The Captive King_A Royal States Novel

by Susan Copperfield

  “So you did.” Landen squirmed and wiggled out of his jacket, which he wrapped around me. “And don’t try to tell me no. My talent’s keeping me plenty warm. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  I’d do a lot of telling him no, but I’d wait until we found civilization and I could find some way to break it to him he really didn’t want me around for life, no matter how much my traitor heart thought it would be heaven.

  I feared I’d become his hell. I was the reason I couldn’t have relationships. Whenever I got anywhere with a man, I was inevitably the one to bring it all crashing down. Sometimes, I was just too in love with my job. Sometimes, I needed what he couldn’t offer me, like Sebastian. I’d been smart with Sebastian. I kept him away from me like normal people avoided dynamite.

  Some men were nothing but trouble.

  It shouldn’t have surprised me something went wrong, although I had no idea what. I should’ve known better than to fall prey to Landen’s warmth after having been worn so thin. A sense of safety and security conspired against me.

  Then, as always, betrayal came knocking at my door. My body betrayed me first. I couldn’t blame it; assuming the cinnabar was purged from my system, it would take weeks—maybe months—to recover from the mercury poisoning. I shouldn’t have expected my body to hold out after so much stress and exposure to the cold.

  Instead of the bedroom Landen had promised, I woke in a prison cell. I’d done one stint in a Mexican prison; most members of the dig teams had a time or two. The Mexicans used it as a rite of passage, an odd one often leading to trouble.

  I’d been targeted once, and I’d buried several men that night, leaving them alive—barely. I’d only done one round, and once word spread I was part of the dig team, the locals kept their hazing to spectacularly hot peppers in normally mild dishes. I could—and had—walked alone in Mexico City without any worry.

  Only a fool tested their luck against an earthweaver with a strong dislike of men touching her.

  I regretted so much, and wondered when the promises of safety and security had warped into incarceration. I regarded the cell with tired wariness.

  It was a step up from the ones in Mexico. I had a real door with a barred window, which let anyone look inside but still offered the illusion of privacy. The bathroom, while small, had a proper door and a tiny shower. While I’d go mad with boredom within a few hours, there was only enough room for one person.

  Until I found out what had gone wrong and why, I’d withhold judgment. I could’ve run afoul of the same laws Nevada had used as a negotiating point. Once I added in the deaths of Landen’s friends, I could easily understand how I’d landed in a prison.

  No one was above the law, not even an elite. The real test would be what Landen did—if he did anything.

  I could feel the stone around me, waiting for me to use my talent and bring it to life. It wouldn’t take much to break my way to freedom. I could escape if I wanted. I could protect myself against unwanted advances, too.

  Men didn’t scare me. Lawyers did, though. I couldn’t afford a lawyer. Did Alaska provide legal counsel? Most kingdoms in the Royal States did, as far as I knew, but most of the federal laws of the United States had been dissolved following the civil war. Every kingdom had the right to choose its laws.

  Some kingdoms had become safe havens.

  Others had become living hells.

  New York was neither, although I was one of the ones who believed we were ruled by a clan of devils disguised as humans. They had the right gifts; their complete control of fire ensured everyone took care to avoid their wrath.

  The king could incinerate someone to a pile of ash, even their teeth and bones. The queen had a double dose of talents, and when she finished freezing people to death, she’d reduce them to cinders. Unlike the king, she preferred to leave the bones intact, often untouched, as a reminder she had strength and finesse.

  No wonder Landen hadn’t liked the idea of me being a New Yorker. New Yorkers were trouble, one and all. We were foul tempered, rude, in a hurry, and prone to explosive conflicts. When we weren’t being assholes, we were ambitious.

  My ambitions had taken me to Mexico, determined to stay abroad however long it took me to defy my parents’ plans for my future. I wouldn’t be making any progress in a prison cell, that much was for certain. While grateful I lived, a prison term hadn’t been a part of any of my plans.

  I wondered if my incarceration would end any hope of having a relationship with Landen. Limitless possibilities existed. He could be working on my behalf to ensure he could have his way and move me into his bedroom like he wanted. He could be working to make sure I had a one-way ticket out of Alaska.

  If I had a quarter, I’d flip a coin and let fate decide which was more likely.

  He didn’t know me. Maybe he didn’t believe I had anything to do with his friends’ deaths. I did. I’d seen the spirits, and they’d brought Landen to their temple. I’d dreamed of him.

  What I had believed a hallucination had been the truth.

  No, Landen had been right to blame me. As soon as I met with him again, I’d confess the truth, no matter what it cost me.

  I refused to play him as men had tried to play me. He deserved the truth. The truth would hurt me and break my hope for ever finding someone who could accept me for all I was and wasn’t, but I wouldn’t build a future on a lie.

  My decision made me feel better about a lot of things, and I was able to relax on the cell’s cot. The thin blanket didn’t do a good job of warming me, but I tolerated the chill better than I expected.

  My rashes didn’t bother me as much as I thought they should, and I could accept a long, boring wait until I learned my fate.

  The time would give my worn, tired body a chance to heal, although if I suffered from mercury poisoning, I could be racing to my own death without knowing it. If the mercury had gotten into my brain, I wouldn’t remember my own name by the time it was over.

  Seizures, headaches, and memory loss would lead the pack. I’d lose weight and die a shell of my former self.

  Most suffered from poisoning in the digestive system, with mercury poisoning destroying the kidney, the organ it was most likely to influence outside of the lungs. Inhaled mercury vapors were a different problem altogether, and I didn’t wish that fate on anyone.

  Maybe Dr. Clemmondale in Nevada had gotten the mercury poisoning under control and the worst of the cinnabar was out of my system. Until I had proof either way, it was pointless to speculate.

  It was hard to avoid speculating when left alone with my thoughts for company.

  I wasn’t left alone for long. An older man with wispy gray hair and an immaculate suit invaded my prison cell, opening the door and staring down his beaked nose at me. I recognized when a man judged me, and his attention on my chest confirmed a few things I didn’t like.

  Sure, my t-shirt had seen better days, and peeling the dried mud off it might’ve left a better first impression, but it wasn’t the condition of my clothes holding his attention. It was definitely my breasts.

  I considered if he was worth burying in stone. If I locked him in the floor, giving him a few air holes so he could breathe, I could be long gone before anyone found him. I could also walk my way out of the prison through the cell wall if I wanted to brave the cold.

  The thought of freedom tempted me.

  “Your name is Summer Cassidy?” he asked, and his tone implied he viewed me as a snake ready to take a bite at his ankles.

  I debated my options, and I decided to embrace the New Yorker in me. “I’ll confirm my name once you confirm I have a lawyer.”

  He gaped at me. “What?”

  I waved my hand to take in the cell. “Only an idiot walks into a prison cell and starts asking questions, expecting to get answers without a lawyer—one working for me—present. When you provide a lawyer and explain why I’m here, I’ll talk. Maybe. If the lawyer suggests I should. If you were my lawyer, you wouldn’t be staring at my ch
est. You’d be acting like a professional. Which you aren’t.”

  Anger contorted his expression. “How dare you!”

  “I dare because I’m a New Yorker, and I’m aware I have rights. If you won’t provide a lawyer, my home kingdom will.” I’d never played the New Yorker abroad card seriously before; usually I used my talent, convinced the Mexicans hazing me it wasn’t a good idea, and went about my business. “Ask Landen. I’m stubborn.”

  At the mention of Landen’s name, my unwanted visitor went from pissed off to nervous. “You want a lawyer.”

  “And a formal presentation of all accusations against me within in a reasonable time period. That’s forty-eight hours in civilized kingdoms. As this is my first time in Alaska, I’m uncertain if it counts as a civilized kingdom, but I suppose I’ll find out.”

  In forty-eight hours, unless I had a serious mercury poisoning episode, I’d be fine. And if I did have an episode, I wished them luck. There was one consequence of illness I didn’t want to think about.

  My talent flared along with my temper, and it had an unpleasant tendency of doing exactly what it wanted when I was sick, too. Usually, I rearranged the nearby floors and walls to my liking if they were made of stone.

  My parents had given me blocks of clay, which my magic would shape until I’d drained my talent dry.

  I had no idea what would happen if I became ill while in a prison environment with so much stone around me—stone eager and waiting to be shaped.

  “A lawyer and a presentation of accusations within forty-eight hours,” he stammered, as though it had never occurred to him someone might demand their legal rights.

  God bless New York and its tendency to meddle in its citizens’ affairs. For once in my life, New York’s controlling tendencies would work in my favor. “Yes. I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out how to inform New York you’ve incarcerated one of its citizens. You were aware you’re required to file if you put a New York citizen in holding for more than twelve hours, right? You’ll need to make sure you file that before you present the formal accusations to me. I’m sure New York will be happy to provide the forms if you need them.” I made a show of checking a watch I wasn’t wearing. “They require the documentation within twelve hours, detailing the accusations so they can decide how best to address the situation. As I’m abroad on an open student visa out of New York, I have full protection.”

  I loved watching the old pervert turn an intriguing shade of gray-green. He swallowed and turned his stare from my breasts to my face. “I see.”

  “We could try this again. You can tell me why I’m here, you can arrange for a lawyer, a good one, with multi-kingdom qualifications, and you can introduce yourself like a professional. Otherwise, I’m happy to demonstrate the second part of the laws relating to incarcerated New Yorkers.”

  “Which is?”

  “How I bust out of this joint so fast your head spins, and when I’m done, no one will be staying in this cell ever again, as I’m very, very good at remodeling.” I displayed my best smile. “I also have a very strong dislike of men who get too close to me without my permission. You’re definitely one of those men. In future, remember this: my eyes are up here, and if I catch you staring at my breasts again like you’re an ignorant pre-teen who was never taught manners, I’ll bury you. I’ll be nice and leave air holes so your friends can hear you scream. They’ll need a jackhammer to get you out. And don’t think you can use that promise against me. I’m sure New York will issue a pardon for protecting my dignity and modesty. It’s self-defense. What’s it going to be? Are you going to play nice, or are we going to have fun with this?”

  I kept smiling, lifted my hands, and cracked my knuckles one by one. “I hope you want to have some fun, buddy. Very little pisses me off more than waking up in a prison cell.”

  The staring contest lasted an uncomfortably long time.

  “My name is Stanley Hauser, I’m a chief advisor to His Royal Majesty of Alaska, and my job is to establish if you’re a threat to Alaskan interests.”

  I laughed so hard I cried and gave myself a headache, slapping my leg at the absurdity of the idea of me being a threat to an entire kingdom’s interests. “You’re an idiot. I’m an archaeologist. I dig in the dirt for the living, read dead languages, and try to learn about ancient cultures through what they’ve left behind. While you’re a relic, I don’t have any need for unprofessional advisors. If you’re actually a chief advisor to a king, I feel sorry for your king. If this is how you behave around everyone, you’re doing him no favors. Try to learn some basic diplomacy. It might help. Also, you might want to brush up on foreign affairs. This,” I spat, waving at the prison cell, “is the same sort of shit the local Mexican police forces use to welcome new dig teams to their town. But they, at least, tend to have the decency to offer good tequila when they’re done screwing around with us. Well, they offer me tequila while they ‘welcome’ my teammates. They know better than to try to screw with me.”

  Mr. Stanley Hauser clenched his teeth. “You shouldn’t speak to me like that.”

  “You haven’t earned anything else. Run along, Mr. Hauser. The clock’s ticking. If you don’t keep up with your obligations, I’m quite happy to demonstrate why you should. You don’t really need this cell, do you? I am a New Yorker, after all. We have a reputation for a reason.”

  “You’re going to regret that.”

  I laughed. “Just think of all the fun you’ll be in for if I die in this cell, buddy. New York gets pissy about things like that, and you haven’t even made a single effort to find out if I’m healthy or not. Let me remind you of one thing: I’m a New Yorker on an open study visa. If you don’t know what sort of protections that entails while traveling anywhere within the Royal States, Mexico, and most kingdoms in South America, you might want to look into it—before the twelve-hour timer is over. Making me disappear won’t work, either. Why? Because you’re not the only one who knows I’ve gone missing.”

  Stanley Hauser didn’t need to know the people I referenced were in a different kingdom and probably wouldn’t be looking for me. I wouldn’t hold my breath for Landen, although I’d be interested to see what he did—or if he was the reason I was in the cell in the first place.

  Time would tell.

  The suited menace left without a word, slamming the cell door behind him.

  Chapter Eleven

  When left alone with no way to tell time, I had a tendency to become so bored I caused trouble. Sometimes, I amused myself rearranging the local landscape, moving earthen structures around or digging really deep holes. Once, at the peak of the rainy season in the Mexican jungle, when no one could dig even with magic’s help, I’d tested the limits of my talent, drilling a hole to see how deep I could make it.

  It had been a few months before Will’s death, and he’d helped me with the experiment. All added together, we’d measured out over five hundred feet of rope.

  Something had bitten off the end during our last dig, and we’d decided it was wise to fill it back up. It had taken me four days to dig and less than ten minutes to fill.

  Panic had helped.

  I still didn’t want to meet what had severed through the rope. Neither one of us had any idea what could live so deep within the earth and chomp through inch-thick hemp. Worse, it had done so with barely more than a tug.

  The Earth still had its secrets, and the incident had reinforced I never wanted to work in a mine if archaeology didn’t pan out for me.

  One day, someone would dig too deep and discover what I’d found and had wisely left alone.

  To cure my boredom, I shoved the cot out of the way, got on my hands and knees, and began carving the complete Maya solar calendar on the floor. The calendar had fascinated me from the first time I’d seen it, so complex I’d lost hours trying to make sense of it.

  I began at the first day of the Maya year, working my way around the circle. The stone cooperated, parting at the lightest touch of a finger. I decorated
between the rings and tiles as the Maya had, adding flare without meaning, transforming the mundane into ancient art.

  It filled the time, and the minutes slid into hours until I completed the inner circle. As soon as I learned the date, I could track the days and watch the seasons roll by. I assumed the worst, although if the worst happened, I’d bust my way out and try my luck in the Alaska wilderness over remaining a prisoner.

  My father had taught me to keep standing up, and I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  Maybe I’d been ready to quit in Nevada, maybe I’d been willing to go the path of least resistance, but times had changed, and I was ready to dust myself off and get back on my feet.

  Men like Stanley Hauser helped without realizing it. The idea of someone like him beating me pissed me off so much I’d wage a one-woman war to prove him wrong and smear his nose in the dirt. I savored the moment men like him realized they’d been beaten by a woman like me.

  It was a little like my enjoyment of the discomfort elites suffered when they realized they spoke to someone who had no regard for their comfort.

  I wasn’t a nice person sometimes.

  Boredom set in within minutes of finishing the calendar, and I decided to add to my work. With the pair of cursed bracelets to guide me, I added another ring to the outside of the calendar, recreating the story of life, death, birth, and renewal.

  I wrote in Nahuatl first, the language of the people I’d obsessed over since I’d been a child.

  As I had in Mexico, I hesitated at the halfway mark. The idea of a couple holding their wedding in the darkest, coldest part of winter as a promise for renewal in the spring intrigued me. Once again, I doubted.

  Landen had promised a lot of things, things my traitorous heart wanted, but instead of his warmth and bed, I drew on a prison floor. I’d keep my promise to myself to wait for the truth without blaming him.

  He’d blamed me, but I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. I still didn’t blame him for blaming me; he’d been right to do so. That helped. The higher road brought with it more doubt and uncertainty than I liked, but it also gave me a little room for hope.