The King's Secret

by Maryam Durrani

  I was staring at a stranger.

  My cheeks were hollow—a mix of healing green, purple, and yellow bruises spreading across my cheekbones, forehead, and the prominent one around my eye.

  My eyes.

  They were so dull, so empty.

  I stared at my bandaged palms and then turned my hands around, knuckles covered in white as well. My fingernails were clean and cut. I’d been well taken care of.

  The doors opened, making me jump.

  “Isabel, I want to be alone,” I called, standing up slowly.

  But it wasn’t Isabel.

  “You need to eat,” he said.

  I lost the strength in my knees, falling back into the seat.

  Three years did miracles to a person. Longer hair, greener

  eyes. Was that possible? They looked like fragile glass. Taller. Leaner.

  Stronger.

  There was a stubble on his jawline, circles around his eyes as if he hadn’t slept for days.

  “You need to eat,” Lance repeated. “There’s nothing left of you.” His eyes were cold. Uninviting. He hated me.

  I understood why.

  There was nothing I could say to him. I couldn’t even apologize. It wasn’t enough. Nothing would be enough.

  “I met him,” he said.

  “Who?” I swallowed, trying to regain my composure.

  “Xavier. He’s alive. Now it makes sense why you left. It was because of him, wasn’t it?”

  “I didn’t know he was alive. I left because I thought he was dead.” I wanted him to believe me.

  “How can I believe that?” Lance scoffed.

  “You can’t. I’m sorry.”

  He nodded.

  “You came with a message. Eat and heal; the queen is waiting to discuss matters with you.” He talked of her so formally, for a moment I forgot they were cousins.

  Lance didn’t have to care I was back, but I never expected him to be like . . . that.

  He was so different and mature. His attire was one soldiers would wear, but I’d never seen this particular outfit in Astodia. Below he wore black pants and boots. The top was scarlet, gold hems and buttons decorating his coat.

  “Are you a guard?” I asked.

  “Head of the royal guard, and a knight.”

  “Knight?” I asked, confused.

  Lance didn’t respond. He turned, and without a goodbye,

  left.

  He wanted me to know how it felt, and oh, how I felt it.

  By the mid-third week, I was walking.

  Eating.

  I got stronger with every passing day. Xavier had already informed Queen Lorelle of King Tarquin and King Adrean’s plans to attack Astodia first, and she had wasted no time to start bringing together her army.

  “This is Taj. He’s a knight, and he recruited the others. I’m sure they’re training right now, which is why they aren’t here,” Jax explained. Taj was a handsome man, dark pools of chocolate for eyes, complementing his tan skin and short, dark hair. He was a muscular man, almost taller than Xavier.

  Taj bowed, a smile on his lips.

  “I’ll be joining them,” Jax muttered, his blue eyes avoiding mine.

  “You? A knight?” I let out a laugh, which turned came through as a scoff. “You’re joking.”

  He scowled. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all. I just deemed you as a free spirit.”

  “People change,” he mumbled. “Anyway, what are you going to do now that you’re up and running?”

  We took a turn down the hallway, towards steps that led outside.

  “I need to practice,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “My arm feels too stiff.”

  “Does it still hurt?” he asked. I shook my head.

  “Not too much.” Of course it still hurts, dimwit. “But it doesn’t feel . . . normal.”

  “It’s because you haven’t used it for a while.”

  “Which is why I’m going to practice.”

  He looked as if he was going to protest but then decided not to.

  The guards pulled open the doors, and I stepped outside, feeling the fresh air on my face for the first time in weeks. I took in a deep breath. I felt crisp and clean, every pore of my skin singing with joy.

  An archery range had been prepared for me. I grabbed a bow, strapping on the quiver.

  “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Jax called.

  I waved at him. “I’ll be fine.” I rolled my shoulder, trying to get it to relax.

  Facing the target, I stepped back. A few of the knights had gathered to watch. Jax stood, brows furrowed with his arms over his chest.

  I felt pressure on my head, my shoulders. My pride was on the line.

  I nocked in an arrow, aiming the bow.

  Aiming.

  Aiming.

  It felt wrong—awkward. I relaxed the string, adjusting it. Then, I held it up again, pulling the string taut. I aimed.

  Aiming.

  I let go.

  It was so, so wrong. The feeling. The weight. I watched as the arrow flew, but I’d known as soon as I’d removed my fingers that it wouldn’t hit the target.

  And I was right.

  It didn’t.

  The arrow missed the red dot.

  It missed the lines.

  It missed the whole target, landing in the grass. The feather end stuck out of the dirt as I stared at it, unable to process what

  had happened.

  “Try it again!” Jax called, I brought myself to look at him. He wasn’t alone anymore, Xavier standing beside him. I saw Xavier’s eyes on the arrow. I knew what he was thinking.

  I didn’t just miss. I didn’t make mistakes like these. If my finger slipped, it would’ve hit near the bullseye. But my hand . . . My hand had twitched again, just like that moment on the ship with the spoon.

  I nocked another arrow, taking a step back. I aimed the point, facing the target again. I concentrated. There it was again. It was so light. If I hadn’t paid attention, I wouldn’t have noticed it. But as I pulled the string back, I felt it again.

  The tremor.

  I let the arrow fly, feeling a drop of sweat slide down my collarbone.

  I missed.

  SIX

  I felt their eyes on me.

  The Knights, Jax, Xavier.

  Lance.

  He’d shown up as well, his green eyes darting back and forth between the target and I in bewilderment.

  I swallowed, handed my weapon to one of the boys next one of the Knights, and tried very hard to walk away casually, even though I was shaking inside.

  I walked past a perplexed Jax, who was still staring at the arrow, eyebrows knit as if any time the arrow would jump back up into the center of the bullseye.

  Xavier didn’t follow me. He knew me better than anyone, and right now, I wanted to be alone.

  There was only one place I wanted to be.

  I kept my pace steady as I moved up the stairs, through the corridors, passed boys and girls who did their best to avoid me, eyes widened with . . .

  Terror.

  It was then when I realized; the rumor had already spread through the castle. Astodia’s assassin was back, and she wasn’t happy.

  Before the death of King Sadim, the castle had avoided me.

  No one spoke to me except Xavier. I had turned into a ruthless

  monster, a ticking bomb that could go off any second, especially after the queen died. She’d raised me; she kept me human. She was like my mother.

  And then she got sick.

  After that, I was alone.

  I was a murderer, and that was the only path I knew. Until I was sent to the base of the rebels.

  I realized my humanity. I realized there were families out there, belonging to the people I had killed. A widow. An orphan.

  I had destroyed families.

  I shuddered at the thought. King Sadim had used his twisted tricks and schemes to try to mold me into an inhumane, killing
apparatus. He would keep me isolated if I disobeyed him, leaving me to go for days with rats as my only company.

  I shuddered again. The scars on my back seared, sending ghostly waves of pain through my body. They were many years old, but served as a reminder to my days of being an assassin.

  But now, now, almost four years after I had left Astodia, I was different. They had to see me.

  They had to know I’d changed. It wasn’t fair—

  I reached the wooden door at the uppermost part of the castle, panting. I got here too quickly.

  Confused, I glanced around, realizing I had sprinted the whole way here.

  There it was. The door to my chambers, away from people, apart from humans that I could hurt. The king had kept me up here, distancing me from humanity to keep me secluded and cold.

  I reached out, grabbing the rusted handle and pushed it open. As expected, it wouldn’t budge.

  I took a step back, taking in a breath. And then I slammed my boot against the keyhole repeatedly, forcefully, so whatever was locking the door inside would break apart. The wood splintered and cracked, and finally with one, powerful slam, it flew open.

  There it was.

  My old room.

  It was left completely untouched. Inside was a small bed for

  one on a creaky wooden post. I walked towards it, brushing my hands over the sheets. They hadn’t been changed in a while, almost gray with dust.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see the dozens of shelves lining the walls, full of unlabeled poisons and antidotes that only I knew the names of by the colors or scents.

  Memories flew through my head, making me feel things I couldn’t interpret. I walked to another door within my room and pushed it open, finding it unlocked.

  This was my own little armory, decked from the ceiling to the floor with weapons of all sizes and types. Swords, knives, bows and crossbows, axes, spears, even rare guns.

  There were shields and a stand of armor that I’d only used a couple of times when jousting for the king, and then into battle against Dystalphi before we had made peace six years ago.

  I had been so young. Too young, for the amount of pressure that had been placed on my shoulders.

  No wonder I’d turned out this way.

  A knock startled me, causing me to push over a stand of spears. Everything crashed to the floor, smashing against shelves and creating a ruckus I didn’t want to cause.

  I spun around on my heel, hoping I hadn’t attracted too much attention.

  I saw his cautious honey eyes before the rest of him, and suddenly, a calm washed over me.

  “How did you know I’d be here?” I asked, carefully stepping over the fallen spears.

  “I know more about you than you probably know about yourself,” Xavier confessed, his voice teasing. He pulled down the mask that covered the bottom half of his face, reminding me of the time he went by Cadeyrn—his disguise in the Rings, when we’d fought against each other.

  The day I found out Xavier was alive.

  “Do they know who you are?” I asked, and he let out a deep sigh.

  “They’re starting to figure it out. You and I, runaways. Liars.”

  “It’s worse for me,” I raised an eyebrow. “I’m the murderer.”

  “You did it to protect them, they should be thankful. Now you’re here again, and Astodia couldn’t be in safer hands.”

  It was the truth, but I didn’t think anyone believed it.

  “I can’t believe this is where I spent my life,” I gestured towards the shelved walls, the creaky bed, and the locks on the door that I’d broken through, dumbfounded.

  “Catch,” he suddenly said, tossing me a flask from the shelf. My heart nearly jumped out of my throat as I automatically tried to raise my right hand, feeling a searing pain run up to my shoulder. I gasped as the vial crashed to the ground, the contents spilling everywhere and leaking through the floorboards. “What was that?”

  I couldn’t catch it I couldn’t catch it I— “Nightshade.”

  “Should I be worried?” he inquired.

  “It’s only the antidote for it. It won’t do any harm.”

  “I’m talking about you.” Xavier walked towards me, not

  bothering to step over the mess. Glass crunched under his boots. I kept my ground. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I know you don’t want any help,” he said, his voice suddenly low and serious as if he wanted me to listen very closely. “Your aim is off. You can’t catch, and you’re jumpy. Too damn jumpy.” Xavier motioned to the disarray of spears. “You have to let someone know what’s going on. If it’s not me, confide in Isabel. If not her, Jax, Lorelle . . . you can’t be alone right now, and I don’t want you to be.”

  A metallic tang flowed through my mouth, and I realized I’d bit my lip from chewing it so hard.

  “Was it the pirates?” he asked. “Did they frighten you?”

  I let out a scoff. What a joke!

  “I’ve faced worse. You know that.”

  A dark look fell over his eyes and I could tell his thoughts had wandered back to when his father had kept me in the dungeon. I’d spent nights in that pitch-black cell.

  “I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to tell you, but I’m fine,” I assured him, keeping my voice calm. “I was sick from the trip, but I can get over this. It’s just my arm, it needs some exercise before I can go back to normal.” I inhaled deeply, steadying my breath. “And I’m jumpy because this place gives me bad memories. Your mother’s death, the king’s cruelty, the things I did to survive . . . You know all of it.” I wasn’t lying. Being here brought back nightmares. I closed my eyes, setting my jaw.

  “Fine. I don’t believe it, but if you say so, I’ll respect it.” left, shutting the door behind him. I waited there, standing, unmoving. He was still standing outside.

  When I heard his footsteps fade away, I turned to the bed and slammed my foot against one of the posts, cracking the wood and letting it crash to the ground. The next broke easily; the wood was so flimsy and of the worst quality that it took seconds to snap them clean in half. I pushed off the rotting mattress set it up against the wall, slamming my fists against it, my right shoulder screaming in pain, begging me to stop.

  I marched over to the weapons cache and grabbed a knife, making my way back to the mattress and ripping it open right down the center. Old wool tumbled out, spreading across the creaky floorboards like snow.

  I tore the mattress apart, ribbons of cloth patterning the room in an ugly, dirty mess.

  I fell to my knees, my breath uneven, chest rising and falling heavily.

  There was no doubt about it. Xavier was right—I wasn’t fine. Something was changing in me, and I didn’t know if it was because of my arm, or just the mere thought of being back in this kingdom.

  Whatever it was, I had to fix it immediately. I wasn’t going to let myself fizzle out. I had to fight it.

  I had to put my foot down.

  SEVEN

  Lorelle had been waiting to speak to me for more than a month. With me being sick with a fever and her stuck trying to figure out how to defend Astodia and Crea against Dystalphi and Trella, I hadn’t even got a chance to meet with her.

  But finally, I received a letter from her. A boy handed it to me, and he seemed familiar. As he turned to leave, I stopped him. I remembered where I’d seen him before.

  “Hey, rat boy,” I called. He froze. It wasn’t an insult; I just couldn’t remember his name. “Weren’t you the boy at the Rebel base? The one who delivered the news of the dead rat to Lorelle?” The rat had been fed the same poison that was given to Xavier, the entire reason I’d gone undercover at the Rebel base in the first place. The rat dying meant Xavier would soon be dead as well. It gave me a push to realize how much his death would affect me and played a small but essential role in my decision to swipe the antidote and return to the castle.

  He looked over his shoulder, pale-faced, and gave me a sheepish nod.


  “I see.” I waved him away.

  So, Lorelle was spending her time recruiting the rebel army to work in her new home. I’d seen Hansen at Crea on behalf of Lorelle. Hansen had been one of the three main leaders of the rebel army. The other two were Clarice, Lorelle’s mother, and Janine, Lance’s mother.

  They were sisters, which made Lance and Lorelle cousins.

  I broke the scarlet seal on the envelope, slipping out the letter. Lorelle wanted to meet me as soon as possible, asking me to come see her in the throne room.

  The throne room.

  The place I received orders. The place where I stared up at a king and planned murders.

  I wondered how I would feel going back. Hesitant? Afraid?

  No, I felt more . . . curious.

  I changed into something comfortable, keeping my hair down to cover the bruises as much as I could. Then, I mentally prepared myself to face the queen.

  The first thing I noticed was how extravagant the throne room had become.

  As the doors opened, I stepped onto a scarlet carpet rolled all the way to the end of the large room, ending right at the foot of the dais where the throne sat.

  Light entered the room through a half moon window placed high up on the wall opposite to the entrance, fitting perfectly with the curved ceiling. The glass was created to look like the sun; two diamonds for each ray, fanning around the half-circle. In the center sat an image of a lion—the crest of Astodia.

  Matching the carpet, blood-red banners draped from the columns that separated the ridged arches lining the room on three sides.

  Thin, long candelabras shaped like tree branches stood at the base of every column, each of the three arms lit with their own tall, melting white candles. The vast room was brighter than I ever remembered, with enough light and a cheeriness that had never been there before.

  The next thing I noticed was that Lorelle looked older. Yes,

  everyone seemed older than when I had left them, but she had become a woman. A strong one, her head held high, no longer the sniffling, sensitive girl she had been during her time in the rebel army.

  She wore a mauve velvet dress, hugging her figure—which was much slimmer than I had remembered last. Gold earrings hung from three piercings on each ear, rings decorating each of her slender fingers.