Golden Crown Read online

  “Go on.” Alex nodded, leaning forward.

  “Half the guard turned on the queen mother and stormed the dungeons to release the nobles being kept there.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, sire. Lord Leroy took control from there and the other nobles fell in line. They gained the support of the people who lived in the outer palace by decreeing that all those with magic be brought forth and put on trial.”

  Alex turned away and paced the length of the tent, his generals scrambling to get out of his way. How had he been so wrong about his people? They hadn’t been ready for the new world he’d thrust upon them.

  This was his fault.

  “There was cheering, sire.” The man’s voice broke. “The people… they cheered as a man was found guilty of being one of the magic folk and put to death right there in the center of town.”

  Alex stopped moving and pinned the young man with a stare, resisting the urge to ask him the question burning in his brain with this many witnesses. If he’d been so wrong about his people, none of them were trustworthy.

  “How did you get away?” he asked instead. “How did you get out?”

  “Persinette Basile.” His lips curved up. “She created quite the distraction when she left. It allowed a lot of us who didn’t agree with the nobles and their followers to escape to the inner palace where the queen mother is protecting all those who ask for it.”

  “How did you get out from the inner palace?”

  The man scratched his chin. “I’m not really sure. I volunteered to be the one to go and Amalie Leroy showed me through some tunnel that came out into a cove at the ocean. I walked for a while before I found a horse grazing.”

  Alex should have known. Hope knocked into him for the first time since his abduction that seemed so long ago. There were only two tunnels into the palace. One came out along the outer wall facing the forest. He’d used it with Etta to get back into the palace. The other, he’d only heard about. He pushed past Anders and left the tent in search of his brother.

  Tyson leaned against a boulder on the edge of camp with a cap pulled down over his eyes and his arms folded across his chest. Alex didn’t want to wake him.

  “I can sense you watching me,” he said with a muffled voice. He pushed the cap off his face, revealing eyes that he’d barely been able to look into since leaving Bela. They weren’t his mother’s. They weren’t Durand eyes. They were hers. Peering into the face of his brother was like seeing Etta. How had he never seen it before? It hurt too much, so he looked away.

  Tyson watched him with the cold stare he’d perfected since leaving Bela. He may have chosen Alex, but the ill feelings between Alex and Etta tore him apart. If they weren’t resolved, part of Alex worried his brother would never forgive him.

  “I need to talk to you.” Alex moved to lean against the boulder. “A man arrived today after escaping the palace and evading Leroy’s forces.”

  “You sure he’s not a spy?” Tyson’s distrust stung Alex. There’d been a time when his brother had been open and kind. But that was before he’d had to leave his home to run for his life.

  “He says Amalie showed him out through a tunnel.”

  That brought the light back to his eyes. “Amalie? Is she okay?”

  Alex nodded slowly. “Yes. But I need to know about these tunnels.”

  “I tried to tell you about them a long time ago. Back when dad–”

  “I know,” Alex cut him off. “And I’m sorry I never listened to you, but right now I need you to tell me if they can get me into the palace.”

  Tyson’s shoulders dropped, and he sagged back, his head swinging in a slow arc. “You can get into the tunnels, but the passageway into the palace can only be opened from the inside.”

  Everything inside of Alex deflated.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Alex patted the back of his head. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Alex spun around and slapped his palm against the stone. “Dammit, it’s not. Nothing is okay. Our mother is in there. She’s surrounded by people who want their king’s head and it’s all my blasted fault.”

  “Are you whining, brother?” Tyson raised an eyebrow. “That’s supposed to be my job.”

  Alex couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. He couldn’t tell anything at the moment. All he knew was that the people he loved were trapped, and he had to get them out. He gave in to his brother who was obviously waiting for him to speak. “Then what is my job, oh knowledgeable one?”

  “To be king.” Tyson stood. When had he gotten so tall? He’d grown enough to meet Alex’s eyes without tilting his head back. “You have to do what no one else can do. Figure out how to take back your throne and save our mother and Amalie, all while not taking back any of the progress Gaule has made toward accepting Belaens.”

  “Easy, right?”

  “Noble actions are never easy.”

  “Did you learn that one from Edmund?” Alex fell into step beside Tyson.

  Tyson ducked his head to hide his sheepish grin. “We spent a lot of time together after we escaped the palace.”

  “I wish you hadn’t had to do that.”

  “Me too.” He raised his hand in front of Alex’s face and snapped it open.

  Alex sputtered as water rose from the ground in a flash and slapped him in the face.

  “That was for being a dick to my people for so long.”

  Alex wiped his face on his sleeve. “You didn’t even know they were your people.”

  “You were still a dick.”

  “Yeah.” Alex sighed and pushed damp hair off his forehead. “I guess I was.”

  “Still kinda are.” Tyson shot him a final grin but didn’t stick around for Alex’s retort.

  Alex shook his head and reentered the tent where his officers continued to confer. They glanced up hopefully. “Sorry, we have to find another way.”

  The room deflated and no one spoke until a guard ran in, jostling Alex. His eyes widened.

  “My… My king.” He bowed clumsily.

  “What is it?” Anders snapped.

  The guard turned to him, shrinking back from the general’s large presence. “The scouts spotted riders, sir. A lot of them.”

  Alex cursed as Anders took charge, issuing orders to prepare the soldiers for battle.

  “Sire,” he said to Alex. “You should stay with the archers.”

  His first instinct was to argue, but then common sense kicked in. He was a much better archer than swordsman. His hand shot out, grabbing onto the tunic of a guard nearby. “Prince Tyson was just here. Bring him to me.” The man nodded and hurried away.

  There was no way he was letting Tyson near the fight.

  A horn sounded from the far side of the valley and riders crested the hill, stretching across the horizon.

  “Reinforcements for the duke.” Alex rubbed his jaw. It had to be. Holding his bow aloft, he hurried to the other side of camp where the archers gathered.

  “Archers, to me!” he yelled. “Ready your bows.”

  Nearby, Anders forced the soldiers into battle lines. Most of them had never been in so much as a fistfight. The royal guardsmen and women stood straight with steely eyes and calm demeanors. The Moreau fighters circled in chaos. Alex pulled his eyes away as a guard shoved Tyson forward.

  “Seriously, Alex? I’m a better fighter than three-quarters of those soldiers.”

  Alex shoved a bow into his hands. “Today, you’re an archer.”

  “I’m an awful archer.”

  Alex cuffed him on the back of the head as his eyes scanned the oncoming force. “You’re almost as good as me, Ty, so no more.”

  Tyson cursed and rubbed his head but otherwise remained silent as he readied his bow.

  Alex had never been in an all-out battle. He didn’t know exactly what to expect. But he was pretty sure they didn’t begin with a single rider galloping forward, a white flag billowing in the breeze.

  Alex pr
essed his bow into Tyson’s free hand. He stepped up next to Anders.

  The rider stopped midway between the forces.

  “You think it’s a trap?” Alex asked.

  “I don’t know, your Majesty.”

  The rider slid gracefully from the dappled mare and approached the envoy for Alex’s army. Long silver hair spilled from her helmet as she removed it. A woman. Alex sucked in a breath as her gaze pierced them even at that distance.

  “Hello.” The voice was quiet, no more than a whisper.

  Alex and Anders both twisted around looking for the source.

  “I’m not your enemy.” A musical quality lilted the words.

  “It’s her,” Alex said, his eyes widening.

  Revulsion flashed across Anders’ face, reminding Alex how his general felt about Belaens. Her magic allowed her to speak across the distance.

  “I need to speak with her.” Alex couldn’t explain it. The draw of her magic. Other than Tyson, he hadn’t been around any magic folk since leaving Bela and it had left a hole in his life.

  “Come,” her sweet voice said.

  “Stand down,” Alex called to his force.

  “You can’t go alone,” Anders argued.

  “Then send your best soldiers, but you are not coming.” He didn’t need Anders angering the woman with his disdain for her kind.

  Tyson ran up beside him and he opened his mouth to tell him to stay put, but then shut it without uttering a word. Tyson had as much right to meet the magic woman as he did. The eagerness on his face spoke volumes. Tyson hadn’t shown much interest in anything since leaving Bela.

  Anders handpicked three guards and horses were brought forward. They cantered across the field they’d intended to be a battlefield.

  When they reached the armored woman, her eyes caught on Tyson and widened as a smile spread across her face. “You have magic,” she said softly.

  “Who are you?” Alex demanded, looking down on her from atop his horse.

  Tyson slid down before Alex had a chance to stop him. “You sensed me?”

  She shook her head with a laugh. “We’ve all heard the rumors. I was only looking for confirmation.”

  Alex scowled at his brother as he jumped down from his horse. “I will not ask you again. Who are you and do you intend to attack?” He scanned her force at the other end of the valley.

  She finally turned her piercing gray eyes on him. “It is a pleasure to meet you, your Majesty. Like I said before, I am not your enemy. In fact, we can be of service to you. A messenger reached me saying that my father was trapped inside the royal palace, surrounded by traitors. I thought this must be a lie, but he was supposed to have returned with his wife. The risk was too great not to come.”

  “Your father,” he said dumbly.

  “Yes, Duke Caron. Recently wed to the princess Camille.”

  It suddenly clicked and Alex glanced back at his guards. “Stand down. These are the Caron forces. Thank God.”

  “I’m Ara. It truly is a pleasure to meet you, Alexandre Durand. My father always spoke most highly of you.”

  “You have no idea how relieved I am to see you.” Did her father know of her magic? He had to. There was no time for Alex to express his surprise as she spoke again.

  “So, it’s true then? Gaule is at war?” she asked.

  “Call your units to camp next to mine,” Alex said, gesturing to where pointed tents rose up across the valley.

  She nodded and spoke softly. Alex couldn’t hear her words, but her lips were moving. Her soldiers started across the valley and she gave him a shrug and vaulted onto her horse. Had they heard her words as he had from afar?

  He’d seen a lot of things in his short stint as king. A lot of magic. But he’d never get used to it.

  He climbed into his saddle and dug his heels into his horse’s flanks, anxious to tell his men and women that the greatest threat still lay within the palace walls. There’d be no battle this day.

  But a battle was coming. No one doubted that.

  Chapter Three

  As she sat among the trees, Etta dug her knife into the wood once again, carving out as much as she could. She’d seen her father make their sparring poles many times before. They’d been smooth and light. Hers had jagged edges and oddly shaped ends. She was useless for anything that didn’t involve wielding a sword.

  Frustration rose within her and she flung her knife at the nearest tree. Even her aim was off and it landed in a pile of dead leaves.

  “You know,” Matteo said as his shadow fell over her. “You could use your fancy new Basile magic to do that.”

  Edmund appeared next to her and she pushed to her feet. “What would you know about it?”

  It was cruel and she shouldn’t have said it. Matteo was the only Basile in generations with no power of his own. He’d grown up thinking he’d one day inherit the Basile curse, but then he’d found out about a cousin born weeks before him. Etta. And that the curse had fallen to her instead.

  Etta would gladly give Matteo every ounce of magic she possessed. She didn’t want it.

  His expression shifted in sympathy and that worsened her guilt. Matteo struck her as a jerk when they first met, but he soon proved to be more ally than anything else. He’d lived his entire life as a prisoner to an evil woman.

  Now that he was free, he’d changed right before her eyes.

  Edmund wasn’t as forgiving as a scowl marred his handsome features. “Do you insist on making everyone else around you just as miserable as you are?” He directed the words to Etta.

  “Edmund.” Matteo placed a hand on Edmund’s arm and to Etta’s surprise, her friend backed off. “Another ship arrived this morning. We’ll start unloading it after lunch.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be there.” Some hard work would be good for her.

  Matteo and Edmund locked eyes, seemingly having some silent conversation and then Matteo trudged back the way he’d come.

  Edmund continued to stare at her. “You can’t keep doing this, Etta.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Hiding out. Snapping at people who care about you. One of these days, you’re going to need to step up. If not for me or Matteo, then for your people.”

  Not wanting to hear it, she gripped one of the rough staffs she’d made.

  Edmund picked up the second one. “Spar with me.” He raised a brow. “I may even let you hit me a time or two.”

  “As if you’d have a choice,” she grumbled. “Fine.” She led him to the clearing a short walk away.

  “I’m going to cut my hands on this thing you’re calling a staff.”

  “I’ve never carved them myself before, give me a break.”

  He faced her and winked. Edmund loved throwing people off guard. Winks. Smiles. The grace at which he moved. It didn’t matter if they were men or women.

  But Etta had always been immune to his charm. She was determined to beat him. Maybe it was an effect of the way they met, their first battle. They were meant to fight to the death. Those kinds of stakes instilled a singular focus. And each time she fought him, she slipped back into tournament mode. Cold. Calculating. The only objective: winning.

  She made the first move and her pole cracked against his as he blocked and stepped back. She attacked again, a series of swift moves. He matched her thrust for thrust. Always her equal. That’s how it was between them. Neither was superior.

  Edmund grinned as he advanced forward and all sound faded. His magic. She shook her head. It wouldn’t be a true battle with Edmund if sound entered their arena. He’d used his magic every time he’d face her. Inside their bubble, the only sounds came from the meeting of their poles and the shuffling of their feet.

  Etta spun with her leg raised to catch him in the side. He grabbed her foot and pulled, forcing her to twist away.

  “You’d actually beat me if you used your magic,” Edmund said, sucking in air.

  “Stop.” She jabbed, hoping to catch him off guard.

&nb
sp; Edmund was never off guard.

  “Are you scared?”

  When she didn’t respond, he swung his staff in a wide arc, meeting hers above their heads.

  “Persinette Basile doesn’t fear anything,” he said, staring into her eyes.

  She twisted away, trying to ignore his words and the expectation in them. They all expected so much from her. Their faith was suffocating.

  “What do you have to be scared of? That La Dame will win?”

  He blocked another one of her attacks. “That’s it. You don’t think you can beat her. At least not without a little darkness. You think you’ll have to give in to the power, let it control you.”

  Etta surged forward, her movements stilted with anger. She swung too wildly, moved her feet too quickly.

  “What if you do? Isn’t it worth saving Bela?”

  She stood panting as he narrowed his eyes.

  “No, you’re afraid you’ll destroy us.”

  She charged, jumping into the air and spinning. He knocked her away easily and she went tumbling to the ground. Picking herself up, she threw her pole to one side and charged him again.

  “Are you La Dame?” He tackled her to the ground, and she tried to kick him away. “You aren’t her, Etta. But one day, if you don’t stop the hate growing inside you, you might be. Use your powers.” He released her and backed up. “Use them,” he screamed. “Don’t be a coward.” He gripped her arm and hauled her to her feet. “Coward. Traitor. You’re no queen.”

  The anger overwhelmed her and she couldn’t stop the burst of magic as is exploded from her hands. Edmund flew backward, turning over in the air until his body collided with the branch of a tree and he slammed into the ground.

  Shock kept her frozen for a long moment until reality crashed in and she ran toward him. Edmund’s body bent at a weird angle and blood dribbled from his mouth. A sob pushed out of her.

  “No. No. No.” She bent over him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  As she pressed her face into his chest, it rose slowly and she jerked her head up.