in the corridor.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Elise led m
e through a servants’ passage to the north end of the castle, as the great hall was still crowded and she didn’t want to cause me any discomfort.

  “Thanks for that,” I told her. The idea of those people watching me enter the new king’s private chambers mere hours after his arrival made my blood run cold.

  I’d never been allowed past the doors leading to the king’s chambers, let alone inside the dwelling. Similar to the private residence of the prince, it was intended to be a family home within the castle and not to be entered unless by direct invitation. Zathryan and Irsa had lived there alone together for more than a century. Part of me felt sorry for the late king, mourning his dead daughter while fighting for his life, surrounded by servants and guards, yet utterly alone. Just a small part.

  We arrived at the chamber door, which matched the ornately carved doors to the great hall and to the chambers I’d stayed in all those months ago. Elise reached out to push one, and it opened without hesitation.

  “His Majesty reworked the wards so I could come and go as needed,” she explained as she guided me through the door.

  The foyer of the king’s chambers was grandly decorated, the walls painted a dark shade of green and covered in ancient, beautiful portraits. I had seen the works of many skilled painters throughout the castle since my arrival, and not one of them came close to what I saw here. It was hard to contain my awe as I looked around, trying to study each one as I passed.

  “There’s more in the parlor, if you’d like to follow me, my lady,” Elise said, gesturing in the other direction. I followed, craning my neck to see the frames that sat up high, some nearly at the ceiling.

  In the parlor, as promised, dozens of paintings filled the walls of the enormous room. Where the foyer had been portraits, I assumed of long-dead members of the royal line, here the walls were covered in landscapes. I looked around at the other décor: the beautiful furniture, the extravagant pottery and floral arrangements that covered every table. I suddenly felt very underdressed.

  “If you’ll excuse me, my lady, I’ll go and tell His Majesty that you’ve arrived.” She curtsied and left me there alone.

  I couldn’t shake my nerves. I paced the parlor twice, sat on one of the sofas, then quickly stood when I realized it was probably not polite to sit in a king’s presence.

  Swift footsteps echoed from the corridor where Elise had disappeared. I watched expectantly, assuming she was returning to collect me and bring me to—

  Aydan himself appeared in the parlor, walking both quickly and restrained, like a child whose mother told him to stop running indoors. I took a step toward him, then another, and met him in the middle of the room. Gone was the hardened expression I had seen in the great hall, replaced with the soft eyes I remembered and a half smile as he greeted me.

  “Shaye,” he said. “It is . . . very good to see you.”

  I jolted, remembering myself, and curtsied. “Your Majesty.” He scoffed.

  “Very funny,” he said. Then, realizing I wasn’t joking, added, “You know how I feel about titles.”

  “You’re the king,” I offered as explanation.

  “I’m still just Aydan.” His face didn’t change, but I felt his mood shift to concern. “Are you—erm, how are you? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” I wiped my hands on my skirt, but it didn’t do anything to help the heat growing beneath them. “This is all just very strange,” I admitted.

  He chuckled darkly. “I understand. Here.” He walked over to a nearby table which held wine and glasses and poured one for each of us.

  “Thank you.” I accepted it and drank deeply. I hadn’t tasted wine in some time. “Why did you make Stefan a lord?” I blurted. I expected Aydan to laugh, but instead he raised an eyebrow.

  “He and the rest of the Guard made it clear they were loyal to my father. I needed to ensure they are also loyal to the Crown. The captain presented his sword to me in front of every courtier in Ayzelle. The rest of the Guard will follow his lead. It seemed like a logical choice.” He drank from his own glass. “You call him Stefan now.” It was not a question. I flushed.

  “We’ve developed a friendship in the last few months.”

  “I see.” He paused, and seemed to be studying me as I stood before him.

  I looked around again at the paintings. “These are lovely.”

  “They are. As soon as I’m settled in here, these will all be taken down and placed in the public galleries of Medeisia.”

  “You don’t like them?”

  “I love them,” he said, “but my father had a bad habit of keeping beautiful things locked away. These have been here for more than a century now. The people deserve to see them.” I nodded and he followed my gaze to a particularly simple piece: a field of purple wildflowers. “Do you like that one?”

  “I do.”

  “I’ll make sure it goes somewhere you can see it often, then.” He took another drink, then asked, “Would you like to meet my friends?”

  ~

  Aydan led me down hall, further into his new home. At the end we met an oak door, and I heard voices chatting away happily on the other side. The king pushed it open, revealing another huge, lavishly decorated room. The walls were a creamy shade of white that, despite the lack of windows, when paired with the high ceiling made this room appear much brighter than the foyer and parlor. On one end was an enormous wooden table, long enough to seat at least twelve people. On the other was a sitting area with plush furniture arranged around a fireplace, a mirror of the parlor room outside. Lounging in a high-backed armchair was one of the men who had accompanied Aydan into the great hall. He was sharply dressed, still wearing the black ensemble he’d arrived in. It was quite like Aydan’s, minus the embroidered breast. Golden hair fell to his shoulders with half of it tied back into a knot, and he was laughing, a low, warm sound, while one of the women from their entourage stood near a table filled with decanters and glasses, pouring from a bottle of amber liquor.

  I was immediately self-conscious of my old, worn-down dress and frizzy braid. Her black hair was a mass of tight, shiny coils that lay down her back, with the front pulled away from her face with gold pins. Her slate gray gown was simple and elegant, with sleeves trimmed in white lace that stood out against her dark skin. I watched as she rolled her eyes at the blond man’s laughter and shook her head.

  “You cannot beat her,” she said, handing him a tumbler.

  “Of course I can, I’ll show you tomorrow.” He took a drink. “You know she won’t turn me down.”

  “That’s because Kenna delights in your suffering.” She drank as well. Aydan cleared his throat and they both looked up, surprised.

  “Aydan darling, who would win in an arm-wrestling match, me or Kenna?” The man recovered first.

  “Kenna. Every time.” The blond looked deeply offended, while the woman laughed. Aydan gestured to the pair. “Shaye, this is Gerridan Hollick, my oldest friend and newly appointed emissary.” I inclined my head in greeting. “This is Lady Shaye Eastly.”

  “Just Shaye,” I corrected as I fiddled with the now empty wineglass in my hands.

  “Glad to meet you, Shaye,” Gerridan replied before bowing his head. The woman approached and took my glass from me.

  “May I?” The corners of her eyes crinkled as a wide, warm smile spread across her face.

  “I, um, yes—thank you,” I said, even though she was already pouring. She brought it back to me filled, and I smiled and took a sip as Aydan spoke again.

  “Princess Hannele is a strategy expert and will be working closely with my generals,” he said. Upon hearing her title, I swallowed and coughed, curtsying quickly. I had allowed a princess to serve me. Aydan and Gerridan were chuckling—not at me, but at the look on Princess Hannele’s face as she shoved Aydan’s arm. He laughed and batted her away. I could only gape.

  “Don’t do that!” Hannele scolded. Then to me, “My family has not held any real power in centuries. The title is a formality.”
>
  “Quite the high-ranking formality,” I observed. Gerridan smirked while Hannele glared at him.

  “My grandfather aided Solandis in her rebellion and turned against his brother Niklaus. Solandis allowed his line to keep the title and some lands . . . I’m sure it’s more complicated than that, but it’s been a few decades since anyone told me the whole story.” She paused to drink.

  “So, you’re both from Sylvanna?” I asked. The pair nodded.

  “We serve on the council,” said Hannele.

  “Or we did,” Gerridan said, “before dear Aydan begged us to join his Cabinet.”

  “I asked,” Aydan said dryly. “And I believe I’m paying you double what you made serving in Sylvanna.”

  “Oh, you certainly are.” Gerridan winked at the king.

  Aydan leaned in and explained, somewhat apologetically, “We tend to keep things casual between us.”

  “I can see that.”

  Gerridan huffed a laugh as a door on the opposite wall opened. In walked a serious-looking man holding a tumbler of his own. It was the other man that had accompanied Aydan to Ayzelle. He’d abandoned the armor and broadsword he’d been wearing upon arrival, now in a simple pair of black trousers and a thick dark blue knitted sweater that complemented his golden brown skin and stretched over his broad muscled chest and shoulders. His hair was cropped short, and his neck was covered in the same vine-like tattoos Aydan wore, though his were less floral. He looked up, registering Aydan first, but when his eyes landed on me, he jumped, dropping his glass. It shattered on the floor, spilling liquor all over the rug.

  No sooner than the glass shattered, Hannele waved her hand lightly. The liquid soaking the rug vanished, and the glass reassembled itself before my eyes.

  “Shaye, this is my Lord General, Alastair Greenwood,” said Aydan in the silence that fell. “Al, this is Lady Shaye Eastly, though she claims she’d rather you just call her Shaye.”

  General Greenwood inclined his head. “I’m sorry if I startled you, Shaye.”