Hook: Exiles of the Realm

by Adrienne Bell

  Hook

  Exiles of the Realm

  Adrienne Bell

  Contents

  The Realm

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Thanks for Reading!

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 by Adrienne Bell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For aught that ever I could read,

  could ever hear by tale or history,

  the course of true love never did run smooth.

  A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  The Realm

  Seven months, thirteen days, and ten hours ago…not that anyone was counting…

  The Great Hall was empty. Just like James knew it would be.

  After all, who would agree to be left behind to guard an empty chamber while the rest of the palace gathered together to witness the greatest spectacle in recent memory?

  Even now, the four worst threats against the Crown were being trotted out to the Royal Courtyard in chains. In just a few minutes, the poor bastards would be proclaimed guilty of high treason, cursed to banishment, and kicked through the Gate of Purgatory, never to be heard from again.

  A mass exile.

  It was bound to be a hell of a show. One James was almost upset to miss.

  Almost.

  But as it was, the rare event was providing him with the opportunity of a lifetime.

  Pulling a small silver orb from his pocket, James eyed the center of the hall. With a flick of his wrist he tossed the magic relic into the dead center of the room. There was a crack, a puff of white smoke, followed by a sudden blast of air that rose all the way up to the vaulted ceiling.

  Just like that, the thick layer of fae warding protecting the Great Hall dissipated in a rush.

  A wide smile spread across James’ face as he stepped away from the white slate wall at his back. It seemed the evanescing relic that he’d lifted off his pal, John Flint, worked after all. Residual magic crackled around James as he emerged from the shadows. He wasn’t overly concerned about anyone sensing the minor energy disturbance, just like he wasn’t worried about being seen. Why should he be when there was no one here to notice?

  No one conscious anyway.

  Most of the soldiers that usually stood sentry inside this room were at the king’s side—part of the pomp and pageantry for the masses—and the few poor bastards that had been left behind to guard the Crown’s stronghold had gone down surprisingly easy.

  That meant he was alone…all alone with the single most valuable relic in the entire Realm.

  James let out a slow breath as his gaze focused on the bright red stone fixed into the crest atop King Oberon’s throne. A sunbeam broke through the high-arched cathedral windows at his right, perfectly catching the dozens of facets of the gem. Fractals of dark crimson light spread out across the mosaic floor at James’ feet as if to welcome him. To beckon him closer.

  It was almost as if the damn stone wanted him to steal it.

  Who knew, maybe it did.

  There was unfathomable power contained in that thumb-sized gem. It wasn’t beyond reason that it had sentience—quite literally a mind of its own.

  And if it did, James was willing to bet the stone didn’t want to spend its days looking down on a brutal tyrant like King Oberon. What would?

  Not that James gave a damn about politics. In his mind, all rulers were the same—ruthless and power-hungry. He didn’t even envy the power that came with the Crown. Not when it came drenched in dreary bureaucracy and responsibility.

  James had more important concerns, like freedom, and treasure, and magic.

  His life was exactly the way he liked it. He went where he wanted, took what he wanted, and kept whatever company he was in the mood for.

  Of course, a touch of fame didn’t hurt. His reputation as one of the best thieves in the Realm opened a lot of doors. Hell, he was probably every bit as famous as those unlucky bastards getting ready to take their one-way trip to purgatory.

  Except, unlike them, he was too damn good to get caught.

  Not bad for a kid who’d started off as nothing more than a common pickpocket.

  James silenced the strike of his boot heels as he moved across the floor. He might be a cocky bastard, but he wasn’t a fool. There was a reason no one had ever tried to steal the Key of Janus before…and it wasn’t just because they feared the near cataclysmic power contained inside. Rumor had it the gem was the most heavily warded relic in the Realm.

  Which is why he’d come prepared. His pockets were weighed down with nearly every tool in his arsenal—relics that could break magical barriers, muffle sound, obscure light, erase memories. James had them all.

  But so far, he hadn’t needed many. His skills and talents—along with a conveniently cracked window—had been all he’d required to steal inside the castle and sneak through the corridors. Hell, even the lock to the Great Hall had yielded to his touch.

  Maybe snatching the Key of Janus out from underneath Oberon’s nose wasn’t going to be that hard after all. Maybe all the Crown needed to keep the Threshold of the Underworld locked was a couple of well-placed rumors. And why not? James knew better than anyone that belief could be far more powerful than magic.

  The Heavens knew his whole plan depended on it.

  A whisper of wind sailed through the hall as James stepped up onto the king’s throne. He swiveled around, quickly checking the floor, but there was no one.

  Of course there wasn’t. Everyone was at the exile. He’d spent months planning this job to go as perfectly as all his others. Nothing was going to go wrong. Nothing.

  Still, James hesitated another heartbeat before turning around. He pulled a long, thin dagger from the inner lining of his jacket as he eyed the blood-red stone.

  He was almost there. So damn close.

  James let out a slow, controlled breath and lifted the tip of the blade with his left hand, testing the gem’s hold in the setting. It wiggled. Not much, but enough for him to work with. He loosened his fingers around the grip, releasing the tension in his hand. This was finesse work. The slightest shake would leave behind telltale scrapes in the crest’s delicate layer of gold, and James couldn’t have that. He couldn’t risk leaving behind even a trace of his presence.

  And that was the real catch, wasn’t it?

  Stealing the Key and replacing it with a replica would cement his position as the best thief in the Realm—hell, it would make him a damn legend—but it would also mark a target on his back. Oberon would stop at nothing to have the power of the gem back above his throne. Which meant James couldn’t tell a soul.

  Well, not outright.

  Sure, stories could fly. Rumors could spread. His name could be whispered. But nothing could ever be proved.

  And that, in turn, was the beauty. There was only one way to prove that the gem he was about to leave behind in the crest was a fake, and that would be to try to unleash its power…and that was the last thing anyone in the Realm would ever do.

  Everyone knew the story behind t
he Key’s power. It had been forged millennia ago, at the end of the war between the Magical Worlds when Hades and Oberon had been engaged in an all out struggle to win Queen Titania’s hand and earn the right to rule the Realm of Light. Hades, the Lord of the Underworld, had fought hard, seeing his chance to seize control of both worlds, but Oberon had a trick up his sleeve. He had compelled a legion of magicians to create a relic with the power to seal off the lower world, cutting it off from the other two forever.

  The moment Oberon’s army had beaten Hades back beyond the Threshold, he employed the Key, imprisoning Hades in his homeland, and cementing Oberon’s position as the true king. Ever since that moment, the Key had been placed above the king’s throne, a symbol of the rightful rule of the Fae Crown.

  Of course, James didn’t care about any damn story. All he wanted was the prize and the thrill that came from pulling off the impossible. He wanted to know with absolute certainty that he was truly the best thief the Realm had ever seen.

  One final twist of the blade and the gem popped out of its setting. James let it slide down his shirt cuff to the small, concealed pocket at the inside curve of his elbow. In the same instant, he snapped the replica from the cup of his palm. He pinched the fake stone between his thumb and finger as he held it up to the light.

  It shimmered in the sun’s rays, casting the same geometric pattern across the floor. The perfect forgery was a work of art. No one would ever know. Damn, he really was the—

  “Halt.”

  The command echoed off the walls.

  James closed his eyes as he let out a slow breath.

  Best. He was going to say the best.

  Well, even the best had to deal with hiccups every now and again. That’s why he’d come prepared.

  “Raise your hands.”

  James froze as a dozen boot heels sounded against the floor behind him. It was too many men, far more than should’ve been on patrol right now on this side of the palace.

  Which meant there was nothing ordinary about this. This wasn’t some random pack of palace guards that had happened upon him. This was an ambush.

  He’d been set up.

  “The guard told you to raise your hands, James,” a familiar voice rang out. “If I were you, I’d follow the order.”

  No. Not just set up. He’d been stabbed in the damned back.

  James ground his teeth as he pivoted around on the throne. He was greeted by a half circle of fae guards, their razor-sharp halberds pointing at the dead center of his chest. James swept his gaze over their ranks. He wasn’t interested in any of them.

  There was only one man he cared about.

  A man he’d known for years. A fellow thief. A pirate. A man that up until this moment James had counted as an ally, a drinking buddy…and some nights, after way too many tankards at the tavern, a confidant.

  “John Flint.”

  The traitor gave a deep mocking bow that showed off the golden epaulets snaking over his shoulders. Those were new. So were the royal blue breeches clinging tight to his legs and the captain’s jacket draped over his chest.

  James’ eyes widened. “It seems you’ve found yourself a new position.”

  “I have,” Flint said. “All thanks to you.”

  “Always glad to be of service,” James said, slowly lowering his dagger hand. “But falling in with fae guards and royalty, Flint? Is that really the best career move?”

  “Not all of us can steal our Captain’s rank, Hook.”

  “No, but it appears that you can betray your way to one.”

  “A lesson I learned from you.” Flint broke from the ranks and took a single step closer. “Tell me again where you picked up that sweet little evanescing relic you used a few minutes ago?”

  “You can hardly blame me for lifting such a treasure,” James said without even a blush. “Especially after you bragged about it so brazenly.”

  “Oh, I don’t.” A mocking grin spread across Flint’s face. “It’s exactly what I wanted you to do. After all, what would be the point of going to Oberon with your plans unless I could convince him that you had a chance of succeeding.”

  Red-hot anger swept through James’ veins. “You devious little rat.”

  “Funny.” Flint’s smile grew. “That’s exactly how I described you. After all, I wouldn’t have had to do any of this if you would’ve taken me on as a partner when I asked.”

  So, that’s what this was about—greed and good old-fashioned jealousy. James tried to will Flint to take another step, close enough for him to jump down and drive the dagger straight through the bastard’s heart, but it didn’t work. He was just an ordinary man, after all. He could line his pockets with all the relics in the Realm, but he would never be able to summon any magic on his own.

  “You know I only work alone,” James said.

  Flint’s lip snarled up. “Of course. You’d cut out your own mother if it meant you could keep all the coin.”

  “Don’t forget the glory,” James added.

  “Not that glory will do you much good where you’re headed,” Flint said. He pulled his shoulders back, puffing out his newly ornamented chest. “But don’t worry, old friend, I was able to convince the king to spare your life.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried,” James said with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. The motion allowed his fingers to slip inside his hip pocket and pinch the same relic that he’d used to knock out the other guards. The same tingle of magic rushed through his fingertips. He felt the slight concussive wave of power emanating out a ring around him, and…

  Nothing.

  The semi-circle of guards stood firm. Even the bastard Flint stayed steady on his feet.

  James pressed his lips together tight. Well, that wasn’t good.

  Flint laughed. That was worse.

  “Worried now?” he asked.

  “What have you done, Flint?” James asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “You forget, Hook. I know you,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I know your history. I know your tricks. More importantly, I know your inventory of relics. It was simple enough to ward my guards against your arsenal.”

  “They’re not your guards,” James growled. “They’re the king’s, and you know as well as I do that the Crown doesn’t smile kindly on men like us.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, James. The king hates men who steal from him, men like you.” Flint strode closer, stopping just a few feet away. “I now steal for him. It’s an important distinction.”

  “And one that will end with you in a puddle of your own blood one day.”

  “So says the man with a dozen halberds aimed at his heart.”

  “I’ve faced worse odds.”

  Flint slowly shook his head. “No, you haven’t.”

  Damn, the bastard was right. If Flint had been surrounded by mere men—or even just a couple of fae guards—James might have stood a fighting chance. But going head to head with half a dozen of the king’s soldiers? He wouldn’t last more than a couple of seconds.

  There was no way around it. He was going to have to wait until the odds were in his favor. It wouldn’t be the first time that he had strategically faked surrender.

  At least, he didn’t have to feign the glare that he gave Flint as he stepped down from the throne. The bastard held out his open palm. James laid the blade of his dagger flat against it. Flint grimaced and let it slide to the floor. The steel clattered against the tiles.

  “You know that’s not what I’m after.”

  James tightened his jaw. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes, I do.” Flint smiled—a wide, vicious smile. One that made James wonder how he never noticed the crook’s vindictive streak before. “And more importantly, I want to.”

  For a brief second, James forgot about the guards. He lunged forward, but pulled up short as the arch of spear points thrust toward him, stopping just short of his chest. James glanced down at them. One scrape and he’d be writhing on the floor
in agony. The enchanted fae steel blades had the power to magnify pain hundreds of times over.

  Dammit. It wasn’t like him to lose his temper. He needed to keep his head on straight. He needed to forget about revenge and keep his wits sharp. If he could do that there was still a chance he could escape with his prize as well as his neck.

  James let out a long breath before reaching out and placing the fake Key in the center of Flint’s palm. Flint’s grin grew even more victorious as he closed his fist. Well, that was one bit of good news. At least the bastard believed he had the real stone.

  “Search him for relics,” Flint commanded to the two archers at his side. They broke off from the line and roughly grabbed James by the arm. One guard tore the jacket from James’ back as the other ran his hands over his limbs, feeling for hidden magic. One by one, they pulled relics, large and small, from his pockets, tossing them into an impressive pile at Flint’s feet.

  After a few long minutes, both guards took a step back.

  “That’s it, sir,” the one said.

  “Are you sure?” Flint asked.

  “Positive.”

  James swallowed a laugh as he shrugged his great coat back over his shoulders. The king’s guard might be the best soldiers in the Realm, but they were terrible friskers. He still had nearly half a score of relics stowed in warded pockets…the Key included.

  Flint’s eyes narrowed. “We can’t risk him smuggling even a single relic out.”

  “And here I thought you knew me so well,” James said, giving in to the laughter. “I’ve never needed magical help to escape a prison cell.”

  The edge in Flint’s glare grew sharper. “Who said anything about prison?”

  For the first time, cold fear pricked James’ heart.

  “Where else would I go?” he asked.

  Flint didn’t answer—not with words anyway. But his brows arched and his smile grew, and a sick wave of understanding washed over James.

  “No,” James shouted as the guards seized his arms.

  “Follow me, Hook.” Flint turned around and strode towards the door. “I know you don’t want to keep the crowd waiting.”