Daughter of the Disgraced King

by Meredith Mansfield

  DAUGHTER OF THE DISGRACED KING

  By Meredith Mansfield

  Copyright 2015 Meredith Mansfield

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Credits:

  Background: © Kasper Nymann | Dreamstime.com

  Girl: © Anasife | Dreamstime.com

  Scroll: © Tetordre | Dreamstime.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: A Ride in the Forest

  Chapter 2: An Unexpected Proposal

  Chapter 3: Farewells

  Chapter 4: The Desert

  Chapter 5: Across the Border

  Chapter 6: The Testing

  Chapter 7: Limelight

  Chapter 8: Dances

  Chapter 9: Wrangles

  Chapter 10: Magic

  Chapter 11: The Emperor

  Chapter 12: Solstice Ball

  Chapter 13: Diamond

  Chapter 14: The Inn at the Lake

  Chapter 15: Useful Magic

  Chapter 16: The Ring Mountains

  Chapter 17: Confusion

  Chapter 18: Desert in Crisis

  Chapter 19: Stretching the Magic Muscles

  Chapter 20: Imperial Summons

  Chapter 21: Reunion

  Chapter 22: Rift

  Chapter 23: Strategies

  Chapter 24: Harvest Ball

  Chapter 25: Preparations and Setting Out

  Chapter 26: Far Terra

  Chapter 27: Old Habits

  Chapter 28: Counterattack

  Chapter 29: Retreat

  Chapter 30: Making It Official

  About the Author

  Chapter 1: A Ride in the Forest

  Ailsa pushed a low-hanging branch out of her way and emerged onto the wider trail. Even the sharp, clean scent of pine couldn’t distract her from the dead tree directly across from her, a mature oak that had been green and healthy the last time she rode this way. Now it was bare and the bark was already turning black. Her stomach clenched at the sight. This was very nearly the heart of Far Terra. If the magic was failing even here, how much worse would it be on the fringes, nearer the surrounding desert? Without more mages—and soon—Far Terra would die.

  She shook her head as if to clear it. She couldn’t really begin to plan until she knew what kind of magic she had and she couldn’t learn that until she got to the Institute of Magical Arts. Today was supposed to be a farewell ride with her friends. Ailsa should be enjoying that. They’d had to leave early to escape the gaggle of girls who always seemed to be around to flirt with the princes. This was the last chance they’d have to ride like this for at least a year, maybe longer. She wanted to let Pearl have a good run and this seemed like the best place for it. Sav came out onto the trail, Cergio and Perion right behind him.

  She grinned, deciding to throw out a challenge she knew they couldn’t refuse. “There’s an old oak farther on, about a quarter mile. Race you there!” She leaned forward and dug her heels into Pearl’s sides.

  Sav’s big, leggy black caught up to her and then passed her. Ailsa’s lips thinned. At the last moment, she jerked the reins to the side and guided Pearl onto the narrower track, which also cut off a sweeping bend in the main trail. It wasn’t cheating. She’d only specified the destination, not the path.

  Ailsa sat up in the saddle to look ahead. Three fallen logs lay across this less-used trail, with no room for a horse to take a full stride between them. The undergrowth was too dense to allow any chance of going around them. Pearl could jump any one of them easily, but three together with barely room for the mare to gather herself for the next jump was more challenging. Ailsa had faith that Pearl could do it.

  She bent low over the withers of her horse and urged her forward. Pearl lifted off, easily clearing the first log, landing, and lifting off again. It felt like flying. Ailsa laughed as the wind of Pearl’s speed whipped her hair into her face. They broke out onto the main trail again only a couple of lengths ahead of Sav.

  This time they were going to do it. This time they were going to win. Ailsa turned her head to look over her shoulder. Sav’s long-legged black was gaining on them, but the other two were lost in the dust, too far behind to have a prayer of catching up.

  She wasn’t going to come in second. Not this time. A tiny whirlwind of fallen leaves would distract his horse and slow Sav down. She was tempted, but using magic really would be cheating. And that would take the luster off the win. Instead she leaned forward to whisper encouragement into Pearl’s ear. “Go, girl. You can do it.” The mare put on a burst of speed. Ailsa whooped and raised her arms in triumph as they passed the oak tree that marked the finish line.

  She jumped down and hugged Pearl’s neck, then grabbed a cloth from her saddlebags and began wiping her down, even though that little run had barely raised a sweat. “You’re wonderful. You’re the best horse ever.”

  Sav pulled his black stallion up beside her and dismounted.

  Ailsa paused her rub down of Pearl to turn to him. “I told you she could beat your black, didn’t I? She’s faster than she looks.”

  Savyon patted Pearl’s shoulder. “No. She just runs her heart out for you. It’s not the same thing.” His eyes glowed oddly as he met Ailsa’s. “It’s a gift. To be able to inspire that kind of loyalty. She runs beyond her abilities for you.”

  Ailsa blushed and concentrated on wiping the last traces of sweat off Pearl’s gleaming coat. Pearl liked to run. And if Sav was about to accuse her of using magic to win the race—when she’d specifically restrained herself, too—she’d . . . she’d hit him, prince or not.

  Sav looked back down the forest path to a narrow place where Cergio had somehow gotten his bay gelding turned sideways on the trail, blocking Perion. He swallowed and grabbed Ailsa’s hand. “Ailsa, I . . . I . . .”

  Why was Sav stammering? He’d never been shy with her before. They’d known each other practically since she could walk, after all. And even if she did occasionally get a little irritated with him, she would never really hit him. She looked up into his eyes. “What is it, Sav?”

  With a shout, Ailsa’s cousin, Perion, slipped around Cergio’s horse’s flank and raced towards them. Cergio followed at a slower pace.

  Sav grimaced and drew a deep breath. “You will be coming to the ball tonight, won’t you?”

  Ailsa nodded. “Yes, of course. It’ll be my last chance before I go south to school. I doubt I’ll get invited to very many parties there. Anyway, I’ll be there to study, not socialize.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Promise me a dance?”

  Ailsa smiled. “As many as you like, Sav. As always.” She turned back to Pearl to hide her face. Who else am I going to dance with? Perion? Aunt Izbel will prod him to ask me once or twice, but I know he’d rather be dancing with Delea. And Cergio will be on his next romantic campaign. He won’t have time for me.

  “I’ll see you there, then,” Sav said and released her hand just as the others rode up.

  ~

  Savyon patted his horse on the shoulder as he turned it over to the groom. Turning away, he kicked at pebbles in the gravel walk between the stable and the palace. Why did he have to get tongue-tied? Why couldn’t he be as good at this as his younger brother? Cergio never seemed to have any trouble talking to girls. Quite the reverse.

  Cergio fell into step beside him. “So? Did you ask her?”

  Savyon scowled at his brother. “No. You let Perion through too soon. I didn’t have time.”

  One of Cergio’s eyebrows quirked up. “How much time does it take? It’s a simple yes-or-no question, isn’t it?”

  “You can’t just blurt out a question like that without a little . . . preparation,” Savyon answered stiffly.

  Ce
rgio snorted. “No, you mean you can’t. If you’d’ve been doing this right, the proposal shouldn’t come as a complete surprise to her.”

  Savyon’s ears turned pink. Cergio’s idea of the right way to court a girl just wasn’t something he could see himself doing. Still . . . he probably could have found some way to show his feelings—if he hadn’t been so afraid of making things awkward between them and losing Ailsa as a friend.

  Cergio choked back a laugh. “Oh, no. You’ve still been going on as if you’re just childhood friends, haven’t you? Have you even tried to kiss her?”

  Savyon paused as they neared the side door of the sprawling palace. “Of course not. Not before we’re formally betrothed.”

  Cergio rolled his eyes heavenward. “We’re not living in the time before the Empire, Sav! You’re going to give the poor girl a heart attack if you just spring a proposal on her out of the blue.”

  “That’s what I said. I can’t just blurt it out,” Savyon said.

  “If you’d been showing her how you feel these last few months—say, since she came of marriageable age at her last birthday—you wouldn’t have been blurting it out.” Cergio sighed, black hair bouncing as he shook his head. “Never mind. It’s too late to do anything about that now. You planning to ask her at the ball tonight?”

  “Yes. If I can get her alone long enough.”

  “Well, there’s that patio down at the end of the garden. It’s a good place to go look at the stars. For the rest, you’re on your own.” Cergio opened the door and stalked off down the corridor.

  “But how do I get her to the end of the garden when the ball will be in the grand hall?” Savyon yelled after his brother. Cergio would likely know how to do it gracefully. He liked to have half the barons’ daughters trying to flirt with him. That kind of attention only made Savyon want to turn and bolt into the library. Not that that was a viable alternative for a prince.

  “You’ll figure it out.” Cergio called back cheerfully. “Or not. It’ll be fun to watch, either way.”

  Chapter 2: An Unexpected Proposal

  Ailsa moved her head carefully. She knew the jeweled coil held her blonde hair securely, but it still felt strange to have it twisted up so high on her head. The arrangement was meant to make her look taller than she really was. She angled her head to get a look down at her dress.

  The sapphire-blue gown was part of the new wardrobe specifically purchased for her trip to the imperial capital. It clung lovingly to every curve, except where it left the pale skin of her neck bare—almost down to her cleavage.

  Ailsa had grown up knowing that what was expected of her was to go unnoticed as much as possible. Don’t stand out. Don’t answer back. Don’t make herself a target. It had become second nature, by now. She was used to gowns that allowed her to fade easily into the background. This was about as far from that as it was possible to be. What, exactly, was she supposed to be fishing for, wearing a gown like this in the capital? Or here, for that matter.

  Seemed her mother had assessed the chances that any young man of Far Terra would ever be brave enough to ask her to marry him and hoped she’d have better luck in the south. That wasn’t what Ailsa wanted—to move south and never come back. She wanted to learn how to make things better here. That was the whole point of going to the Institute of Magical Arts. Maybe she’d just forget to pack this gown in the trunk to be sent on ahead of her. No. Mama would just send it on by the next coach.

  “Are you ready, dear?” her mother called from the hallway.

  Too late to change into one of her old, comfortable gowns. Ailsa drew a deep breath, which had alarming effects on the upper portion of the gown. A pink flush covered all that exposed skin at the way the gown tightened around her breasts. She expelled the breath before answering. “Yes, Mama. Coming.”

  Mama looked her up and down and smiled. “You look lovely, dear. Quite grown up.”

  Ailsa didn’t feel that grown up. Not nearly as grown up as she had that morning, riding. Somehow this gown made her feel like a little girl playing dress up. She had to fold her hands in her lap to keep them from fidgeting with the neckline of the gown during the very short carriage ride to the palace. Silly, really. It wouldn’t take any longer to walk, but Mama and Papa always insisted on the carriage.

  Stepping down out of the carriage, Ailsa smoothed her gown down and straightened her back. She didn’t dare take another deep breath, no matter how much she wanted to. Then she followed her parents into the grand hall. They had to pause a moment inside the great bronze doors to let their eyes adjust. The light was dim at this end of the room, provided by just a few torches in wall brackets. At the far end of the room, where the king sat on a raised dais, huge standing candelabras cast a much brighter glow, so that walking down the length of the hall was like approaching the altar of some deity. King Ewart did love spectacle and to be at the center of attention.

  The dance floor cleared as they advanced down the long room toward the dais. Everyone moved away from them, some even averted their eyes, afraid to even appear to be on friendly terms with the ex-king or his family. Even—or maybe especially—the ones who had once supported her father before Papa abdicated to marry a mage. Among the others, King Ewart’s staunchest allies, a disparaging murmur flowed down the room along with them.

  Ailsa tried to ignore Cergio’s low whistle as she passed, though she felt her face flush. She did smile at the look of frozen . . . rage on the face of one of the girls, however. Those two things alone were more attention than she usually got at one of these balls. Generally, she and her parents were all but invisible, at least once they’d paid their respects to the king. Ailsa liked it that way. She was used to it and it was much less dangerous than attracting too much attention from the king.

  Papa led them up the length of the room, Mama on one arm and Ailsa on the other, to the foot of the dais, where the king sat. Sav, as usual, stood behind his father. It was the proper place for the crown prince—and as far away from the swirling crowd as he could get. Ailsa curtsied with as much dignity as she could manage, while trying to keep from showing too much of that low-cut neckline. Out of habit, she avoided meeting the king’s eyes. King Ewart always looked like he’d tasted something bad when her family showed up at one of these balls, but he’d look even worse if they didn’t properly show their deference to him. As she rose, she looked to Sav. He was staring at her with a half-strangled look on his face. His eyes were practically popping out of his head and they were not focused on her face. Ailsa suppressed a smile. Maybe this dress wasn’t so bad after all.

  The ritual of obeisance done, Ailsa followed her parents off to the side of the royal dais. Once again, the barons and their wives and daughters moved aside to give them plenty of room. Bizarrely, some of the barons’ sons followed her with their eyes instead of stepping away. It made her want to duck and hide behind her father’s solid form, but she forced herself to stand straight and walk with her head high.

  They’d barely reached the edge of the still mostly-empty dance floor when Perion appeared at her elbow. “Care to dance?”

  Ailsa held out her hand and allowed Perion to lead her out onto the floor. “I thought you had your eye on Delea.”

  “She’s not here yet,” Perion answered with a grin. “And I wanted to claim my dance before everyone else mobs you.”

  Ailsa made a face. No one but her few friends ever danced with her. Her father’s ambiguous position in the court made that certain. Even Perion usually only danced with her when his mother prodded him into it. It was more a duty as her cousin than because he wanted to. “You’re crazy.”

  “No, I’m not. Not with you looking like that. Right now, every man in the room is watching us.”

  The last notes of the dance were still reverberating when Sav appeared at Ailsa’s side. “You promised to dance with me tonight.”

  Perion bowed and flashed an I-told-you-so grin at her. Ailsa let Sav take her hand and lead her into the next dance. Perion was cra
zy. Sav always asked Ailsa to dance. It didn’t mean anything.

  Something was strange about the lighting tonight, because Sav’s eyes, which she knew to be green, looked almost black, as if there was no colored iris at all around his pupils. Sav was less talkative than usual, too. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well. They had three dances before someone else claimed her. Ailsa spun around the room in five more dances, with five different partners. She’d never danced this much and she was beginning to feel hot and just slightly dizzy when Sav took her hand again.

  “You look like you could use some air,” he said.

  “Yes, please,” Ailsa answered a little breathlessly. She tugged covertly at the top of her gown. That last dance had been . . . energetic. Everything was still in place, but she didn’t like to think about splitting a seam, or worse.

  Sav smiled. “Perhaps a short walk in the garden.”

  Ailsa looked around the room. A disturbing number of the young men were still watching her. She suppressed a shudder. She was starting to feel like a lamb under the scrutiny of a pack of wolves. Elina and Delea, two of the girls who’d been most persistent in flirting with Sav and Cergio, were looking daggers at her, too. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”

  They walked in silence down the fragrant garden paths, lit by occasional torches, while Ailsa slowly relaxed. She sighed and breathed in the scents of the garden. They passed through the rose garden maze—hardly a maze, since the bushes were little over waist high, but it had been more mysterious once, to an eight-year-old. Sav had been taller, even then, as well as more than a year older. She’d had to be creative and willing to dare the thorns to successfully hide from him. She smiled at the memory.

  “Better?” Savyon asked.

  “Yes, thanks to you. That was getting to be a little overwhelming.”

  Sav executed a little bow without breaking stride. “My pleasure, milady. It’s about time you were the belle of the ball. Except that I want to be the only one dancing with you while the other men watch and hate me for monopolizing you.”