by Jeanne Hardt
Island
in the Forest
Shrouded Thrones, Book 1
Jeanne Hardt
Copyright Jeanne Hardt, 2018
Cover design by Rae Monet, Inc.
Edited by Alicia Dean
Formatting by Jesse Gordon
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any likeness to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. References to real places and people are intended solely for the purpose of providing a sense of authenticity.
This book is dedicated to my son, Nathan,
whose love for stories encouraged me to create one of my own.
Chapter 1
Olivia rested her head on the rim of the neck-high stone wall and sighed. The tall structure used to be mysterious. Now it stood as a barrier that kept her from the rest of the world.
At least she had grown tall enough to see over it. When she was a child, her father had to lift her in his arms so she could view what lay beyond. He had told her the wall kept her from tumbling into the gorge and was meant to keep her safe. Her true protection had always been his strong grasp.
Not any longer. Growing up had brought new difficulties no stone structure could avert, and not even her father could ease her troubles.
She stood on the tips of her toes and craned her neck to peer into the vast chasm. An abundant mass of birds flew through the depths and nested on the rock ledges, free to fly wherever they pleased.
Unlike her.
Wingless, she remained captive.
A gentle breeze fluttered her long full skirt. She had sensibly braided her waist-length hair. Otherwise, it would have wrapped around her head in disarray. An improper appearance for the daughter of the king.
Day after day, she spent hours at this section of the wall. Though her father’s guards kept their protective eyes on her, this part of the kingdom had been set aside for her family. Commoners were not allowed here, so Olivia freely walked along the barrier and gazed across the enormous canyon that encircled Padrida. Her homeland.
An immense forest lined the other side of the canyon and created another barrier. A blur of thick pine trees reached high into the sky. The trees were similar to those within the walls of Padrida, yet denser. No light seeped through the thick woods.
Curiosity made her mind reel.
Perhaps the forest went on forever. She would never know for certain. Yes, she had heard the passed-down tales of people who had traveled the land before the decree. They had told stories of gigantic bodies of water.
If only she could see them . . .
She paused at the tall, arched oak gate and ran her fingers over the words that had been carved deep into the surface.
BY ORDER OF KING JORDAN
NO ONE SHALL CROSS THIS BRIDGE
FOR FEAR OF DEATH
As many times as she had read her great-great grandfather’s words, she still found them disheartening as well as disturbing. His reasoning had been accepted without hesitation when the law was first pronounced, but Olivia had questioned it since she had been old enough to think for herself.
The huge gate had been sealed for so many years that vines had wormed their way through small cracks and partially covered some of the words. Since everyone in the kingdom had memorized them, it honestly mattered not.
The dilapidated wooden bridge on the other side of the gate stretched across the narrowest gap in the gorge, yet it still spanned a great distance to the opposite bank. If anyone ever attempted to cross, they would likely perish. The rotted planks could not possibly hold their weight.
Olivia had no need to trouble herself with that particular scenario. Crossing had been forbidden, therefore, no one would even try. Everyone in Padrida carried on each day as if nothing except their kingdom existed. And they seemed happy doing it.
If only Olivia could be so content.
She closed her eyes and envisioned what it must have been like to see people walk across the bridge, smiling as they passed through the gate. Content to be home, knowing they could come and go as they pleased.
If only she could cross.
Rough strong hands covered her eyes. She gasped, and her body tensed.
“Guess who?” the man whispered in her ear, his deep voice unmistakable.
Though he had startled her, she instantly calmed. Aside from her family and the guards, there was one commoner allowed here. And other than her father, only one man dared touch her.
She stood tall and lifted her chin. “Donovan.” Donning a coy smile, she turned and faced him. Something about him tugged at her insides, and she struggled over what to say.
They were no longer children. Far from it. He had become the most handsome man in the kingdom; tall, well-structured, eyes as black as night, and thick brown hair that begged to have her fingers run through it. Unlike most men, he kept his face clean-shaven and smooth, and his skin, like hers, had darkened from the sun.
When she realized she had been staring at him, she blinked twice and shook her head. “What brings you out to sneak up on a princess?”
He looked skyward, then shifted his eyes to her. “I was not sneaking. When I saw you daydreaming, I chose to surprise you.” He brought his hand from behind his back and held up a pastry. “I brought this for you.”
Her weakness, and he knew it. “You are evil, Donovan.” She worked her lower lip, trying to resist the sweet treat.
He inched it closer to her mouth. “You know you want it.” Grinning, he wiggled his brows.
She grabbed it from his hand.
Still warm.
Her stomach growled and her mouth watered. She bit into the flaky crust and savored the rich cream-filled center. One bite was not nearly enough.
As she bit into it again, he laughed heartily. “I shall tell Father you were pleased. You know he makes these for you alone.”
“No, Donovan. He makes them for everyone in Padrida.”
“Maybe so, but he knows you like sweets.” He stepped closer and wiped a small amount of cream from the corner of her mouth.
She gulped and took a step back, then licked the stickiness off her lips. “Thank you for bringing it.”
An enormous smile covered his face and produced the deep dimple she loved. “What about my proper thank you?”
Quickly composing herself, she leaned in and placed a light peck on his cheek. “A kiss on the cheek is all you shall have, for I am a lady.” Her mother had taught her the words long ago. Olivia had said them so many times that they came out of her like a well-rehearsed song.
He lit up with another dimpled smile. “You are more than welcome.”
Why did he have to be so handsome? Her feelings for him had become too complicated. Life had been so much simpler when they were children.
She took a large breath and looked him in the eyes. She could at least feign confidence. “There are two possible reasons you continue to bring me pastries. Either you have some secret desire to see me as large as a cow, or you are fond of my kisses.”
His pleasant expression became something . . . more. He traced the curve of her cheek with a single finger. “I bear no fondness for cows.”
She swallowed hard. Her cheeks heated and her heart heavily thumped. She had to turn away.
“In regard to what I am doin
g today . . .” He cleared his throat. “I hoped you would join me for a walk in the orchard. Possibly pick a few apples for my father?”
“I . . . I cannot. Mother expects me soon. I have a fitting for a new gown. One to be worn at the crossing celebration, which as you know is only two weeks from today.”
He stepped in close and took her hand. “Another time then?”
Her fingers trembled in his grasp. “Very well.”
“Why do you shake so? I have always believed us to be the best of friends.”
“We are. But . . .” She pulled away and drew invisible patterns on the wall. “There are things expected of me. I cannot simply run off to the orchard to pick apples and eat pastries. I have obligations.”
“So, your obligations make you tremble?”
Even the way he questioned her fluttered her insides. His playful demeanor kept her cheeks hot, and she wished she could run away, before he saw them beam red. Since she had been taught to face every obstacle, she slowly turned toward him, yet dared not utter the truth.
His enticing smile told her he already knew it. How could he not?
He cocked his head. “What is so important that you cannot make time for me?”
It was a reasonable question. Being the only heir to the throne, one day she would rule Padrida. It would be her responsibility to enforce the law and care for her people, so why not have some authority now over her life?
She pulled her shoulders back and stood taller. “Mother expects me. Thank you for the pastry, but I must go.”
He moved even nearer. His eyes searched hers and the lump in her throat returned, along with abundant nervousness.
He opened his mouth and started to say something, but before he had fully formed a word, she sprinted away. She managed to look over her shoulder and found his eyes still on her. He crossed his arms and leaned against the stone wall, then blew her a kiss.
She nearly stumbled.
“Stop being so foolish,” she mumbled to herself.
As quick as she could, she lifted her skirt and hastened through the courtyard and into the safety of the castle.
* * *
Olivia sped by two guards, and they nodded as she passed. Loyal men doing their duty. Truthfully, it made little sense. Why have guards when everyone respected the king?
The only brawls Olivia had witnessed happened between young men fighting to be noticed by a particular female. They always ended peacefully. At least somewhat. After a bruise or two.
As she approached her mother’s room, she slowed and took long, steady breaths. She had no intention of having to explain why she had become winded.
She stopped in the center of the hallway, smoothed her dress, and inhaled deeply one more time, then walked at a snail’s pace into the room.
Her mother sat comfortably in her favorite cushioned chair with needlework in hand. Her three ladies stood at her side, cooling her with large feathered fans. As the queen, she could have others sew for her, but she had said more than once that not only did it calm her, she enjoyed it.
“Is that my dress?” Olivia pointed at the piece of exquisite cream-colored fabric in her mother’s hand.
“Yes, my dear.” She held it up. “The beading has given me some difficulty, but I am managing it.”
Olivia touched the tiny white beads intricately carved from bone by an elderly artisan. “It is beautiful, Mother.”
“And it will be lovely on you.” She set it aside and waved her hand at the ladies. “Leave us. I want to speak to my daughter alone.”
Silently, the ladies dipped their heads, curtsied, and scurried away. Their skirts swished through the doorway. One pink, one yellow, and one lavender. Similar to delicate flowers floating across the floor. The women were loyal beyond words—just like the guards.
“Olivia?”
She startled at her mother’s touch.
“Are you unwell, my dear?” Her mother patted the seat cushion of another chair and nodded for her to sit.
Olivia felt fine, but her mind had been elsewhere. The way the ladies had fluttered from the room reminded her of the birds, soaring through the canyon. Mentally, she had been flying along with them. “I am fine, Mother. However, I admit I am restless.”
“At the ripe age of eighteen, I am not surprised you are uneasy.”
Olivia folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. She did not want to have this conversation. Whenever they spoke of her age—especially in respect to being ripe—it led to talk of marriage. After all, her mother had been seventeen when she married. By her standards, Olivia was overdue.
She decided to change the course of the conversation. “Mother . . . as often as I have been told the stories of old, I do not understand them. Whenever I go to the wall, something inside me begs for answers as to what is beyond the forest. It pains me not knowing.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed, but Olivia persisted. “Do you never long to be free?”
Laughter as light as air emerged from the woman. “I am free. As are you. Why do you speak so foolishly?”
How could she explain herself?
Olivia studied her mother, who had once been the daughter of a farmer. Her life dramatically changed when the king found favor with her, and even now, she was still young and lovely. She kept her auburn hair braided and twisted up on her head beneath a golden crown. Her green eyes sparkled when she laughed. They had only dimmed when she had been unable to give the king a son.
Olivia took hold of her hands. “Have you never wondered what is beyond our range of view?”
A deep sigh took away some of the woman’s glow. “Since you were a child you questioned that very thing. As your father has told you time and again, you would find nothing different beyond our realm. The outside world bears the same sun, moon, stars, and trees.”
She cupped Olivia’s cheek with her palm. “As we oftentimes tell you, you are safe here. Evil lies beyond our walls. We have kept it away for many, many years. Why do you want it upon us?”
“I do not wish for evil. But I believe there must be something more.” No matter how often she had heard this from her parents and others, she could not dismiss her curiosity.
Her mother rose to her feet, facing Olivia. “Set your mind elsewhere. And your heart. You should be thinking of marriage, not daydreaming about what you cannot have or see. You will look stunning at the ceremony in this dress, and I am certain all the young men will appreciate your beauty. It is time you acknowledge one of them.” She extended the dress. “Put it on. I desire to see you wear it.”
Olivia gingerly took the dress and moved behind the changing screen. As princess, for every special ceremony she was adorned in rare silk. Common women of the kingdom were only allowed cotton and wool. The royal household alone enjoyed the luxury of the fine fabric.
The immense amount of material overwhelmed her. How long had it taken to make such a thing? It surrounded her skin in smooth deliciousness and conformed to her curves.
Yes, the men would look, but she wanted to be eyed by only one particular man.
Donovan.
The thought of him brought a smile to her face.
She turned in a circle, waiting for her mother’s approval.
“Strikingly impressive.” The deep voice came from the back of the room.
Olivia whipped around. “Father!” She rarely saw him midday.
Grinning broadly, she rushed to his side and hugged him tight.
“No!” her mother scolded. “You shall wrinkle the fabric.”
“Forgive me.” Olivia quickly released him.
She could not deny she felt a closeness to him that was foreign with her mother. Likely because he had never made her feel apologetic for her gender.
He folded his hands over his belly and smiled. “Sonya, our daughter will be the center of attention at the crossing celebration.” His eyes twinkled. “I shall be forever grateful she has your beauty, my dear.” He wiggled his brows at her mother.
Oli
via giggled. She had no doubt they still loved each other. Something she hoped for—long-lasting love.
“Boden.” Her mother moved to his side. “She has been talking foolishness again. Please speak to her.”
Have I become invisible?
Olivia shook her head and returned to the changing screen. She removed the gown and put on her blue cotton dress, then draped the fine garment over the top of the screen to keep the fabric from wrinkling.
She crossed to her parents. “Thank you for the gown, Mother. I promise to be careful when I wear it.”
“Good. Now, go with your father, so that I may return to my beading.” She clapped her hands and her ladies appeared instantly and took their positions beside her.
Olivia linked her arm into her father’s and left the queen’s chamber.
They passed the guards—who raised swords in the air out of respect for the king—and walked into the courtyard.
Without speaking, they continued on their way down a winding path to the apple orchard. Hopefully, Donovan would not be about. Olivia had to cope with one issue at a time.
For as long as she could remember, her father brought her here whenever he wanted to talk about anything of importance. A simple wooden bench offered a place for their conversation, beneath the shade of the apple trees.
Olivia primly tucked her skirt beneath her and took her place beside him. Far off in the thickest part of the orchard, farmers busily picked apples. They would be blessed with a good harvest this year.
Her father took her hand. She had always loved the feel of his plump fingers, soft and round like his belly. He, too, had a fondness for the baker’s pastries and many other foods. He had told her many times, kings were never meant to go hungry. One of the benefits and pleasures of being king.
He fiddled with his long dark beard, using his other hand. She had inherited the color of her hair from him, though his had started showing tiny specks of gray here and there. She thought it made him look even more handsome, not to mention dignified.
“You are fidgeting, Father.” She smiled, hoping to ease him.
“It troubles me to see your mother upset.”
