A Crown of Thorns (The Heir, Book 2)

Chapter 1

A thunder storm had just rolled in by the time Octavian retired into the guest chamber he lived in for the past month. It reflected his mood: furious and pained. He had just worked another day of countless planning and searching; the Queen Regent had dark circles under her eyes, Octavian noticed, a distinct feature that wasn't there before all this happened. Sleepless nights were becoming common in the House of Lutherford.

Today, General Haven had given an order to some of the Palace guards to continue searching the premises for any clues or hints about the kidnappers, whom they realized were the rebels. Octavian never came to an understanding as to why such attacks only happened when Vincent came into the light. If anything, Vincent was—is—fit for the throne, better than any Prince he had ever been acquainted with.

Some nights, he could still hear the pleading screams of his lover as he was whisked away. He should have done a greater deal to catch them. But he was at a standstill, too shocked and too late for him to have responded in time. Had he not been so weak, Vincent would be here lying beside him on the bed. The blame pierced his heart like a rusty knife, leaving an open wound never to be repaired unless he had Vincent in his arms again.

After two weeks of disappointing results, there was a certain degenerate mood going around in the Palace where some people were wanting to call the search quits. Octavian had heard some of the kitchen staff having a discussion about the amount of effort being put into the search.

"I don't know," the shorter maid said as she kneaded the dough on the cutting board. "I feel like they should keep searching. Prince Vincent was good to everyone."

"I think he's already dead," the taller one deadpanned, as if she believed it was fact instead of conspiracy.

"Talk like that can get you into the dungeons, Mari."

"I'm just saying. You've seen how violent those rebels were. After they kidnapped him, the attacks on the Palace stopped. So I think that Vincent being captured was our saving grace. Might as well have Prince George ascend the throne. He knows Allyria at the back of his hand."

"I just hope they find Prince Vincent."

The tall maid scoffed at her, obviously irritated that the shorter one might not have been paying attention to her, and continued washing the dishes. Octavian didn't bother to stick around after that; nothing bothers him more than hearing negative talk about the people he cares about.

Now, lying in bed in obsidian black nightwear and hair disheveled from frustration and stress, was when he reminisced about the time he came to the Palace after the royals of Whitewood were invited to meet the new Crown Prince.

It was a cold summer evening in Whitewood, though it was always cold what with the snowfall happening nearly year-round. Snow coated the transparent glass windows as it always had ever since Octavian was a little boy. Snow was his element and the people knew of his love for the snow; hence why they dubbed him the White Prince, because of the way his skin eerily reflected the white glow of the surrounding wood.

The Royal Mail had just been delivered fresh off a silver platter, the usual contents being royal messages and letters from allies and family abroad. When he was younger, Octavian was allowed to read some of the letters; it mostly contained official business between kingdoms, but Octavian was so young he had no clue what they meant.

"Ah," his father, King Gerard Tempest of Whitewood, chimed as he held up a royal blue envelope with gold stitching. "This is an invitation from the Lutherfords. I wonder what extravagance they have prepared for us this time." The parchment envelope opened and unfolded into a flat piece of paper, setting itself onto the porcelain plate and projected a clear display of the Queen Regent in her royal office, a wrinkly smile of old age gracing her visage.