Crown of Blood and Ruin: A dark fairy tale romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 3)

“When we are no longer living in a hovel of a refuge, I demand you do not allow your servants to wear this drab.” Ari tugged on the scratchy burlap tunic for the hundredth time. “I was once a king.”

I shook my head, trying not to smile. Dignitaries did not tease with their serfs. While Ari dressed in rags, I once more had donned stiff collars and trousers spun in soft thread.

“You are soft, Ari. I thought you were a warrior.”

His eyes flashed in anger. “Test me, My King, and you will know if I am soft or a warrior. Now, be gone with you. Bid farewell to my queen, and we’ll go.”

I scoffed and shoved him aside to mutter about the rags he’d be forced to wear and went deeper into the trees until I found Elise. She was dressed all in black, from her knee-high boots to the dark lines of kohl painted down her face.

Without a word, she pulled on the back of my neck, kissing me fiercely. Time paused and gave us a moment. A chance to breathe as one, for me to taste her, to touch her. For her to hold fast to me, as if I might disappear for good. Her fingers tugged on my hair; her body molded with mine.

I never wished the moment to end.

Tonight would be dangerous. Getting into the Valkyrie was handled—getting out would be made of knives and blood and fury.

“There are Ravens,” she whispered against my mouth when I pulled back.

My brow fell to hers. “I know. Keep watch on your backs.”

“We’ll look out for Sol.”

I nodded. For all we knew a unit of Ravens arrived out of sheer curiosity. There was no telling if they were sent by the false king to protect my sister.

I lifted her fingers to my lips. Her glassy eyes soaked me in. “Return to me, Valen.”

“I always will.”

From the trees Halvar and Tor flanked Elise. Their faces were painted much like hers, and they watched me with a somberness that added to the unease in my gut.

Brant came to my side, voice low. “This is a necessary step.”

I lifted my brow. “You see something?”

His magic confused him, it confused all of us, but Brant nodded with a surety now. “I feel it fiercely. But not everything will be as it seems in there.”

“What do you see, Brant?”

“Only those thoughts. I’m sure it was less than helpful, but they’re coming stronger. In time, I hope to decipher what is vision and what is thought. For now, I know you need to do this, but also be on guard and be ready for anything.”

The unease stacked like heavy stones. I hid it well and clapped him on the shoulder before turning back toward the edge of the clearing. Not half a length away, the encampment where the Magnus family set up their bloody game awaited.

I could not look at Elise, or I might not leave. She was queen. She could lead here, and if I took a misstep whatever warning itching in Brant’s magic might take me from behind.

Ari stood away from me and did not move when I joined him at his side. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yes. Let’s get it over with.”

The journey wasn’t far, but with every step through the Nightwood, my body tightened, ready to strike at the slightest shadow. At the sight of the first gilded wash of a flame, we were met by four burly men, strapped in knives and axes.

They weren’t Ravens, but I had few doubts the Magnus family had personal guards.

I looked down on them. Easy to do, but I would need to play my role well enough to convince the fiercest military men of Timoran I was no fraud. I certainly needed to convince them I was not their enemy in disguise.

Now would be the test of stamina for Ari’s illusions.

“Herr Lönger?” one guard asked, holding up a hand to stop us.

Ari bowed at the waist and held out a clean piece of parchment. I nodded. “My travel papers. See for yourself.”

The guard inspected the falsified document. It had been a happy discovery that among his other talents, Axel had a gift for forgery. With his time spent with traders in various kingdoms, he’d mastered some of the seals from the wealthy in the South.

I fought the urge to swipe my sweaty palms on my trousers as we waited. My shoulders ached by the time the guard returned the parchment and ushered us forward. “You have a blade, Herr?”

I nodded and revealed a seax with a gilded hilt.

“You are allowed two.” A man with a rotund belly over his belt stepped forward from a small, white canvas tent. “I am Stor Magnus.”

He clasped my forearm. The senior Magnus. I’d gut him the same as I planned to shred the skin from his bleeding son the next time I met Jarl Magnus. “A pleasure, Herr.”

My voice came out wrong. Strangely accented. Ari. He winced through the pain of his fury. If I liked him less, I might dawdle to make his life miserable, but, alas, I considered the former king a friend.

“When do we begin?” I asked.

Stor barked a laugh. “Anxious to die?”

“I have no plans to die tonight.”

“Yes, patrons always say the same, but my pearl is a fearsome creature.” He gestured toward the large tent at the back. There was a drawn circle around the space and on the outer ring a row of the Magnus personal guard stood still. Next to the large tent were three coaches and another guarded canopy.

Perhaps Magnus’s wife or mistresses stayed inside that one?

I walked toward the largest tent. “Where did you come by her?”

“A gift from the former king for my service. She has been in my life since I was a young man. The woman is of the gods, I assure you, Herr. As if time does not pass with her, she remains fair and lovely and . . . deadly. Should you be so blessed to draw her blood, your prize will be unlike any woman you’ve ever had.”

Young after decades. Herja—she had to be Herja. His insinuations did not fall mutely in my mind; I merely stacked each vulgar word away for later when I carved out his innards.

“I have longed for this day all my life,” I told him when we stopped at the edge of the circle. “My serf will stand here. I want to see to it this is done fairly.”

Stor raised his hands. “Who am I to deny a dying man his last wish?” He rasped a laugh again and handed me an extra dagger from a sheath on his leg. “I thank you for playing our game. Remember—draw blood, she is yours. But if the Valkyrie chooses you in death, your money and your serf belong to me, and you meet the gods.”

Stor Magnus signaled to one of his guards to cross the circle and lift the flap of the tent.

I gave Ari a final glance. Shoulders back, hand on my blade, I stepped into the tent.

The flap fell behind me instantly. Dark nearly swallowed me whole but for a small flicker of light guiding me forward through a narrow corridor. I rounded a corner into an open space in the center.

The ground was covered with wooden boards. Against one canvas wall was a table with a tallow candle. A bed covered in fine pelts and furs took the other side, and in the corner . . . my heart stopped.

A woman—tall, wet straw-colored hair to her waist, underfed—faced away from me. She wore nothing but a white nightdress, her feet bare, her fingertips danced across the tip of a silver knife.

I thought my heart might snap through a rib. My tongue danced behind my teeth, ready to speak, ready to scream her name, and beg her to face me. I had to be sure. Disbelief grew potent. How could Herja be alive? Then again, I had been certain I watched Sol dragged to his death.

I didn’t get the chance to speak.

She tilted her head to one side, her voice a soft, dangerous rasp. “You must be brave. Or perhaps you are a great fool.”

My jaw tightened. Every impulse demanded I run to her, draw her close.

I remembered details of my past. Cherished them. My mother’s sly way of stealing bites of my father’s honey cakes at meals. Sol’s confident strut through the hallways of the castle. His love of mornings and laughter. My father’s scent of hickory and cedar from his long rides in the hills. And Herja’s rough voice. A playful sound. When she laughed it scratched and wheezed and made the rest of us laugh even harder.

She was kind and loving, but brutal and deadly all at once.

But I would never forget her voice.

“I have stunned you,” she went on, stopping me in my place. “I am supposed to be silent, yes? Strange things have gone on, and not long ago my voice found itself again. I admit, there is a bit of pleasure knowing I will be able to tell you exactly how you will die tonight.”

She had been unable to speak?

Would she recognize my voice? I licked my lips and took a step closer. “I do not plan to die today.”

She chuckled and held the knife into a skein of moonlight from a gap in the canvas. “They say confidence is important, but I’m afraid the odds are stacked against you. Only one man has ever succeeded.”

I’d find him and pick the bones from his body one by one.

Herja snickered, voice low. “Shall we play our game, Herr?”

I wheeled back when she spun around and sprinted at me, knife raised. I lunged aside, half stunned at her speed, half stunned this truly was my sister. Alive. Strong. Fearsome.

Alive.

She sneered, clearly not recognizing me. But she was not exactly looking into my eyes, she focused more on my middle, my heart, my throat, and slashed her blade again. I ducked.

A grin spread over my lips. “Have you begun your game?”

Her brown eyes burned like fury pyre. “I urge you not to taunt me. I might take my time killing you, and you are already keeping me from where I truly wish to be.”

“You always did talk so mighty.” I dodged another strike.

“You know nothing of me.” Herja shrieked and lunged, ready to tear out my heart. She was swift, but I had always been the fighter with surer footing. My sister could use a blade like no one I knew, but she had always lacked patience in learning the dance of swordplay.

I used it against her. My feet stamped out an intricate pattern, causing her to stumble long enough I swept my arms around her body from behind, locking her arms against her chest. Herja screamed and gnashed her teeth.

“Stop,” I said, holding her tightly. “Stop. Herja, please.”

She shuddered, then froze. “My name.”

I held her tighter, eyes closed, embracing her for all the years apart.

“Herja,” I whispered. “Forgive me for taking so long to find you.”

She whipped around and looked at me, really looked at me for the first time. Tears glazed over her eyes. She lifted a trembling hand to her lips, the other dropped her knife and reached for my face.

“V-Valen?” She shook her head violently. “No. No. You’re . . . you’re dead. Have . . . am I dead?”

I brushed the hair from her eyes, cupping her cheeks. “No. I can’t explain it all now, but I have . . . not been myself. Sol is alive. We’re alive.”

She broke into a haggard sob, her head falling to my chest. “Sol?”

“Herr Lönger?” Stor Magnus’s voice boomed through the tent walls. “Have you met the gods? You are to signal if the fight has ended, and you still breathe.”

Herja’s breaths came jagged and rough. She looked to me with fear in her eyes. I retrieved her knife and withdrew my blade. “Our people wait for us outside, but we will need to fight our way through Magnus’s guards. Hurry, we must go now.”

“No.” She pulled back on my arm.

“Herja, we must. This is the only way. I will stay beside you; I swear to you.”

“No, you don’t—”

“We have no time,” I said fiercely. “They will not touch you again.”

I pulled her toward the entrance of the tent, and by the hells, my bleeding sister pulled back. “No, I cannot leave, Valen. I will not go with—”

“Will not?” My eyes narrowed. “My people, my wife, is out there risking their lives for you. If I must sling you over my shoulder, I will. Do not doubt me.”

“Listen to me!” She shoved my chest. “I cannot leave without them, Brother.”

My heart stilled. “Without who?”

Herja wrung her fingers together like they were boneless, she looked through me, as if she saw something I could not see.

“They keep them under guard outside, a reward for me when I win. I must get to them.” Two tears fell onto her cheeks. “I have children, Valen. My children are here.”