The Forgotten Crown

Chapter Eighteen

The court was in shambles.

Jovah paced like a caged beast in front of his throne, biting at the skin where nails should have been. The room, a cacophony of panic and fear, had his temples throbbing. Warrick had summoned the court the moment they'd returned to the castle. His father was the only one who didn't look as if he'd pissed himself.

"Silence!" Warrick boomed from his throne. He leaned back only when the lords and ladies had stilled.

Ferryn sat rigid in her seat, makeup smeared down her cheeks, and her nose was red. In each of her hands, she clutched onto Lord Zatharain Amakiir and Wisp Sailenar. His sister hadn't spoken since she arrived, her gaze fixated on the floor, barren and distant. It broke him. A healer had cleaned her up and checked for any wounds. That thing left her unharmed.

The guards that were stationed at the queen's door kneeled before the dais, their noses pressed to a knee. Jovah caught the twang of terror that evaporated off of them like steam. The entire room reeked of it. Warrick could execute them for this.

Jovah jerked his attention to the front doors when they swung open. The Captain of the Guard and Calder Fenmarel hurried into the space. The males crossed the threshold and bowed to the king.

"Majesty," Alastair said, his face scrunching as he soaked in the space's frenzy. "I came at once."

Calder tucked his hair behind his ear, a dark purple spreading over the bridge of his nose. Jovah might have inquired who gave him the shiner if the circumstances differed. "What happened?"

Warrick massaged his temples. "Take your seats."

The two didn't so much as glance at the other as they crossed paths. Calder took his place next to Warrick, and Alastair fell close to Jovah.

The prince kept his eyes forward as he whispered, "Where's Morana?" He'd sent Alastair to her earlier that morning. Several days had passed since anyone had checked in on her.

Alastair bent slightly, his voice quiet. "In her bedroom."

The king-consort leaned forward, captivating the courtroom with an icy grip. "Tell me what happened, again," he addressed the guards. "Don't leave out anything."

The blonde female lifted her head. Her eyes glistened, pleading as they danced between the various faces upon the dais. "The servant came in with her usual tray—"

"Did you check her supplies?"

She nodded. "Yes. We raked through her tray and person. There was nothing to suggest a threat. She was a regular, one of Her Highness's."

Ferryn whimpered.

Jovah's fist balled. He was going to rip out that green-skinned bastard's throat. "Then what?"

The guard glanced between Jovah and his father, her throat bobbing. "A few minutes later, Her Highness went inside." She dropped her eyes. "And then we heard a scream."

Alastair went utterly still.

Warrick turned toward Ferryn. He reached across the space between them and planted his hand on her knee. The most affection Jovah had ever seen from him. "My daughter," he spoke about as gently as a beast could, "can you tell me what happened when you went inside?"

Ferryn squeezed her eyes shut. She leaned her head against Zatharain's arm. "Yes, Father." She took a long, quivering breath. "I found Cinna on the floor. She-she was still alive." Her lip twitched. "That thing was on top of Mother's bed, and when I screamed, it fled through the window." Tears rolled over her cheeks as she opened her eyes to plead with the king-consort. "I tried to save her, Father. I couldn't stop the bleeding. I tried—"