by Olive Creed
FALLEN KING
Chronicles of Elyndia Book One
Copyright © 2021 by Olive M. Creed
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Fallen King / Olive M. Creed – 1st edition. Printed in the United States of America.
Text by Olive M. Creed
Cover and Interior Design/Formatting by We Got You Covered Book Design
Edited by Alex Clark
Dedicated to everyone who inspired this story.
Good luck figuring out which parts you inspired.
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 20
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Corynth followed his servant from the long hall into the dining room of the manor, trying to hide his discomfort at being followed by Kyrnian guards. They dwarfed everyone. Coming to these meetings always made him feel like a child.
Everyone else was already there, seated around the long oakwood table and talking amongst themselves. He took a seat at the end of the table, his general and his most trusted Shadow sitting down on either side of him.
The dining room was bright, candlelight reflecting off pale oak wood. Open windows let in cool morning air. The sun hadn’t even started to rise, inky darkness creeping in and adding to his discomfort.
“Ah, King Corynth Valenzuela of Achia.” Cedar Geobel, the man who’d called the meeting, gave him a pleasant smile. “We worried you might not have made it.”
“A needless worry.” Corynth didn’t smile back. He didn’t like Cedar, for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something truly disturbing lurked behind the man’s dark eyes. Every time they looked at each other, he was left feeling as though he’d seen the devil himself. “Why was this meeting called?”
“My brother has returned from his travels and brought concerning news.” Cedar nodded to the tall, dark-haired man beside him.
Miraz Geobel took a sip from his wine glass. “The Zonans are growing in strength and power. While I have no proof, I suspect their leaders may be preparing to... broaden their range of control.”
“Why would you suspect that?” Corynth’s general asked. “Perhaps they simply want to expand their trade sources.”
“I have my ways of knowing.” Miraz stared at him coldly and the general winced. “You should not question me. Instead, we need to plan our route of action.”
Corynth drummed his fingers against his thigh, thinking. “If they should attack, they would most likely start with my country, Achia. It is closest to them.”
Cedar nodded. “If that is what happens, you know you will have Kyrnia’s support.”
As long as you continue to pay your debt. Corynth heard the unspoken condition as plain as day. As if he could forget. The weight of the slave trade rested as heavily on his shoulders as running a country.
“I think it would be letting the Zonans know without a shadow of a doubt that we are strong. Too strong for them to risk engaging in battle.” Gavriil, a tiny Elyndian who looked like he spent most days inside with his nose in a book, looked around. He pushed thick, dirty glasses up higher on his nose. “We have the rumors of harboring demons to our favor, along with the Kyrnians’ allegiance. But if there were more, if we were stronger..."
Cedar leaned back in his chair. “What do you propose?”
“Strengthening our bond with Galka. Offer them more slaves, more produce, at a better price. Or give them first pick, whichever. Gain their complete allegiance. I can’t think of any country that would desire to come against us while we are backed by giants.”
Corynth nodded his approval. “I know I certainly wouldn’t. The risk would be too great.”
“If all are in agreement?” Cedar looked around as everyone around the table raised their hands. “I will propose this to the king and send messengers out to let you know his decision. Corynth, if this goes through, we will need more slaves from you.”
Corynth sat up straight, hot and cold washing over him. “I am already struggling to meet the yearly quota as it is!”
Cedar’s expression was impossible to read, dark eyes hidden in the shadows playing over his face and hiding his features. “Your people trade with the Elyndians, do they not?”
“Well, yes... but how would they suffice?” Elyndians were all small and generally weak, worth less than a child in the slave trade.
“Galkans love the exotic,” he said, standing. “My advice? Invade. Take over. Then you have two countries at your disposal. And I wouldn’t waste my time on it, if I were you.”
Corynth carefully hid his scowl, annoyed by Cedar’s mannerisms. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
Everdon, Elyndia
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times before, don’t be stealin’ cookies before dinner.” Naomi, the palace cook, shook her spoon at the two teenaged boys. “You’ll spoil your appetites!”
Prince Torrin’s best friend, Ryan, ducked away from the flailing utensil, shoving another cookie in his mouth. “It’s your fault,” he muttered, trying—and failing—not to drop any of the cookies stacked in his hand.
Torrin caught one as it fell, giving her the biggest smile he could muster. “Sorry, Naomi. But you make the best cookies in Elyndia. Maybe even the whole world. We can’t help it.”
She planted her hands on her broad hips. “Flattery ain’t getting you two young’uns anywhere. You’re seventeen. You should know better! Now get out of my kitchen or you’ll be scrubbin’ the pots and pluckin’ the chickens.”
Ryan shook his head, gesturing with his half-eaten cookie. “You can’t make the Prince of Elyndia scrub pots. And I’m his personal servant, his jasper in waiting, you might say. You can’t make me scrub a pot either.”
Torrin snagged his collar, tugging him back to safety as she raised her spoon again. “Yes ma’am, Naomi. We won’t do it again.”
Ryan grinned. “Today, that is.”
She harrumphed. “I’m gonna have to talk with the king about assigning guards to the kitchen! Now git. I’ve cookin’ to get back to.”
Torrin towed his cheeky friend out of the kitchen, finishing off his cookie. “Why do I let you get me in trouble?”
Ryan scrambled to keep his footing and not drop any of his loot as he was led into the hallway between the kitchen and pantries. “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that hard. All I had to do was mention Naomi’s cookies and you were pretty willing to sneak into the kitchen.”
Torrin took another one from him. He couldn’t very well argue with Ryan. “Maybe our parents were right. We really shouldn’t be friends.”
He stared at Torrin in mock horror. “You don’t mean that. You know without me around, you’d be as boring as Loxen.”
At the mention of his name, Torrin’s older brother appeared. He was three years older, destined to be king when Tiav stepped down from the throne next year. His gaze fell on the cookies in Ryan’s hand and he rolled his eye
s. “What are you two doing?”
“Stealing from the rich and distributing to the poor.” Ryan bowed with a flourish, somehow not dropping a single cookie. “We’re off to deliver the spoils to the orphans and widows.”
“Meaning your stomachs?” Loxen shook his head. “Torrin, you really shouldn’t allow your servant to influence you in behavior unfitting for a prince.”
Although Torrin knew he was teasing, he still bristled. “He’s not just a servant.” He knew their families didn’t approve of their friendship, since he was a prince and Ryan a servant, and that it wasn’t considered proper. But he didn’t care. Torrin crossed his arms. “It’s better than my becoming a stuffy prince who does nothing but attend balls and meetings.”
Loxen’s angular eyes widened, then narrowed, straight eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle. “I’ll have you know, little brother, that I am obligated to do so as Crown Prince. Not because I enjoy it.”
“Right. Because flirting with the ladies is part of being a Crown Prince. I must have missed that in one of Tiav’s many lectures.”
“I do not flirt with the ladies! I am simply friendly with them. It’s better than always getting up to mischief with servants.”
“How—”
“You know,” Ryan put in before Torrin could finish his retort, “if you were to separate us, Torrin here would fall apart.” He glanced at him sideways with a grin.
“I’ll fall apart?” Torrin scoffed. “Might I remind you that if it wasn’t for me, you’d be mucking the stalls every day.”
Ryan opened his mouth to retort, but Loxen stepped in between them. “Alright, you two. Stop raiding the kitchen, you’ll wind up fat. And don’t you have fencing lessons to attend to?”
They glanced at each other guiltily. “We might want to hurry and get there before someone misses us.”
Ryan nodded in agreement, dumping the cookies into Loxen’s hands. “Here, save these for us.”
That night, Torrin and Ryan sprawled across the rug in Torrin’s bedroom, the fire crackling in the fireplace chasing off the winter chill.
“Have you seen my book?” Torrin asked, glancing around. It wasn’t on his bed where he’d left it and he couldn’t see it under his bed, so Ryan probably hadn’t hidden it.
“On your desk. Be glad I didn’t lose your spot.” Ryan finished tying his hair back with one of his sister’s ribbons.
Torrin rolled his eyes, getting up and walking over to sort through everything Ryan had piled on top of it. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one doing the chores?”
“Nah. I’m teaching you responsibility.”
He shook his head, grunting a little as he lifted a stack of books and carried them over to his bookshelf that spanned an entire wall, carefully making sure they were put up in alphabetical order.
“Ya think yer ma will hear ‘bout us raidin’ from the kitchen?” Ryan drawled in a terrible accent.
Torrin flopped back down beside him with his book and smacked him. “Stop talking like a Kyrnian. And even if she does, she’s not going to mind.” Mother didn’t mind them getting extra to eat, so long as they didn’t spoil their appetites. Torrin and Ryan were growing, seventeen-year-old boys. They needed all the food they could get.
“Think Loxen will tell your tiav?”
Torrin paused a moment before shrugging and returning to his reading. “Probably. You know how he is.”
Ryan snorted. “A by-the-rules person if I ever met one. Why can’t he just relax for once?”
“Because he’s going to be king,” he mumbled, only half paying attention. He shifted so his feet were closer to the fire. “He has a standard to uphold. Besides, he’s naturally stiff and boring.”
“Like you.” Ryan got up on his hands and knees and peered over his friend’s shoulder. “See? In your spare time, you’re reading history. Why not something interesting, like a book on legends or pirates?”
“Because legends won’t help me make a good prince.” Torrin closed his book with a huff. “And I hear enough about pirates from Tiav and my brother. And what are you so worried about? Do you think they’re gonna send you to work in the stables for stealing some cookies?”
He snorted. “No. If I went to the stables, you’d be right there with me, ya old mule.”
Before Torrin could think of a retort that would silence him long enough for him to at least finish the chapter, a shriek echoed outside the room. They froze, then bolted to their feet, running into the long hallway.
Tiav’s private study was just a couple rooms down, the door standing open. One of the maids—Ryan’s sister—stumbled back into the hallway, her hand over her mouth.
While Ryan ran to her, Torrin made for the study, stepping over a discarded tray and shattered dishes. His stomach leaped into his throat at the stench of blood and his body went cold at the sight of his tiav’s boots sticking out from behind the desk. Paperwork floated across the floor in the cold winter breeze from the open window. Blood plastered a few pages to the desk and dripped down the wood paneling from a large stain, as if his tiav had been thrown against the wall.
“Tiav?” Torrin hurried around and almost cried out in shock.
Thion Slater lay sprawled on his back, blood puddling underneath him and draining from his slit throat onto the wooden floor. Empty brown eyes stared out from a face twisted and frozen in horror.
His heart crashed painfully against his ribs. Everything blurred around him as he glanced around the room, almost gagging at the sight of two bodyguards lying dead on the floor. The third lay in a crumpled heap on the ground outside the window.
Torrin staggered back, the room spinning. Tiav was dead? Who would kill him? Who would want to? He was a kind and just king. Always treated the people fairly.
Ryan’s gaze met his when he stepped out of the study, holding his shaking and crying sister close.
“If I’d just taken the tea up sooner,” she sobbed. Brown hair stuck to her tear-streaked cheeks.
Torrin swallowed, stepping over to hug her, instinctively pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to her. Ryan’s sisters were practically his sisters. And he needed physical contact just as much as she did.
Tiav’s dead. Tiav’s dead. The words circled inside his head, along with the image of his empty eyes. Torrin closed his eyes against the sting of unshed tears. Fear tingled down his spine. “Mother.”
He tore down the hallway towards her bedroom, praying he wasn’t too late. Behind him, Ryan shouted for the guards.
His parents’ bedroom was on the far end of the hall and he heard the metallic ring of swords striking against each other before he got there, bursting into the room.
Mariam Slater was backed up in a corner, Loxen in front of her fighting off a man dressed in lightweight, black armor. Her two bodyguards fought several other men in similar armor, while her lady in waiting lay on the floor, bleeding from a cut on her head.
All this took just a few seconds to take in. Torrin grabbed a pitcher—the closest thing to a weapon he could find—from the vanity by the door and charged the man fighting his brother. He broke it over the stranger’s head and he went down.
“Thanks.” Loxen shook his black hair out of his eyes and ran for the men fighting the guards. “Get the women out of here!”
One of the strange men launched a knife at Torrin and he threw himself to the ground. The knife struck something behind him with a heavy thunk. Before he could look, a flash caught his attention and he ducked a sword. Torrin scrambled up, running for one of the fallen soldiers. He snatched the sword and spun, blocking a strike before it could separate his head from his body.
He blocked and parried furiously, backing up as the man advanced. Torrin tripped over a fallen body and rolled as the man stabbed, hands slick with sweat and shaking so much he nearly dropped the sword. He kicked his opponent’s feet out from under him and slashed across his ribs. Torrin risked a glance back to make sure his mother was safe. The world slowed down.
Torrin sprinted for her side to try and catch her, unable to breathe or think aside from try to stop the blood flow.
He felt the moment her heart stopped beating, her blood coating his hands.
A sob caught in Torrin’s throat and he whirled on the men in black armor, striking furiously. His heart pounded against his chest, hot and cold washing over him. They’d killed his—they were going to—he couldn’t let them kill his brother! Where were the guards? A body crashed into him from the side and he fell.
Several of the Elyndian guards burst into the room, armed with swords and crossbows. “Surrender!”
One of the men turned, launching a knife. The guards threw themselves to the side, firing their crossbows. Bolts zipped through the air with quiet twangs.
Torrin threw his arms over his head, curling underneath the body on him as arrows glanced off the walls and floor. Someone cried out. A window shattered and a roar shook the walls. Panic shot through him.
The neighboring country, Achia, had tame dragons. If these men were Achian soldiers...
Was the king trying to start a war?
Steel clashed together, followed by muffled grunts of pain and boots scuffing over the floor. Torrin squeezed his eyes shut, too scared to get up. Loxen was limp over him and something warm was soaking into his clothes. He felt a sob rising up and clamped his mouth shut, shoulders shaking once.
The chaos ceased.
