The Wayward Prince (The Redfern Legacy Book 1)

by N. C. Hayes

  “No, thank you, I think I’ll just sit in the bath for a while.” I turned for the bathroom, but Elise beat me to it and began filling the tub with steaming water. In a cupboard on the wall she found jars of salts and oils, which she poured in as well. A floral perfumed scent mingled with the steam. She shut them back in the cupboard, then wiped her hands on her apron.

  “If you need any help, give a shout. I’ll be cleaning the bedroom,” she said before leaving the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. I didn’t bother telling her that nothing but the bed had been touched since she left me the night before; I knew she’d find something worth lingering for.

  I tossed my nightdress on the floor and climbed into the tub, leaning my head back against the cool porcelain as I tried to forget the argument with Stefan. He had never been angry with me before, nor I with him.

  After a few minutes of mulling the conversation over, I called out for Elise, unsure if she was still in the next room. She opened the door but did not look inside.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “Would you please bring me something to write with? I need to send a message.”

  “Of course.” The door shut, and a second later, a pen and piece of stationery appeared on a small table sitting next to the tub. I didn’t bother to leave the warmth of the water. I only needed to write three words: I’ll do it.

  I folded the note and placed it back on the table before calling through the door, “The king said I could send a note with you. Would you mind?”

  “Not at all, my lady.” I heard her snap her fingers from the bedroom, and the note disappeared. With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and lay my head back once again, trying my best to enjoy my soak.

  Half an hour later, I emerged to find an empty, spotless room after Elise had made her departure. I took a towel to my hair before sitting at the vanity and brushing the long waves. It had been a long time since my hair had been washed properly, so I left it down to dry and began inspecting the bottles and jars arranged neatly on the table before me. A proper lady’s vanity. I was intrigued, though I didn’t know what half of these creams and potions did. I supposed Elise would be able to tell me. I’d just opened one of them to sniff its contents—it smelled of rosemary and lavender, and as far as I could tell was meant to be spread on one’s face—when Elise returned, holding a note with a blue wax seal. Without speaking, I broke the seal and unfolded the message:

  Lady Advisor,

  I’m glad to hear it, and I am grateful. The day is yours. The pyre will be lit at sunset.

  Fondly,

  –A

  I folded the note and set it aside. “Yesterday, I was little more than a slave,” I said. “Today, I’m supposed to be a lady of the court. The Chief Advisor.” I made eye contact with Elise in the mirror, and she reached for a brush. “I feel like a fraud. What if I mess it all up? The last Chief Advisor—”

  “The last Chief Advisor was a traitor. You are not. If you do your job with the interest of the citizens of this continent in mind, then you will be ten times the leader Lord Redfern was.” Elise began separating my hair into sections. “The king would not have offered you the job if he thought you would do poorly. He enjoys your company, yes, but he is not frivolous.”

  “I haven’t seen him in a year,” I said, more to myself than her.

  She pursed her lips. After a moment’s silence, she said, “I don’t know much about leading a court, or advising a king.” She ran the brush through my hair. “But I do know how to make you look like a lady. Looking the part is half the job.” She winked at my reflection, and I nearly smiled.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hours later, I arrived without escort to the pyre outside on the grounds. No one seemed to notice I was there, and I was grateful. It felt strange to be standing amongst the courtiers, dressed in fine clothes like theirs, rather than the grimy dresses I was so used to wearing. Despite my best efforts, the two maid uniforms I owned held an oily layer of soot and grease that could not be washed out. Tonight Elise had selected a charcoal gray gown for me, trimmed with black lace at the neck and wrists. Elegant, and simple enough to be put on alone. The varying fashions worn by the noble women of Ayzelle—many-layered skirts, wide pannier dresses with intricate, decorative laced backs, as well as single-layered dresses with collars up to the throat and elaborate embroidery across the entire gown as if the fabric was a canvas and thread was paint—all seemed to share the feature of needing several servants to dress and undress each day. I wasn’t sure that I would ever be comfortable enough to allow Elise or Isolde to see me unclothed, and despite my new status, it did not feel right to ask them for something I could do easily enough by myself.

  The courtiers were gathered near the pyre itself, many of the same weeping women from the night before placing small bouquets at the base, dropping handkerchiefs and other mementos nearby, as if a small piece of them would travel with their king to what lay beyond. I fought the urge to spit.

  Standing further back was another group, who by their attire, I guessed were residents of the nearby villages come to pay their respects as well. I could see from where I stood that many of them had their own bouquets and mementos to drop along the pyre’s edge. Most seemed hesitant to cross paths with the weeping ladies. I couldn’t say I blamed them.

  After a moment of watching, I felt a hand meet my elbow. Stefan stood beside me, looking grim.

  “You look nice,” he said stiffly. He wore mourning clothes instead of armor tonight.

  “So do you,” I replied hesitantly. “Stef, I—”

  “I’m sorry,” he cut me off. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I just . . . you mean a lot to me, Shaye. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

  “You mean a lot to me too, Stefan.” I took one of his hands in my own. “You’ve been a friend to me these past months. I wouldn’t have survived without you.” He squeezed my hand, then opened his mouth to speak, but before any words came out, the herald called out Aydan’s arrival.

  Aydan and his Cabinet approached the pyre in a similar fashion to their arrival the previous night; Aydan led the way, with Kenna and Hannele flanking him, followed closely by Alastair and Gerridan. Elise must have known what the rest of them would be wearing, as my charcoal gown closely resembled the gowns of the ladies in Aydan’s entourage. The men wore black, and Aydan was the only one of them who remained unarmed. A few yards from the pyre, they stopped and Aydan turned to me, inclining his head slightly. I stiffened, gave the best curtsy I could muster, and crossed the crowd to fall in line with my new colleagues. A murmur swept past me as the courtiers began to whisper, but I ignored them, forcing myself to keep my eyes forward and my head held high. Aydan stopped, and the rest of us fell in place behind him as he turned to address the gathered sorcerers and mortals, nobles and villagers, come to see King Zathryan laid to rest.

  “My father faced more challenges than any man—than any king—ought to face,” he began. “Rebellion, betrayal, death. He saw it and fought it valiantly. And despite his own personal grief, King Zathryan kept his people safe and built a new capital amid such challenges. There was no choice but to move forward. To move on.” Aydan swallowed.

  “I am not the ruler that you all expected. This is not the role I expected for myself. Yet the gods have determined this to be my fate. To be the fate of Medeisia. Tonight, as we send off the king who saved us from certain destruction, I implore you all to not think of what we have lost, but what we stand to gain from what is fated. From the unexpected. I implore you to look forward. Toward a Medeisia restored to her former glory.”

  A torch appeared in Aydan’s hand, already lit. He turned to face the pyre but spoke loud enough for us all to hear him. “You are free from this world, Zathryan Aevitarus. Your duties are fulfilled. Go now to what lies beyond.” He lowered the torch to the base of the pyre and held it there until it caught.

  We watched in silence as the pyre was engulfed. It was less than a minute before the flames g
rew to be twice Aydan’s height; I was tempted to step back, but the king and his Cabinet did not flinch, so I held my place.

  When some time had passed, the Guard, save for Stefan, began the march back toward the great hall, indicating that the appropriate observation period was over, and the courtiers and councilmen followed suit. Finally, Gerridan approached Aydan from behind and gripped his shoulder to whisper something in his ear. Then he nodded to me, gesturing for me to lead the Cabinet inside. I was their leader now. I swallowed and began walking. Aydan remained where he stood, watching the towering fire carry Zathryan to the next world.

  Half an hour later, everyone was seated in the great hall and Aydan arrived alone, signaling the start of the funeral feast. I sat at the head table alongside the rest of the Cabinet, several others I knew to be council members, one person I overheard Alastair referring to as a lesser general, and Stefan. In the middle was Aydan, sitting stiffly on an ornate dining chair that was all but a throne sat before a table. He looked dreadfully uncomfortable as courtiers and noblemen stood to make toasts to Zathryan’s life, and the new reign of King Aydan. He barely picked at his food. I couldn’t blame him; I was so nervous just sitting at the head table that I couldn’t bring myself to eat more than a polite bite of each course.

  When the meal was over and the speeches and toasts had finally stopped, the hall quickly filled with the buzzing of hundreds of voices talking at once as everyone began to mingle. I saw one of the council members leave his seat and bend low to Aydan’s ear. He nodded at whatever the man said before he leaned over to speak to Alastair.

  Someone tapped my shoulder and I looked up to find Stefan standing beside my chair.

  “I think we should talk,” he said.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, I think so,” he replied. “I just . . . this is important. Could we speak in private?”

  “I suppose—” Before I could answer, I felt a hand on my forearm. I turned back and saw Hannele now standing on the other side of me.

  “The council has requested an urgent audience with the Cabinet tonight,” she said. “We’re meeting them in five minutes.”

  “I’ll join you in just a second,” I told her. Stefan’s face reddened. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Can we talk later?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said stiffly. “I’ll catch up with you when your schedule clears, Lady Advisor.”

  “Stef—” He turned on his heel and headed for the exit. I swallowed, then stood to join the Cabinet as we all filed from the hall to the corridor outside while Aydan bid the feast good night and proposed a final toast to his father. Kenna scoffed under her breath upon hearing it, and I suppressed my smile. I certainly shared her sentiment.

  ~

  Gerridan offered me his arm as we made our way to the council room near the north end of the castle. It was a room I had been sent to clean often, huge and containing a long glass table capable of seating twenty men easily. I held onto him and tried not to look nervous as we entered. The room was empty. Aydan took his seat at the head of the table, and the rest of us fell into place in the chairs around him. Gerridan pulled out the chair to Aydan’s right for me. I hesitated.

  “The Chief Advisor always sits to the right of the king when he is present at council meetings,” he said. “When he is not here, you’ll take the head.” I nodded once, then sat quickly. While we waited, I found myself tapping a fingernail on the table in front of me.

  “This table was commissioned by my grandfather, King Alune,” Aydan filled the silence. “He held his council meetings exclusively in Ayzelle, away from the Grand Palace. He was paranoid that his council might be plotting to kill him, and he wanted to be sure that no one was holding weapons or poison during council meetings.”

  “It’s quite remarkable,” I replied. “A pain in the ass to clean, though.” Before he could speak again, the doors opened and a group of ten men filed their way into the room. I recognized one of them—a lanky, dark-haired man with an unflattering goatee—as Lord Declan. I didn’t know what his role was—though I probably should, I realized with a flash of terror that I was now Chief Advisor and had no clue who any of the extended council members were. The men bowed in unison, and Aydan gestured for them to sit.

  “Your Majesty, thank you for allowing this meeting on such short notice,” said Lord Declan. “And my deepest condolences for the loss of your father. His absence will be felt throughout the continent. Even our correspondences beyond the sea will—”

  “Enough, Declan,” Aydan said, waving his hand dismissively toward the lord. His face was a mask of cool indifference. Hannele and the others had the same bored expression on their faces, and I tried to copy it. “My father may have enjoyed opening each meeting with twenty minutes of your sycophancy, but I have no interest in false praise. I allowed this meeting tonight because you stressed its urgency. Tell me what is so urgent.”

  Lord Declan cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, we felt it was prudent to urge—to request—that you not begin your reign with war and bloodshed.”

  “And what, Lord Declan, gave you the impression that I would be beginning my reign with war and bloodshed?”

  “Your Majesty, it is no secret that you hold a deep desire to return to the Grand Palace, to see the capital restored there, and your eulogy seemed to suggest—”

  “My lord, you’re putting words in my mouth.” Aydan snapped his fingers and goblets of wine appeared before each of us. “Though you are half right.”

  “Your Majesty?”

  “I do wish to see the Eternity Throne returned to my family, but I don’t plan on using violence to obtain my desires,” Aydan said.

  “How do you propose to complete such a task?” Lord Declan asked carefully.

  “I will simply ask for it.” A chuckle scattered through the men opposite us. When Lord Declan looked up and saw that no one on our end of the table was laughing, he paused.

  “Your Majesty,” he sighed. “You cannot be serious.”

  “My lord,” Aydan said, matching his tone. “I am.” The corner of Gerridan’s mouth twitched.

  Lord Declan considered his words. It seemed he had spent many years tiptoeing around the varying moods of Zathryan. I could not blame him. I had once been on the receiving end of the old king’s whims. I would not soon forget the feeling. “Your Majesty, your father spent nearly half his reign here in Ayzelle. We have established a new capital here, trade lines have been open and flourishing in Xarynn and in the smaller territories and villages throughout the continent, thrilled to have direct trade with the Crown. And with your long-standing connection to Sylvanna, I’m sure it will be no time before trade is reestablished there as well.”

  “Agreements with Sylvanna will be reestablished shortly,” Aydan confirmed. “Following my coronation—which will be at the end of this month, by the way.”

  “Your Majesty, it is traditional to wait six weeks—”

  “It is only a tradition because that is how long Queen Euna was forced to sit in a prison cell by her own council before she took her place on the throne,” Aydan interrupted, sounding bored. “I never met Euna, and therefore have no reason to honor her memory in such a way.”

  “As you wish,” Lord Declan said. “We will send out the appropriate invitations and announcements tomorrow morning.”

  “Good. Now, back to your point about the capital,” Aydan said. “Ayzelle has been a fine capital. This castle has served its purpose well, but my throne sits inside the Grand Palace—”

  “Your Majesty, we simply do not have the military power—” Lord Declan started to interrupt, but Aydan snapped his fingers and Declan’s mouth closed, though not by choice, it seemed.

  “My lord, where are your manners?” Aydan chided. “As I was saying, the Eternity Throne, and the Grand Palace, were built by and for our kind. There is magic within those walls that even the Nautians’ witches cannot wield. The new king is young, not even old enough to hold the throne withou
t a regent. My sources believe he may be persuaded to give back what is mine by right, and rule his people from a throne built by and for mortals. My plan is not to throw the boy out into the street. It is to see the mortal and immortal realms united, my lords,” he said, now addressing the other members of the extended council.

  “Your Majesty,” Lord Declan spoke up again having regained use of his mouth. “The amount of planning and negotiation it would take to even get a letter in the Nautian king’s hand— and then to convince him to give up the Eternity Throne willingly—forgive me, but I think you overestimate your abilities. Without even a proper Cabinet—”

  “The necessary letters have already been drafted and will be sent to Nautia following my coronation,” said Aydan. “And as far as your concerns regarding my Cabinet, it is complete. Just this morning, I’ve named Lady Eastly our new Chief Advisor.” I tensed as the eyes of every man in the extended council drifted toward me. I hoped I looked aloof rather than terrified.

  “You can’t be serious.” Lord Declan sneered.

  “Very much so,” said Aydan. Declan looked down and flipped through a stack of papers in front of him while muttering to himself. The room was quiet enough as he did so that I heard clear as day when he mumbled something about the spawn of traitors and mortals. I felt heat rise in my hands and face immediately and was too embarrassed to speak. Aydan did instead. “Lady Shaye’s upbringing makes her perfect for this position, don’t you think? You forget that the lady was raised in Nautia. She knows the mortals, how they live and how they want to be governed. And her despicable treatment by my father gives her some insight into what the poorest citizens of this realm want and need. She is not blinded by the wealth this council has hoarded for centuries. As far as her father is concerned, I will not hold an innocent woman accountable for the sins of a man who died before she was born. This is the last I will speak on the subject—if any of you have a problem with my choice of advisor, this is your opportunity to resign.” He looked at each of them, daring someone to object. “Now, if you have nothing else to discuss, leave us. We’ll meet again at the end of the week for our regularly scheduled meeting.” Looking wounded, the extended council stood one by one, and bowed as they turned to leave. Lord Declan, flanked by a concerned-looking, ginger-haired man, was the last to do so, seeming confused and perhaps realizing he had achieved nothing during the meeting he himself had called.