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

Elise drew small circles over my chest. Her skin against mine had become a comfort against the pressures of life, and I could not get enough of it. My fingers dragged through her hair; our legs tangled. These moments were too few.

“How many came with you?” she whispered.

“Over fifty. Some are from the Eastern Kingdom. Was all well in our absence?”

She hesitated long enough I didn’t entirely trust what she said.

“Yes. It was fine.”

“Was it?”

Elise laced her fingers over my heart and propped her chin on top, grinning. “Yes. Halvar trains us and most days I can’t decide if I love him for it or hate him.”

I laughed, holding her body tighter against me. “He’s like his father. Dagar trained me to fight, and I remember wanting to run the man through some days, while still craving his praise. I respected him above nearly everyone.”

She smiled, but it didn’t last. With the tips of her fingers, Elise brushed my hair off my brow. “I worried for you. We expected you home three nights ago.”

I gathered her over me, drawing her in so I could press my lips to hers. I kissed her, sweet and deep. When I pulled back, our foreheads dropped together. “I didn’t think it would take so long. The scout delivered the message, didn’t he?”

“He did.” Elise coiled some of my hair around her finger. “And it is the only reason I did not lay siege to the land searching for you. Still, I worried.”

“I think it is more that you missed me.”

She smirked and settled her head against my shoulder. “Possibly. But only because it’s colder when I don’t have your body here to curl against. No other reason.”

I speckled her in kisses until she laughed and tightened her hold around my waist.

“Valen,” she whispered. “I miss you every moment you’re away.”

“And I, you.”

I cupped her cheek, leaned in to pick up where we left off hours ago, but stopped at the clatter of the door.

“King Valen.” Ari’s voice rang out through the longhouse.

I groaned and flopped onto my back. “No one pestered him this much when he wore the crown. He does this on purpose.”

“I do,” Ari answered, though he was at least fifty paces from our bedroom doorway. “It brings me such joy to pester you. Penance for all the grumbling and pouting done as the Blood Wraith, My King.”

Elise snickered and pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “You are king during a war. There is never time for rest.”

I rolled from beneath the furs and slid into a clean pair of trousers. As I adjusted my belt, I faced her. “Believe me when I say it pains me to leave you.”

Not bothering with a tunic yet, I crept back to the bed.

Elise locked her arms around my neck, kissing the hinge of my jaw. “Such is the life as consort to a king. I’m sure there will be many times I will get used to the back of your head. But it shall make the front that much sweeter.”

Consort.

We’d not spoken much about what the crown meant. There was nothing wrong with consorts, at least not in the Ettan court. Tor was a consort and held an honored position. My grandfather had been the queen’s consort. It was a place of prestige, commitment, a place of love and adoration. But I wanted Elise as more.

I wanted her as my queen.

Vows, to Elise, once meant the end of her freedom. They’d been forced upon her when we met, and the bastard, Jarl Magnus, had forced her to take vows with him at Ravenspire not long ago. She held a distaste for them, and the notion she might hate to take vows, even with me, soured my insides.

Then again, I’d not asked her. She chose me. I chose her. Did we need more?

I offered her a quick smile, then finished dressing. “See you soon.”

“Prepare yourself. Should you take too long or be too preoccupied after being gone for a week, I will kidnap you and toss you into dark corners just to put my hands on you.”

“I look forward to it. In fact, now I demand it.”

Elise tugged the thickest fur quilt beneath her chin, smiling as I left the room.

I didn’t need vows to know I loved Elise and wanted her at my side until my final breath. But I did want her as queen. A thought I couldn’t shake, as if it had been planted inside my chest by a power outside of myself.

Ettan queens could rule without the word of a king. They could declare war, invade, build townships, attend council. A consort could only take power if a king or queen were incapacitated in the mind or body. The reason Tor would be able to take the crown if he wanted. Sol was not himself; his mind was not his own.

Imprisoned, or gone for an extended absence, and a consort had little power in strategy. Decisions fell to the royal council.

My parents had once shared the crown as equals. I’d always admired them, the way they worked together. The way my mother raised the armies when my father was taken by the Timorans. They fell together. Never breaking to the end.

True, I did not plan to wear the crown forever. Sol would return; he had to. He’d take up his place as the rightful king.

But until then, Elise should be queen. I felt like a bleeding child for the knot of nerves gathering in my chest at the thought of asking her. I loved her, wanted her, and had no doubt she felt the same.

“What are you smiling about?” Ari asked, tipping back a horn from the table. He looked tired, but always had a sharp wit to his tongue. His eyes flicked to the fur over the bedroom doorway. “Never mind. I’d rather not know. Farewell, my dear Lady Elise!”

“Pleasant day, Ari,” she called back. “Although by taking him you have ruined mine!”

Ari grinned. “It is all part of my plan. Rid you of him, so I might make good on my threat to take vows with you.” He dodged my fist, laughing. “A jest, My King. A harmless jest.”

“I’m about to change my mind about taking your head.”

“It is such a pretty head.” Ari opened the door for me, his expression changing into something shadowed. “Forgive me for interrupting so early, but there are problems at the gates, Valen. They’ve weakened, and we’re having disputes over food rations. Fishermen feel they do the work, so they ought to get the greatest haul. Townsfolk think since they keep the bustle of our miserly refuge running, they ought to be afforded more grains and textiles.”

“Any severe arguments?”

“Nothing that would bring down the law, but some are getting close.”

I clenched and unclenched my fists. More folk entering our borders meant more troubles with rations and space. The people were bound to get a little unsettled and discontent. “Have Stieg and Halvar speak to the folk with complaints. I’ll see to the walls.”

Ari dipped his chin. “One more thing. Have you thought more about sending a party to the South?”

I faced the south walls barring Ruskig from the sea. The idea had merit—send a scout party to the Southern Kingdom in search of allies. I’d never been, but knew my own father once had relationships with underground folk in the kingdom, and some of the royal lines.

Still, it had been centuries. In all that time rumors of overthrows, divided folk, and unrest reached our shores. I didn’t even know who held the throne, mortal or fae. But the Southern Kingdom was said to be the kingdom most accepting of fury. A sort of birthplace of different Night Folk; nyks, forest folk, and mortal alike.

They might have answers I needed to help my brother. Truth be told, they might have stronger magic that could help us win this war.

Of course, if they had stronger magic, they could use it to take our land for themselves.

“If you still wore the crown, what would you do?” I asked.

He sighed, as if he considered each word of the question. Ari stood slightly taller than me but wasn’t as broad. He’d pierced the points of his ears in silver rings, and as he tucked pieces of his golden hair behind his ears, the glint brightened the kohl runes marking his cheeks.

The Ferus line stood to inherit the throne, but I still considered Ari Sekundӓr a leader here.

Perhaps we did not begin as allies, but now, I trusted him as much as the Guild of Shade.

“The people of Etta are strong,” Ari said softly. “But if we do not extend the branch of friendship first, how long before Ravenspire does? It is a risk, My King. We do not know what faces us on the shores of the South, but if it were up to me, I would take the risk. There might be fury we do not have here.”

I asked my concern. “What is to keep them from overpowering us?”

He grinned slyly. “Our knives.”

True enough. Ruskig grew weary of those looking to oppress fury. The people would fight until they met the Otherworld if needed.

A risk. One I didn’t want to place on anyone, but such were the choices of a king. I placed a hand on Ari’s shoulder. “We’ll discuss it as a council.”

“As you say. I’ll go now to see if we can stop these petty battles over herring.”

Whenever I stepped into the center of Ruskig folk bowed; they greeted me with respect. I’d yet to grow accustomed to it. Thank the gods, I never walked alone long.

Tor and Casper joined me at a cart of linens and fabric dyes. Casper, always eating, plucked cloudberries from a branch in his hand. Tor’s jaw set, hard and unmovable. He never removed his weapon belt. Doubtless he bathed with it. As if a battle would begin at any moment.

“Where do we go today, Valen?” Casper asked, a bit of berry juice dribbling over his lips.

“The walls. How have the folk settled in since last night?”

“Crispin, Frey, and Frey’s brother are finding shanties for families with young ones.”

“Axel,” I said. “Frey’s brother. The people trusted him last night.”

Tor nodded. “From what I understand Axel helped lead revolutions. They say he can sense the gods’ will.”

“What does he say?”

“He says he has a sensitive stomach.” Tor chuckled darkly. “He stands with the Ferus line.”

Good. One less potential traitor to worry about. Bringing in so many new faces put us on alert after Ulf’s betrayal to Ravenspire. But if Axel was like Frey, he would be a skilled fighter and loyal to the end.

“The others without young ones will need to set up camps in the trees for now,” Tor went on with his report. “Frosts are coming, though, and the false king keeps destroying what few trade roads we have left.”

Damn Calder. He was cleverer than I gave him credit for. We never took main roads for our supplies. Ruskig routes demanded rocky terrain, precarious side roads the guards of Ravenspire despised using. Somehow the fool would find our roads, destroy our supplies, and push us that much closer to starving before Timoran slipped into a harsh winter.

At the far walls, stone and broken earth shaped jagged gates like claws from the bedrock. Moonvane grew in thick vines across the crags and crevices, as if the blossoms couldn’t help but bloom over my fury.

But even built with fury, there were places where the walls crumbled.

“King Valen, over here.”

At a large hole, Stave gestured for us to join them. I didn’t remember Stave as a boy, but had learned his father was a palace guard during the raids. He’d proven loyal and hated Castle Ravenspire as much as me.

“Stave,” I said, clasping his forearm. “Good to see you. My thanks in looking after Ruskig in our absence.”

He grinned, slathering clay and sod over the edge of the wall. “I will always defend our people against threats, My King.”

I clapped him on the shoulder and studied the break. A split shattered through the stone, wide enough for a man to slip through. Fury grew taxing, and I never wanted to be drained, never wanted to be caught off guard. But this was too deep to be repaired with mud and clay.

“Step back.” I waved the people away.

Folk curved behind me, watching. I was unsettled enough over people bowing to me, but the way they gawked whenever I used fury drew a flush of heat to my face. A hum of magic danced through my fingertips, melting into the stone when I flattened my palms over the surface.

In a matter of moments, the earth tilted and shuddered. New jagged points scraped to the surface. The more fury pulled from my body, the hotter my blood grew. The burn was a comfort, a reminder of weapons we had that the Timorans didn’t.

Then again, when the raids came, we had fury and the Timoran king overthrew our people. Traitors in the royal council could be blamed for our loss. Another reason I chose my inner council with care.

Sweat beaded over my brow by the time the wall was repaired.

“Fill in the cracks with the clay,” Tor shouted.

The people wasted no time.

“Always a sight to see, King Valen,” Stave said.

I scoffed. “It would be greater if I did not get so winded. I’m afraid being cursed for so long has left me lazy with fury.”

He chuckled and followed Tor and me along the walls, filling in the gaps with a bucket of mud whenever we paused to rebuild weak points.

“There is a new confidence in the people of Etta,” Stave said as we paused at a bucket of water. He ladled in a gulp and wiped a dribble from his chin. “You’ve restored the hope here.”

I took the ladle from him. “Not me alone. There are many who have done more than me.” Elise Lysander being one. Without her, I would still be a mindless beast, killing and suffering through blood and violence. Even after the curse was lifted, without Elise, I would not be here. I would never have taken my place. I wouldn’t even know Sol still lived.

“All the same,” Stave went on, “the people are pleased with you. But there is talk.”

“What talk?”

“Of the future. For you, for our people, and for the kingdom.” Stave smiled. “They wish to see the king settled, happy, with a strong Ettan queen to lead us through this.”

At first, I laughed, imagining nosy folk planning a royal vow behind my back. Then, I came to a pause. “Elise is Timoran.”

“Yes,” Stave said softly. He didn’t look at me as he slathered mud over the cracks in the wall. “It is well known the king’s consort is Timoran. The folk speak of a queen. As king, you may have both.”

I glanced at Tor, confused. Did the people take issue with Elise’s lineage? She’d proved her loyalty time and again even before I claimed my place on the throne. Hells, I was half Timoran. If they took issue with Timorans, they took issue with me.

I thought of her pause, the slight frown over her lips this morning when I pressed on our time apart. A coal of anger stirred in my chest.

What happened in my absence?

“Keeping multiple lovers is a Timoran practice, Stave,” Tor said. “Our king has made it clear he intends to follow the tradition of his parents and grandparents before him. To rule with his hjärta.”

Stave dipped his head. “Of course. I simply have repeated what I’ve heard.”

Had I been so oblivious to discontent with my consort? My jaw tightened. If the people did not accept Elise, then damn the crown. I would step down and return it to Ari.

Casper squeezed my shoulder as he passed, a reassuring grin on his face. “Be calm, my friend.” He rarely spoke informally. I must look ready to slaughter everyone. “Do not listen to small minds. Elise is loved. Probably more than you.”

Casper bellowed his deep laugh. Even Tor smiled. A bit of the unease lifted from my shoulders. I’d speak to Elise soon, insist she tell me the truth, and discover who—if anyone—had caused her grief.

If I gutted them for it was left to be determined.

“My King!” A woman cried.

The wail stirred me from my anger and set my nerves on edge. From the far side of the wall, a woman sprinted toward us, shoving through the repair crowd, eyes wide with fear.

“My King!” She fumbled to a stop, gasping. “Across the . . . across the ravine. Th-they’ve come! Ravenspire!”

Instinct drove my steps. Hands on my axes, I sprinted to the scaffolding we’d erected for archers to scale the walls. At the top, I leaned over the edge, and as the woman said, across the deep ravine torches and blue banners with the seal of the false king rose through the trees.

My fists curled at my side. What game were they playing?

A full unit of Ravens filled the gaps between trees, but in the front stood a man with one eye covered. Dressed in fine furs, standing straighter than I remember. He waved a white flag.

All gods I hated him.

“Tor,” I said, voice rough. “Find Elise. Her father has come to call.”