The Forgotten Crown

Chapter Eighteen

Morana strummed the lute, humming a song she couldn't recall the name of. It had a slow melody, with long notes and elegant harmonies. Her fingers danced between the strings as she swayed. It was one that Lydia taught her.

Morana stopped strumming. She draped her arms over the instrument and rested her chin atop the wood, inhaling its scent.

She looked at the clock. Two hours had passed since Alastair left her in such a hurry. Her brows pinched as she recalled the sheer worry in his eyes. She wouldn't let herself dwell on it, though. This court's problems were very different from her own. They didn't matter.

She hadn't been able to stop thinking about the events in the barracks. Alastair had defended her. He helped her. The captain had thrown Calder off of her, and if Wisp hadn't had shown up, Morana believed he would have seriously harmed him. She would have to thank him, despite doing so would flatten her ego. It was the last thing she expected him to do—to help a halfling.

Morana straightened when a series of knocks sounded from the door. She slid the lute beneath the ottoman, hindering it from sight. "Come in!" she called.

Alastair emerged through the door. When he found her in the bedroom, his face hardened.

She blinked, soaking in the red that splattered his pants, his shirt, and his face. She pushed up from the ottoman. "What happened to you?"

Alastair shook his head, stepping into the bedroom. He walked right up to her and gripped her shoulders. "Did someone come here to rescue you?" he shook her. "Tell me the truth."

Morana gripped his wrists. "What?" she tried to pull away, but he held her. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

His eyes glowed. "Is someone here to help you escape?"

She gaped at him, and then her face scrunched with anger. "No? How could I have possibly sent someone to help me?"

He breathed hot air into her face, releasing her. He paced before her and ran fingers through his hair. "There's been an incident."

"What happened?" Her eyes narrowed on the chipped red substance staining his beard. "Is that blood?"

He rubbed at his neck. "Someone killed a servant in Her Majesty's bedroom. Her Highness caught it before it could murder the queen. Calder is blaming you for it."

She felt the blood drain from her face. "What?"

"A goblin, or so they think, killed the servant," he went on, "and we do not know how it got into the room. Prince Jovah captured it before it could harm the queen, but they haven't questioned the thing yet. Somehow, Calder thinks the goblin is here to help you assassinate her so we can set you free."

"I—" Morana blinked. "What is a goblin?"

Alastair stared at her as if she had just insulted his entire lineage. He shook his head. "That doesn't matter right now. What matters is that Calder may have convinced the king that you're responsible."

The weight of his words struck her all at once. "That prick," she hissed, pivoting away from him. "I don't want the queen dead. I don't have an accomplice. If I did, why would I waste the energy trying to kill the queen when I could use the help to escape?" she splayed her arms. "I don't even know what a goblin is!"

"You must tell the king that."

She froze.

"His Majesty sent me to retrieve you." He met her eyes. "He wants to question you. Personally."

Fear crept over her like a dead man's touch. She clamped it down before it could send irrational thoughts spiraling through her mind. Morana lifted her chin. "Fine. He can see for himself that I'm innocent."