The Stolen Princess: A YA Dystopian Romance (Desolation Book 3)

by Kortney Keisel

  Two.

  Done.

  “Your Highness?” Ms. Happ snapped at her.

  Myka’s eyes jerked away from her hypnotizing hands. “Sorry. What did you ask?”

  Ms. Happ spoke in her cutting way. “I said, I haven’t seen the king in so long. How is his recovery going from his surgery?”

  “Excellent!” Myka lied. “He should be out and about soon.”

  She pursed her lips. “Well, that’s good to hear. The king’s recovery is all the newswriters have been talking about.”

  That’s what Myka was afraid of.

  “How kind of everyone to be concerned,” she said, forcing a smile.

  After she got Ms. Happ packed up and gone, Myka walked to her father’s suite. She wanted to check in on him before she snuck out.

  As she was about to round the corner, Stoddard’s hushed whispers stopped her.

  “Don’t worry. Everything can still move forward as planned,” Stoddard said. “Right now, your top concern is making sure the secret weapon is stable. It’s the most important thing right now.”

  The secret weapon?

  Growing up at Tolsten House, Myka had heard the whisperings about weapons before. When she was sixteen, she had even seen a newswriter that had an article about weapons of mass destruction with the headline, What is King Adler Hiding? Myka had taken the paper to her father and asked him about it, but her father had always told her that weapons like that were a rumor—something that his enemies had come up with to make him look bad. He admitted to having a few prototypes of smaller bombs, but nothing that would cause the kind of damage referred to in the article. Myka had no reason not to believe him.

  But this was different.

  She didn’t trust Stoddard.

  Maybe her father was making another prototype. Last week Myka had shown up late to a meeting between her father and the High Rulers. High Ruler McCarren’s voice had been raised, making it easy for Myka to hear as she came down the hall.

  “If you don’t do something about these weapons,” High Ruler McCarren had said, “then we’ll be in a war with the other six kingdoms in a matter of months.”

  “Don’t worry about the weapons,” her father had reassured him. “They haven’t hurt us yet.” Myka had walked into the meeting, and everyone had stiffened except for her father. He had beamed at her and immediately changed the subject. Myka had wanted to ask him about what High Ruler McCarren had said, but she hadn’t remembered until now…now that she was overhearing another conversation about weapons.

  She quieted her breath and looked behind her to make sure nobody was coming down the hall. She pressed her back against the wall and tilted her head toward the direction of the whispers, hoping to find out more answers.

  “Yes, the secret weapon is stable,” another voice that Myka recognized as Doctor Von’s chimed in. “I told you I could work miracles, and I can, but I’m worried about how long everything is taking. I can’t keep things hidden forever.”

  She pulled her eyebrows together, trying to make sense of their conversation. Why would Doctor Von work miracles on a weapon? He wasn’t an engineer. And what things was he trying to keep hidden?

  “I know. The king’s health has slowed our project down,” Stoddard said. “Perhaps we need to move forward without him.”

  Her breath hitched. What did Stoddard mean by that?

  Doctor Von huffed. “This is King Adler’s project. We can’t move forward without him.”

  “We can if he’s dead.”

  Myka clenched her teeth. How could Stoddard even say that?

  “But you’re not going to let that happen, right?” Stoddard said. There was a manipulative edge in his voice that Myka didn’t like.

  “I’m doing my best to save him,” Doctor Von replied, easing Myka’s worries.

  “You are the miracle worker. We already know that,” Stoddard said as if to pacify the doctor. “Don’t worry about anything else. You keep doing what you do best, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Myka rolled her eyes. Stoddard craved power like a puppy craved attention.

  Doctor Von whispered, “If you say so.”

  “Trust me,” Stoddard said. “When it’s time, this world won’t even know what hit them.”

  She pursed her lips together, wishing she had a little more context for this conversation. Myka jumped at the sound of footsteps coming her way. Casually, she walked around the corner of the hall, almost colliding with Stoddard.

  He glanced at her with disapproving eyes. “Princess Mykaleen, have you forgotten your manners?”

  “Have you forgotten my father is the king?” She raised an eyebrow up at him. She would’ve raised her chin, but Stoddard was so short his gaze was practically eye-level with hers.

  He let out a slimy laugh, the kind that made her cringe. “I would never forget that. I’m here to serve His Majesty.”

  What a liar.

  “That’s not what it sounded like in your conversation with Doctor Von. What’s the secret weapon you and Doctor Von were talking about?”

  His jaw tightened momentarily, but then his mouth twisted into a smile. “You shouldn’t be eavesdropping on conversations that don’t concern you.”

  “I’m the Princess of Tolsten. Everything concerns me.”

  His smile went smug. “Not everything.”

  Myka’s hands tightened into fists.

  “Leave the kingdom to me. I’m sure you have so many other things on your mind, like your father’s declining condition.”

  She straightened. “I’m not sure I would say he’s declining. Each day he gets a little stronger.” That wasn’t true, but that was what she wanted to believe.

  His gray eyes flicked across her face, and his mouth turned down into mock pity. “I was just in his room, and he looked pretty bad to me. We had to end the meeting early because he was so sick.”

  Myka’s eyes narrowed in on him, but nothing was written across his face that suggested he was lying. Immediately she pushed past Stoddard. She wasn’t going to waste her time on him.

  “Dad?” she called, scanning his room as she flung the door open.

  Noises came from the bathroom, and she hurried closer. The door was slightly ajar, and she could hear Blanch in there with him.

  “Dad, is everything okay?”

  Her father coughed, a horrible hacking sound.

  “Take it easy, Your Majesty,” Blanch said.

  “Blanch? Is everything okay?”

  There was a scuffle and then something plastic crashed to the ground. Myka could imagine her father swiping whatever it was off of the vanity counter.

  “Your Majesty, hold still,” Blanch pleaded.

  A painful groan came from the bathroom, followed by more crashing sounds. Myka flinched, and her heart sank. Every step of his illness presented new problems and challenges, things she wasn’t sure she could handle. So far, she had walked a fine line between caring for her father and giving him privacy, but perhaps that line would fade the sicker he got. Shuffling footsteps swept across the marble bathroom floor, and Myka instinctively backed away. Blanch opened the door with one hand while the other hand supported the king.

  He was dressed in the same maroon silk pajamas that he’d worn that morning at breakfast, and his face was pale and hollow. His eyes and cheeks sunk in, leaving his bones to protrude out. His body slumped over as if he didn’t have enough strength to hold himself up. He looked a hundred years old. Older than he had looked when Myka had left him that morning.

  She lunged toward him, holding the palm of her hand against his forehead. The heat from his skin burned her hand. An unsettling realization churned inside of her.

  He had another fever.

  She looked at Blanch. “What’s wrong with him?”

  The nurse hid her concern with a smile. “Nothing. He’s just having a bad day. I’ll get his fever under control, and he’ll get some rest and be back to himself again.”

  Myka grabbed her father�
��s other hand, trying to help get him to his bed.

  “It’s not safe,” he muttered under his breath. “Not sa…” his words trailed off into a whisper.

  Myka eyed Blanch, but she shook her head. Slowly, they helped him onto the mattress, scooting his body back against the pillow. His chest heaved up and down.

  “The blankets,” he slurred. His eyes were closed, but his hand motioned toward the feather comforter. “Cold.” Drool rolled down his bottom lip as he tried to talk.

  Myka pulled the covers up over his body and situated the pillows against his head the way he liked them. She sat down in her chair, leaning forward so she could quickly help him. She bit her lip and tried to shut down the emotion rising in her chest and into her eyes.

  He looked so much worse than he had that morning.

  His heavy eyelids raised. “My-ka. I...need to...tell...you.” With each word, her father sucked in a heavy breath.

  She bent over his body, trying to keep her own concerns under control. “Shh. You don’t need to tell me anything.”

  “The woods,” he coughed out, his fragile body hunching inward. “The woods...where we...used to play.” More broken words.

  She rubbed her hand across his forehead. “I know, Dad. We used to play in the woods.”

  “Don’t forget.” The words were garbled.

  “I won’t forget.” Tears streamed down her face. She didn’t even know when they had begun. “I couldn’t forget playing in the woods with you.”

  His face and body relaxed like he’d said what he had wanted to.

  Blanch leaned over Myka’s shoulder with a cold towel and pressed it against her father’s head. “I’ll get his fever down.”

  Myka looked at the nurse. “We need to give him some of Joett’s medicine.” She reached for the vial on his nightstand. It was empty. Her stomach dropped.

  “Blanch, what happened to the medicine?” she asked, bringing the vial up to her eyes.

  Blanch shook her head, blinking fast. “I...I don’t know. We must have used it all.”

  Her father groaned next to her. “The woods.” He reached absentmindedly for her hand. “Remember the woods, Myka.”

  Her eyes darted to her father.

  He was dying.

  Not right now.

  Or that day.

  Or even the next.

  But he was dying.

  Myka hadn’t seen it a week ago, or yesterday, or even hours earlier, but it was so apparent now. She was such a fool, living all this time with her eyes shut tightly so she wouldn’t feel the pain, but now it stabbed at her heart in a way she wouldn’t be able to escape. She couldn’t worry right now about what had happened to the medicine. All she could worry about was getting more.

  She would go to the fall market and get more medicine from Joett and bring it back to him. Then she wouldn’t leave his side. She would be next to him, holding his hand, until it turned cold.

  7

  Drake

  Winslow Gunner, a retired guard from Northland, tugged at his gray and white beard as he spoke. He pushed his empty plate aside and leaned forward, looking at the other operatives around the table at the Denton Inn. “What time did Rommel say he would meet us here?”

  Portlend Ricks, the operative from Enderlin, glanced at the clock on the wall. “He should be here any minute.” Portlend was ten or so years older than Drake. He had a serious face and blond hair that was buzzed short.

  “What if he doesn’t show up?” Grady George asked. He was the operative from the kingdom of Appa and seemed like a good guy, a little paranoid, but overall Drake could see himself getting along with Grady the best. “Then what do we do?”

  “Then we’ll find him at the market. Didn’t he say his wife would have a booth here?” Dawsick Hatch rubbed a hand over his bald head. He scowled at the rest of the men, and Drake wondered why King Bryant had chosen that man to represent New Hope. Did Bryant see a different side to the soldier than what Drake saw?

  “Yeah,” Kase Kendrick from Cristole added. He was quieter than the rest of the men, but his expression made Drake feel like he was plotting every operative’s death. “I already checked out the location. It’s in the second row, fourth booth down.”

  Winslow nodded like he was impressed that the operative had found out additional information on his own.

  Dawsick stood, arching his back. “I’m going to go get a drink.”

  Drake raised his eyebrows. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Dawsick said, narrowing in on Drake. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “I find it strange,” Drake said. “This is the first time all six of us have met together, we’re about to meet our informer for the first time, and you’re leaving?”

  Dawsick laughed. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m my own boss. You don’t impress me because you’re the commander of the Albion army. We all have impressive resumes.”

  “I didn’t say you didn’t,” Drake replied coolly although he was surprised that these men were the best that each kingdom had. “I assumed that the operative from New Hope would take this mission a little more seriously since your Princess was assassinated by King Adler.”

  Dawsick took a step toward Drake, prompting Grady to stand up and put his hand on his chest. “We don’t want to draw any attention.”

  Drake kept his face even. He hadn’t known anything about these five men other than that their respective kings trusted them. From this one conversation, he had learned so much. Winslow liked to be in charge. Portlend was strictly about business. Grady didn’t like confrontation. Kase took his time making decisions, and Dawsick was lazy and arrogant. Drake was sure the men were assessing him just as much as he was assessing them.

  “Excuse me,” a voice said behind them. Drake turned his head to see Rommel standing timidly by their table. “Are you all friends with Ezra?”

  Drake reached his hand out to Rommel. “Yes, we are. I’m Drake.”

  Rommel took his hand, nodding.

  “Take a seat,” Winslow said, gesturing to the open chair around the table.

  Rommel sat down, nervously fidgeting with the rolled-up papers in his hands. He looked around the inn. “I don’t want to stay long. I don’t want anyone to see me talking with you guys. I received King Ezra’s last letter, and I’ve got everything ready that he requested.”

  “Do you have the blueprints?” Drake asked.

  Rommel pushed the papers in his hands forward. “Everything you need to know about the weapons is right there—how many there are, what types, how to launch and detonate them.”

  Drake grabbed the papers, spreading them out on the table for all of the men to see. The faded drawings showed the exact shape and dimensions of the missiles Adler had created.

  “You designed all the weapons?” Kase asked, looking up at Rommel.

  Guilt swept across the older man’s face. “I did, but ten years ago, I thought it was for the Council of Essentials. I convinced myself that Adler would never take my designs and actually build the things. It was an easy justification to believe since I wanted to build the weapons. I wanted to challenge myself and create something that no one had created in over two-hundred years. And besides that, my boss was King Adler. You don’t say no to your king. So, I designed the weapons.”

  “Was he building them when you still worked at Tolsten House?” Portlend asked.

  Rommel nodded. “Yes. We had started making prototypes, but when I refused to make more, he fired me, saying I was too old to work for him. I was only sixty at the time. My mind was still as sharp as ever.”

  Drake glanced through the papers. “We’ve all heard that King Adler had weapons of mass destruction, but according to your blueprints none of these weapons are nuclear.”

  Rommel nodded. “Adler doesn’t have any nuclear weapons that I know of, but the missiles and the bombs are capable of mass destruction.”

  Drake eyed the other men, breathing in a sigh of relief. The
fact that they weren’t dealing with atomic bombs made things a lot easier. “Why didn’t you reach out to any of the other kingdoms earlier—tell someone that Adler was going against the Council and the Essentials treaty by building weapons?” Drake asked.

  “King Adler is a very powerful man.” Rommel’s eyes dropped. “He would’ve killed my wife or me if I went against him. And besides, I had no proof he was making the weapons. Just my word.”

  “So what changed?” Dawsick asked, taking his seat again.

  Look who’s suddenly interested in the mission.

  Rommel looked away, reluctant to answer.

  “Rommel, if you’re going to work with the operatives to fight against King Adler, you need to tell us everything you know,” Winslow said.

  His eyes glanced at the men around the table. “I heard a rumor that the king is sick.”

  Drake furrowed his brows. “A rumor? From who?”

  “A very reliable source inside of Tolsten House,” Rommel said.

  “Officer Arco?” Drake asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Someone else.”

  Grady leaned forward. “How sick is the king?”

  “Sick enough that he might die,” Rommel answered.

  “Why hasn’t Officer Arco said anything about this in our correspondence with him?” Drake asked.

  “I don’t think he knows.” Rommel raised his shoulders. “No one does. From what I understand, the king’s inner circle has kept it a secret. I don’t want the king to die before this happens; once he’s gone, who knows where the weapons will end up.”

  Drake couldn’t think of any reason why Rommel would lie to him. He was the one who had reached out to Trev, saying he could help Albion and the other kingdoms fight against Adler and his weapons. So far, everything Rommel had said had been true.

  The king’s health changed things. Everything seemed urgent now. They needed to uncover the weapons before the king died, or they might lose them. Adler was the enemy they knew, but if the weapons fell into the wrong hands after the king died, they could be dealing with an enemy they didn’t know.

  The door to the inn slammed shut behind them, making Rommel jump to a stand. “I’d better go. You have everything I said I would give you.” He moved to leave then stopped, looking over them. “You are the good guys, right? You aren’t going to hurt anybody, are you?”