The Forgotten Crown

Chapter Thirty-Five

Prince Jovah Windsinger stared into the marble floor. He scratched the same spot on his wrist where he'd been digging at for the past thirty minutes. A cacophony of voices filled the space. The court absorbed the news the king-consort brought with him that morning. Former Captain of the Guard, Alastair Immeril, was a traitor. He orchestrated the attack on the palace last night. Xandrianna Aldaine and Princess Ferryn's friend from the gentry, Lady Morana Stavanger, assisted him.

It was a lie.

Lord Zatharain Amakiir was the only one of Warrick's elite guards to stand next to his throne. He'd braided his golden locks down his back, an emerald doublet buttoned firmly over his broad chest. He would not look at Jovah, those golden eyes wide with feigned shock and grief. The others would not come. The castle guards had rushed Wisp to the Healer's Cabin after Morana nearly strung her entrials all over the ground.

And Calder was dead.

Jovah flinched, searing pain biting into his wrist. He glanced down to find his skin pink and raw. A jagged red line swelled over the place his nail had dug too deep. He clenched his jaw. Images of the Calder flashed through his mind. The dagger lodged between his lifeless eyes as the guards dragged his body away. He couldn't recall how he'd gotten back to his chambers, but he knew he hadn't slept. Instead, he'd stood on his balcony for three hours and watched the sun rise over the city.

Morana's bruised body, covered in blood that was not her own, kept squirming into his brain. She killed Calder. Jovah was no stranger to death, but when she had looked at him... her amber eyes were hollow. It still rattled his bones. It was a mistake bringing her here.

Perhaps that realization is why he let her go.

"Your Majesty." It was Lady Sloane's voice who broke through Jovah's clouded mind. He flicked his gaze to her and frowned. She stared at Warrick upon his throne with a pair of narrow hooded eyes. Wine-red waves swept over her shoulders and down to the low of her back as she crossed one leg over the other. "Where is the captain now?"

King-Consort Warrick Windsinger lifted his chin. Despite having nearly drained his magick fighting off Xandrianna, his father looked well-rested. He'd primly combed his raven-black hair, his jagged crown of thorns and rubies seated on top. A set of gaudy golden earrings dangled from his elongated ears. Jovah wondered how his father felt, knowing that Xandrianna had escaped him a second time. He would send legions to hunt her down. "I've stripped that title from him, Lady," he replied with ice on his tongue. "Immeril is awaiting further questioning in the dungeons. Xandrianna Aldaine and Morana Stavenger are still at large, and he is the only one who may know their whereabouts."

Jovah's stomach churned, and for a moment he feared he'd have to excuse himself to vomit over the balcony. The arched windows were still open behind him. The warm morning air flowed throughout the room and cooled his moist skin. It was the only thing that kept him grounded.

Alastair would endure horrendous brutality at the hands of the men he used to lead in order to retrieve the information he may or may not have. It was the only thing keeping him alive. If he would have just whipped the halfling, he would be back in his chambers. He would be in his bed and not chained to the wall in that dark cell beneath the earth.

He chose Morana over his life. It was an action Warrick would not forgive. By refusing the king's demands, Alastair evinced to whom his allegiance truly lied. The next time he would see daylight would be the day he's marched to the hanging block. Jovah clenched his jaw. A month ago he would have been furious with him. He would have personally tied the noose around his neck.

But things were different now.

The prince still hadn't fully digested who Morana truly was—Astraea's twin sister. The rightful heir to the throne. There was numbness in his chest where hatred should've dwelled. He couldn't recall when he'd ever been so confused, so torn in his life. He loved Astraea and would have done anything she wished. Deep down, he knew she would've wanted Morana on the throne. But that would mean Ferryn would have to give up the one thing she'd prepared to have for the past nine years of her life.