My Iris.
To be killed in such a way was horrific.
Every night, I raged myself to sleep in the bed where she had slept beside me. I could still smell her on the sheets. I dreamt about her sweet flesh and woke up with tears in my eyes and my cock fucking throbbing. Her loss broke me, as if I had ever been whole without her at all.
During the day when I was at court, I went through the endless goddamned motions of becoming the next king of the land. I listened to my father’s wishes, agreed to be crowned while he still lived.
I met with his advisors, signed the device for succession, did all the things I needed to get done. But inside I was molten fucking lava, churning and boiling and waiting for my chance. The only good thing about taking power, the only reason I still agreed to go through with it, instead of simply riding off never to return, was that once I wore the crown, there was not a motherfucking thing Queen Patara could do to stop me from having my revenge.
Exile was still what my father urged.
“Do not start your reign with bloodshed,” he said. But in my darkest moments, drinking hard alone in the dungeon where I’d kept Iris, I thought of darker fucking things. I thought of torture and terror. When my father passed, it would all be up to me. My desires would be the law. I could do whatever I fucking wanted to that bitch.
Iris would have been my queen. Her murder was on Patara’s hands.
The moment I became king, she’d go from queen to queen-killer.
A thousand arrows would suit her just fucking fine. And I’d shoot every motherfucking last one of them into her myself.
One by agonizing fucking one.
My coronation day started with a thunderstorm that shook the castle walls. The skies poured rain, like heaven was fucking grieving right along with me. I woke up on the floor of our dungeon, with a hangover that felt like I’d been cold-cocked with a broadsword on the battlefield.
For two blissful fucking seconds after I opened my eyes, I thought Iris was still alive. But then I remembered the sight of her body, so swollen and battered that I could only hope she was dead before she went into the water. And I had to tell myself the same goddamned thing I said every time I dragged myself out of unconsciousness. It was all real. It had all happened. She was fucking gone.
Rolling over and getting to my feet, I dunked my head in a cold bucket of water. The fucking room spun but still there was that pain in my heart. That emptiness. That raw, unhealing wound. I missed her so much that I’d rather be dead. But today was the day that I became king. So I downed a long swig of grain alcohol cut with lemon juice and salt, put on some half-clean clothes, and went straight to my father’s chambers.
He looked worse than ever. Seeing him made my fucking heart sink. How much pain can one man feel?
I pulled up a chair beside his bed and said, “No fucking way are you leaving this room today. You’re not strong enough.”
My father chortled. “You’re telling me I look like shit?”
I cleared my throat and tried to wake up. “Stop busting my balls.”
“You’re as big a pain in the ass as I was at your age. You’ll make a damned fine ruler. Just don’t be an asshole about it.”
He slung his legs out of bed, wincing, and I wrapped my arm around his body to help him up. His eyes were cloudy, fogged over. I’d only ever seen that once before in my life. It was an old dog we had, an old wolf hound that had grown up with me. The day he died he’d woken up looking like that in the eyes, like there was mist between him and the world.
“Father. I mean it. There’s no need for you to be there. You can see everything from your window.”
“Christ almighty, son. Do I look like a guy that watches life happen from windows? I’m going to put my crown on you myself, end of conversation,” he grumbled.
Fuck. He sounded just like me. In spite of myself, I laughed a little and he did, too. Damn it, my life wouldn’t be the same without him. I wouldn’t be the same without him.
“I’m gonna fucking miss you,” I said, with tears stinging my nose. In the last five days, I’d cried more than I ever thought a man could fucking cry. As I shut my eyes to pull myself together, the life I wouldn’t have spread out in front of me. Houses full of Iris’ children that my father would never know. That I would never know. That soul-shaking love I’d never feel again.
More grumbling. “Listen here,” he said, turning away from me to take a piss in his chamber pot. “You start crying now, I’ll start crying. And what kind of fucking kings would we be, weeping over each other, eh?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose to stop the tears, now smiling in spite of myself yet again. He always could bust through even my toughest defenses.
“Fine, you old bastard.”
He finished at the chamber pot and then pulled up his britches.
“That’s my line. Now go get your ass dressed properly and let’s do this thing. And remember,” my father said, taking a few steps toward me. “Remember today and remember tomorrow, remember forever that she is with you. Your mother has always been with me and Iris will always be with you. I may not have done what was right always, I should have done more to protect both of you, knowing there were many in Patara’s household that wanted you both dead. I doubt that any of them set the fire that burned you, I doubt Patara ordered your mother poisoned, I expect it was, as the investigations concluded, just a random chill that took your mother and a coincidence that Elaina’s house went up in flames a few days later. Either way, I’ll take the guilt of not protecting both of you with me, even into my death. I’m sorry you will carry some of that same pain for Iris.”
Fuck almighty, the pain that thinking about her caused me. It was almost unbearable. I gritted my teeth and nodded, not even fighting the fucking tears now.
“But, my son, you must realize, until you produce an heir, you will be in danger. Iris can be with you always, but you must take a wife. You must. She is with you,” he said, sounding certain as I’d ever heard him, giving me our old handshake one more time. “I promise. She’s always with you. And I will be, too. Who knows, maybe I’ll finally get to meet her when I leave this mortal coil. But, you must put the kingdom first. The kingdom comes before all else.”
The storm broke and the crowds began gathering outside the palace in the early afternoon. The ancient coronation stone of the kings of Aramoor stood on a terrace in front of the great square. My father and I waited behind the door that stood in front of the terrace, him fixing my collar and me fixing his.
All around us hustled my father’s men and servants. Behind us had gathered his entourage; his sisters were there, his cousins—I knew them, but not well. I was the shameful bastard son in their eyes, and I was not someone who ever encouraged closeness, both because of the way I looked and the way I acted.
But I was grateful that they were there. And grateful that ours was a loyal family, and not a person among them had threatened my father’s power. Nor would they threaten mine.
The one threat to my power wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Patara and her own entourage had made themselves very fucking scarce. Word had it that she’d been so scared when I tried to get through her door that she pissed herself. Not bad for five minutes’ work.
My father’s valet came up behind him, holding a red velvet pillow. On it sat the crown. It was a mix of old and new, rough and fine, iron, gold and diamonds. My father turned away so his valet could place it on his head, for the last time. I turned away as well, as my own servant adjusted my neckpiece and ceremonial armor.
Some kings were crowned in silks and pearls, but I wasn’t fucking one of them. As my royal color, I’d chosen a green so dark it was almost black, because I was, and would always be, deep in grief for Iris. And I always wanted to honor that. And honor her memory. I would live as a grieving warrior king. Forever and fucking ever.
I handed my mask to my servant and he fastened it on my face. So much goddamned pomp and circumstance. But I understood it. Bread and
circuses worked for the Romans and it worked for the people of Aramoor too. They liked a show, they liked high drama.
But more than that, the act of unmasking me in front of them, on my coronation day, was to legitimize me as a ruler. As the mask went on, I felt like I had so many times—like a horse in blinders. It narrowed my world and heightened my senses. Somehow, whenever I wore it, I was able to cut through whatever shit was around me and notice what might be too soft or subtle for others to notice.
Like now, behind me, there was a commotion in the hallway, faint but definite. I glanced at my father, but he hadn’t noticed. I listened, trying to piece together what I might be hearing.
Whatever it was, it didn’t sound violent. No clank of swords, no raised voices. Nobody else in the room seemed concerned. Probably just more of my father’s entourage then, come to join the ceremony. I fucking hoped so, anyway. Because I was too tired and in too much pain to deal with a fucking coup.
The mood in the room shifted as the servants stepped back. Preparations done; time for the big fucking moment. My father straightened his shoulders, looking way healthier and stronger than he did in his night clothes.
Outside, on the terrace, the sound of drums began, low and ominous, and the chatter of the crowd quietened to a dull murmur. My father gripped me by the bicep, weak but still confident.
“Ready?”
I nodded. “Ready.”
The doors to the terrace swung open and the crowd went completely silent. There were thousands gathered. People spilled from every alleyway and balcony surrounding the coronation square. The drums continued on, increasing in speed and intensity as we stepped out into the open air.
My father stepped forward in front of me. The people cheered when he opened his arms and bowed to them. They fucking loved him, always had. In his lifetime there had been no war, only peace, no famine, only prosperity.
“My lords and ladies, my men and women, my people. We are here today for a momentous event. For the first time in the history of our kingdom, a living king will crown his successor. I present to you, my natural son, Prince Randal.”
My father stepped aside, and I took my place next to him. I bowed slightly, and the people went fucking wild. The noise was deafening. But even still I was aware of something happening behind me. I knew now wasn’t the time to turn around and see what the fuck was up, but I kept part of my focus behind me just to be safe.
My father nudged me to get on with the next step. This was the part I fucking dreaded. This was what I had dreaded for my entire fucking life. It was time for me to show my face to the people I would rule. The ultimate goddamned battle wound, my face, for everybody to see.
I tipped my neck side to side, stretching out my tense muscles. Then I reached behind my head and unfastened the leather strap. And finally, placing my hand to the front of the mask, I removed it from my face.
Silence. Fucking silence. Exactly as I had always feared. I felt sick to my goddamned stomach. I don’t know how long it was dead quiet. A minute? An hour? But slowly, I heard murmurs spread across the crowd. And the murmurs changed to conversations. And the conversations changed to shouts.
But to my absolute fucking astonishment, the crowd seemed neither horrified nor scared. Instead they seemed relieved. Mixed up with their relief was the warm sound of recognition. It was exactly, fucking exactly, like what had happened with the old man I’d saved from being mugged.
Aren’t you the man who…? Followed by all those goddamned good deeds.
“Christ.” I shook my head, starting to blush.
I noticed my father’s lip tighten, ever so slightly, in a hint of a smile.
“Didn’t I tell you?”
The conversations turned, little by little, to cheers. And then absolute…well, absolute fucking delight.
Keeping my eyes lowered, I ran my tongue over my teeth and started to smile. Holy shit. Embarrassment wasn’t something I felt often, but I felt it then. And it felt a whole shitload better than shame, that was for fucking sure. But just as I’d been shocked into reality the minute I opened my eyes, I was shocked back into it again. Iris wasn’t here to share this with me. The one who’d given me the courage to step forward and do this at all wasn’t by my side. And never would be again.
My grief didn’t stop the world from moving forward around me. Now for the coronation itself. My father turned to me and me to him. Using one hand on each side of the crown, he lifted it from his head, and I knelt in front of him, ready to receive it.
But then, on my left, I saw a cluster of people enter the chamber where we had been before the doors opened. There was a swoosh of dark fabric, a glittering shimmer of black pearls. Fucking Patara. That bitch was here after all.
I wasn’t intending to give her the satisfaction of looking straight at her. But from the corner of my eye, I saw it: a long blonde braid.
I turned, and my father froze with the crown hovering above my head.
Iris. It was Iris.
She looked like she had been starved and beaten since last I saw her. She blinked hard in the sunshine, like the light hurt her eyes. Her clothes were filthy, her braid a knotted mess. But she was still as beautiful as ever to me. And most important of all, she was alive.
Holy shit, she was alive. How was that even possible?
The joy. The relief. It was like the last few days had turned my heart to ice. Seeing her was like the spring thaw. I was up and off my knee in a heartbeat, ready to take Iris in my arms and put an end to the nightmare that I had been living since I last saw her.
But the rush of joy became a rush of total fucking horror. Because next to Patara stood the head of the Queen’s Guards. He stood behind Iris, with one arm around her, using her as a human shield.
And the tip of his dagger dug into her waist.
Chapter 18
Iris
I was about to die.
I was sure of it. Either by the dagger in my stomach or the starvation I’d endured. Either way, I didn’t have much longer left in the world. I’d had only a few scraps of food to eat in the last few days, hardly enough water to keep me alive, but I was alert enough to know that the dagger would plunge upward under my ribcage, straight into my heart.
It will be quick. At least it will be quick.
And yet, all my thoughts of dying vanished as soon as I saw Randal. I could see from his expression and from the shine of tears in his red-rimmed eyes that he had no idea that I had been alive.
There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was scruffy and slightly unshaven, even though he was dressed as a king. He had been suffering, just as I had. He had not forsaken me; he had not forgotten me. He had been grieving for me. He was even dressed in what looked to my bleary eyes to be black. With a mourning band around his upper arm.
I clapped my hand to my mouth and tears tumbled down my cheeks. But the guard who was holding me hostage tightened his grip and I felt the dagger tip pierce the skin of my stomach. Beyond where we stood, it looked as though every single person in Aramoor had gathered to watch Randal’s coronation. I’d never seen so many people—I didn’t know so many people even existed. But even still, even with all those faces, it was only Randal that I saw. It was only Randal that mattered to me.
He drew his sword, holding it high, menacing the guard from above with his strength and height.
“Get the fuck away from her,” he said, taking a few strategic steps closer, always keeping the tip of the blade steady in the air.
The queen stepped forward, positioning herself between Randal and me. “Careful, you monster,” she hissed. “I know how much you want her. And I know it’ll kill you to lose her.”
“You had her all this time?”
“Of course I had her, you fool. Did you think I’d give up such a prize without getting anything for it?”
“And the body?”
The queen laughed. “A servant girl. Don’t worry, she had no real family to mourn her. In a way, you could say I did her a
favor, giving her someone to grieve for her loss.”
Randal’s eyes moved past the queen, softening as he looked at me. He said nothing out loud, but I heard the words. They hung there between us like a mist. You are fucking mine. And I will protect you.
Queen Patara clasped her hands behind her, with her back still to me. I watched her slip a small, narrow dagger from between the folds of the back of her dress. Its hilt was disguised as decoration, decorated with black pearls. With one hand she palmed the hilt and then backed up into me, so that now two blades pressed into me.
I met Randal’s gaze, swallowing hard. “She’s got a knife to my stomach.”
The blade turned clockwise, creating a tear in my skirt.
“I’ve got a knife to your womb, you little whore,” the queen snapped.
Randal’s nostrils flared and his face flushed red with anger.
“Let her go. Right this fucking second.”
The queen tsk-tsk-tsked.
“This is how it’s going to go, bastard boy. I control the guards; I control the palace. I control your father and the throne is rightfully mine. Do you think your country could have had peace all these years if not for my family’s backing? I hold the real power here, and don’t you forget it.”
Randal’s father, the king, began to protest, but as soon as he did, he too was seized by one of the Queen’s Guards. The guard placed his blade directly to the king’s throat. Steel pressed into paper-thin skin.
“You think I give a shit if you garrote me,” the king grumbled. “I’m a dead man already. You’d be doing me a favor!”
The set of Randal’s jaw told me he was furious. The situation was slipping out of his control and he wasn’t going to stand for it.
“Father,” he said.
That one word, that one firm word, diffused his father’s anger instantly. For the first time, I could see what had been staring me in the face all along. Randal was destined to lead. I’d chosen to call him my King, because that’s what he’d always been, through and through. He could control a situation with a single word. His strength and power were mesmerizing to everybody around him. Even the king himself. Even, it seemed, to the queen.
Masked Prince (Fated Royals Book 2) Page 13
