Masked Prince (Fated Royals Book 2)

by Nikolai Andrew

  “What the fuck do you want?” Randal asked the queen. “Staging a coup is one thing, you bitch. But what’s your end game? I’m still very much alive, if you haven’t noticed.”

  The queen shifted the hilt of her dagger slightly in her hand, palming it more firmly, and backing up into me one more inch. It hadn’t sliced into me yet, but it was close… so very, very close.

  I shuddered and suppressed a cry. “Please, please don’t…” I pleaded, my voice shaky and crackling.

  I could see just enough of her face to tell she was smiling. What a terrible, terrifying human being she was.

  “You leave or else I kill her,” the queen said. “This blade has been laced with poison. All I have to do is nick her skin to get what I want.”

  Instinctively, I sucked my stomach in as far as I could. I felt like a skeleton, like my stomach might touch my spine.

  Randal created a few more inches of space between him and the queen, positioning himself slightly to her side, giving the illusion of space, but all the while moving closer to me. His right arm was closest. If I could only grab his hand, he might be able to yank me free and get me out of there. But it was so risky. And yet, I knew I would rather die in his arms than anywhere else.

  “Fine. Let us leave together,” Randal said. “Iris and I will leave right now, and you’ll never see us ever fucking again.” He reached out his hand to me. Everything was blurry with fear, but I forced myself to focus with all my might on his thick, strong hands. Slowly, very slowly, I slid my hand toward his, but the guard behind me stopped me, tightening his grip on my chest so much that it was hard to breathe.

  Queen Patara narrowed her eyes, making the crepey skin around them tighten, and she nibbled her cheek in thought.

  “No. It’s not enough. You have to die. Or else my reign will always be under threat.”

  Randal growled, actually growled, like a wolf giving a warning before an attack. I knew that sound; I had heard that sound. That sound had made me scramble up that tree as a child. But the queen wasn’t so wise. She didn’t give an inch. Brave or stupid. Or both.

  “All right, you’re in charge here. Let her go and you can do what you want with me,” Randal said. “Anything. String me up. Stretch and quarter me. I don’t give a fuck. Just let Iris live, Patara. Don’t come to power with her blood on your hands.”

  The queen laughed a little. “You are weak just like your father. He couldn’t protect you, couldn’t protect your mother. He couldn’t even protect himself. It might have taken years, but I finally have everything I want, and seeing the end of you and this little cunt might just bring me an ounce of pleasure today. She is your weakness. I can hardly think of any way I’d rather start my reign, you disgusting abomination.”

  So it was all true. I could hardly believe it, and I could see the pain pass over Randal’s face too. She really was the stuff of nightmares. I hated her so much that I had to look away. Over the edge of the terrace, I noticed the crowd beginning to grow impatient. It throbbed and pulsed, not like a group of individual people, but like a single thing—like an ocean, or a storm about to break. It seemed full of trapped energy and growing more frustrated by the moment.

  As the noise grew and grew, the queen’s body stiffened. It was the first time that I’d seen her show any sign, any hint, of fear. Though I couldn’t see her face, Randal could. He narrowed his eyes at her, starting to look smug and cocky, confident and pleased.

  “Maybe we should make a democracy of this shitshow at last. How about we ask them if they prefer you, the murderess and child burner…or me. Any bets?” Randal adjusted his position slightly, broadening his stance, making himself look even bigger and more imposing.

  The queen said nothing, but backed up into me further. I hollowed out my stomach to protect myself as best I could. I was so close to her now that I could even see her heartbeat pounding in the veins in her neck. She was terrified but doing her best to hide it. She was like old porcelain, full of cracks.

  “The people of this kingdom are stupid, useless sheep. They’ll do what I tell them. Just you fucking watch.”

  For a long moment, it was a standoff.

  Blades hovering, blood trickling, tension rising. It was more than I could bear. I knew, I simply knew, that if the people were given the chance to support Randal, they would. They just needed someone to say the word. In the crowd nearest to me, around the foot of the terrace, I recognized many faces that I knew well. Samuel, the baker. Landry, the farrier. Ava, the butcher’s daughter. These were my people, as much as they were Randal’s. I may not be any sort of royalty, but I knew how to talk to my people. That, at least, I could do. We were not stupid and useless. We were the source of royal power, and without us, the crown meant nothing. The queen would have nothing without our blessing.

  “The queen has to be stopped!” I said, my voice barely a creaky hoarse whisper at first.

  The familiar faces nearest to me stopped their cheering to listen to me. I took so much courage from their attention, and I didn’t stop to think about what I was doing, or the danger I was putting myself in. The queen could have ended my life right there and then, but I think, finally, she was starting to understand what that would mean for her. Gathering my strength, I simply acted, I simply spoke, in defense of the man I adored.

  “Randal is our rightful king!” I called out, my voice now stronger and more certain. “We cannot let anybody take what is rightfully his! And I promise you,” I said, now staring up at Randal, “He is worth fighting for! So fight for him! Fight for your new king!”

  From somewhere to the left, cheers of, “Ran-dal! Ran-dal! Ran-dal!” broke out in rhythmic unison. The royal drum corps echoed the rhythm of the cheers, too, and the chanting spread through the masses like wildfire. The crowd that had felt like an ocean, like a storm, turned into an angry and violent swarm. Little by little, they all began snarling together to get the queen, then take the queen.

  And finally, “Kill the queen!”

  Chapter 19

  Randal

  All fucking hell broke loose.

  As the crowd began to turn on Patara and made it abundantly fucking clear what they thought of her so-called coup, they went from throwing insults at her and her guards to throwing whatever the fuck they could lay their hands on.

  Horse shit, vegetables, stones. A good-sized brick came flying over the parapet, nailing one of the guards in the head. He staggered back, trying to steady himself, but the barrier that surrounded the coronation stone terrace was low, barely knee height, and he fell headfirst down into the crowd. They seized him like hungry animals, ripping that poor motherfucker limb from limb before either my own or my father’s guards could intervene.

  It took one second, two, three for the rest of her guards to get the sense of the changing winds and run to save their own asses. Fucking cowards. Not that I was surprised. That’s what money, not loyalty, will get you when the shit goes down.

  I was focused entirely on Iris, and the double-threat to her life. The queen was the first problem—closest to me and with a weapon that would require a minimum of power to inflict maximum harm. I gripped my blade two-handed and made like I was going to decapitate her, swinging wide and rushing forward. Instinctively, she dropped the poisoned dagger and ducked. Fucking predictable and exactly what I’d hoped.

  I kicked the blade aside and kneed her in stomach, making her double over. My men went for her automatically, grabbing her by the arms to neutralize her and all her goddamned venom.

  Next up, the guard that had Iris from behind.

  I could see in his eyes he was fucking terrified. I would’ve given good odds he’d already shit himself or was about to.

  “Listen, you motherfucker. I’ll give you one chance to let her go and flee the city. If you don’t take it, you’re fucking done. Got me?”

  He got me alright. He was halfway out the goddamned door before his blade even clattered on the stone. In an instant, I had Iris safe in my arms. I pulled
her into me with her face to my chest, shielding her from everything. She was back with me, where she fucking belonged. Where she was always meant to be. All the horrors of losing her faded away. The nightmare was over. My goddess was safe. She embraced me, shaking in my arms, howling like a terrified animal.

  “I’ve got you,” I told her. “I do.” Iris shook her head against my shoulder. As soon as she heard my voice in her ear, I felt her body relax. I pressed a kiss to her forehead, smoothing her messy hair. “Are you hurt?” I asked.

  She shook her head against my shoulder.

  “No,” she said, muffled into my chain mail. “I’m okay. I’m okay now. Thank God you’re okay, too,” she said, groaning out one last moan of adrenaline into my chest. I’d heard that sound before, from warriors when the battle was finally won.

  Still keeping her tight in my arms, I turned to the queen.

  “Alright, you bitch. I’m going to give you a choice. Either I throw you to the crowd like your man there,” I glanced over the parapet, and Patara did, too. His bloody, decapitated head bounced ghoulishly through the crowd’s outstretched arms. Pretty fucking helpful as illustrations went. “Or, I can show you mercy.”

  “Mercy?” She snarled. “What the fuck does a monster like you know about mercy?”

  More than you will ever know. I had lived my life knowing I could kill her, but never acting on it. I had shown her grace every motherfucking day of my godforsaken existence.

  “Time to choose, Patara.” I glanced inside the castle and saw commoners pouring through the hallways. Pretty soon, the choice wouldn’t be up to her. “Your enemy has breached the gates. If they get their hands on you, I’ll be powerless to stop them. You know what’ll happen. There’s probably a hundred barrels of tar near boiling, every goddamned one of them with your name on it.”

  She hesitated, her mouth tight. I knew she was going to pick death; I fucking knew it. It was the easiest way out. But before she could say the word, the head of her guards—the one she’d been screwing for so long—threw down his sword.

  “Mercy,” he said, dropping to his knees in front of me, with hands raised. “We both beg for mercy, your grace. Please, show us mercy.”

  Patara wasn’t used to being spoken for, and she didn’t like it one little fucking bit.

  “You cowardly piece of shit!” She roared at him, spit flying.

  “Mercy it is,” I said, pulling Iris close. She looked up at me, relief in her beautiful eyes. As I looked at her, I knew it was knowing her that had given me any mercy at all in that moment. She’d seen enough, suffered enough, and I would never have let her see me take out my vengeance in such a brutal and cold-blooded way.

  I pressed a long kiss to her forehead and breathed out all the tension that had gripped me since Patara had shown her face. My Iris was alive. My Iris was safe. I had my reason to live again.

  “Take the queen to the dungeons,” I said, and my guards snatched her up off the ground. “Make sure she’s unharmed. And weld the gate shut.”

  As my men went about securing the queen’s hands behind her back, Iris looked up at me.

  “There are people down there in her dungeons. They need to be freed.”

  Fuck, she was so beautiful. I hadn’t even let myself realize how much I needed her. But I wasn’t whole without her. Not even fucking close. I swept her hair off of her cheek, brushing the curve of her neck with my fingertips. “You tell them.”

  She searched my face. “I couldn’t. I don’t…I’m not…”

  “Tell them,” I told her, lifting my eyebrow, warning her, teasing her: Don’t make me tell you again.

  “I’m no princess,” she said, shaking her head, looking embarrassed. “I can’t give orders to your guards.”

  “You’re no princess, that’s for damned sure,” I told her. She looked absolutely fucking puzzled, but I didn’t leave her in the dark for long. “Pretty soon, you’ll be my wife, and that makes you the future queen. So you might as well get used to giving orders, baby. Starting now.”

  Iris blinked several times, in disbelief. “Me?” she asked, looking at me like I must be joking. “Your wife?”

  I was a lot of things right then—relieved, in love, fucking aching to be inside her. But one thing I wasn’t was joking.

  “He’s about to put that crown on me,” I said, looking back at my father, who was looking as healthy and happy as I’d seen him in ages. “And when he does, it’s up to me who I marry. Got it?”

  She bit her lip and a red blush flooded her cheeks. “Yes, my King,” she whispered.

  Never had a title sounded sexier on anybody’s lips. “Fuck yes,” I growled into her ear.

  Iris turned to my guards, still locked in my embrace, and said, “Please, free all the prisoners that Lady Patara has in the dungeons. And take special care of the old smuggler. I’d like to know where he goes to recover.”

  “Yes, my lady,” answered my men. And off they went, with Patara kicking and shrieking like the banshee that she was.

  Once the crowd let go of its bloodlust and we restored order to the castle, Iris and I took our place at the coronation stone. When my father placed the crown on me, declaring me King, the crowds exploded in cheers.

  Iris tightened her grip on my hand, glancing up at me, lifting her chin. She was proud, but I was even prouder to have her by my side. It was fucking bizarre to think that I was the one they were cheering for, but there it was. With her hand in mine, we knelt together before my father, as I swore to protect the kingdom and everyone in it.

  “Especially you,” I promised her, as we bowed before my father, the crowd roaring its approval. “More than anybody else, I promise to protect you. My life is yours. I am yours. Forever.”

  Chapter 20

  Iris

  Randal’s father turned to me outside the open door of the great cathedral and offered his arm. The red autumn leaves of the enormous oaks that lined the church grounds whispered a hushhhhhhh in the breeze.

  Organ music began to rumble through the open doors, and an eager quiet fell over the gathered crowd that packed the pews inside. But outside the cathedral, for the moment, it was just the two of us, along with my ladies in waiting who were hurrying to adjust my long, white silk train.

  I couldn’t believe any of this was happening to me. Me, a simple milkmaid from a simple place, with simple expectations. And yet, here I was, getting married to the king, dressed in white silk and diamonds.

  I clutched my bouquet tight in my fist. It all felt so surreal, so dreamy, but I knew that as soon as I saw Randal at the altar, I would feel steady once again. He was my anchor; he was my light. I loved him more than I ever thought one human being could love another.

  A little squeeze of my arm brought me back to the moment. In the months since Randal had been crowned, his father had regained some strength, but we had learned that the queen had been poisoning him for years and it was very likely that the damage had already been done. None of us knew how long he would be able to survive, but we took each day we had with him as a blessing. He had told me time and again that I had helped him get a bit better; I’d started studying with the palace medical man to become a physician myself.

  I’d never thought of royalty doing useful things like becoming doctors, but then I’d never heard of milkmaids becoming royalty either. It was a brand new world for me. And I had never been so happy, especially to have helped Randal’s father. Because it meant on this day, this most important of days, he could walk me down the aisle. I looked up into his eyes, which sparkled in the autumn light. They were nearly the same color as Randal’s, but less piercing and intense.

  “You look beautiful, my girl,” he said.

  Behind me, I felt the gentle tug of my train being fanned out to its full, luxurious length. I glanced back behind me to see Bonny, who had been helping me at the farm since she was a girl. She looked so beautiful in the dark green brocade that I had chosen for all my maids for my wedding day.

  For to
day wasn’t just my wedding day. It was also the day of the harvest festival. And, in honor of that very first time Randal saw me, I chose dark green for my maids and a bouquet of wheat and roses. The tables for the feasts after the ceremony were spilling over with cornucopias of red apples, at Randal’s special request.

  I adjusted the crown of wheat and lavender I wore. Then I got up on my tiptoes and gave Randal’s father a kiss on the cheek, his white scruff gently scratching my skin. “Thank you, father.”

  “Ahhh,” he said, smiling up at the sun. “Never gets old to hear you say it.”

  The music changed to a march and everybody in the cathedral rose. “Shall we?” Randal’s father asked. And we were off.

  We stepped inside and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the shimmering light that spilled through the enormous stained-glass windows. But I knew where to look, even as my eyes adjusted. At him, always at him. And as the scene got clearer, I saw him. Randal. My love, my King, my everything.

  He smiled at me the whole way down the aisle. Each step brought me closer and closer to my future, to my new life.

  At the front of the church, Randal’s father gave me a peck on my cheek and then handed me over to Randal. I melted into his strength and took a long deep breath to fill my lungs with his warm, sexy scent.

  Together, we walked the last few steps to the altar. His forearm was even bigger than I remembered somehow, and gleaming in his ceremonial silver chain mail, with a deep green velvet beneath. Green was to be our color. The color of prosperity, good fortune…and fertility.