Of Heirs and Havoc ✔️ | Of Crimes and Crowns Book 2

thirty - seven : of messages and men

"I've just received a letter from your brother," Connor announced as he walked into the parlour, unfurling a piece of parchment.

The sound of clicking tiles greeted him; his wife and in-laws were playing mahjong and had enlisted an unfortunate, losing courtier to play with them. It was a game of strategy that probably encourages card-counting, and could be played with three people, but four was the ideal number. He leaned against the doorframe, shutting his eyes for a moment as he listened to them play.

It brought him back to a more carefree time in Xianggang, before every move he made was on a chessboard of life and death, blood and fire. When he had roamed the streets freely, a young man in search of pleasure and finding plenty. Yet none of it had lasted, and certainly, none of it had been as complete as the joy that surrounded them when he was with Natasha and Grace.

Even if the news he bore was far from pleasant.

"What did Matthew have to say?" Immediately, Natasha set down the tile she had just picked up and replaced it, standing up to look at him. A cradle was in the parlour's corner—a bit unorthodox, perhaps, but none of them had wanted to leave Grace alone—and he strode toward it, watching as their daughter slept.

"Nothing good, I'm afraid." He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head on top of hers, to breathe in that flowery scent of hers that always calmed him. "There have been riots in the Sleeping Island, because of your refusal to return the colony to the Filipias."

She stiffened in his grasp, and that was the moment, of course, that Grace decided to wake and cry. Perhaps she sensed her parents' discomfort, he thought as Natasha picked up her up, cooing to her.

"What?" She hissed. "I had no choice in the matter! My hand was forced..."

Something sparked in Tasha's eyes, something more than rage: realization. Clarity.

"Dominica told me she only did what she did, because she was forced to. She received a threatening note written in a feminine hand..." Natasha's voice trailed off as she recalled the events.

"We dismissed it because we assumed Harold and Robert were working against us," Connor went on, rubbing his hand over her arm in a soothing fashion. "But what if it was not them? The Baron said that we had more enemies than we thought, that he had an accomplice. When you gambled your crown, he said that you had left someone out of the equation. Who has such a vendetta against us?"

"His wife?" Natasha worried her lip, pacing the tiled floor of the parlour. "She certainly could be upset that we killed her husband..."

"But what stake does she have in the Sleeping Island? How would it benefit her for Arlea not to relinquish it?"

The room had gone deathly still, and silent as the grave—but churning with tension and panic beneath that stillness and quiet. Tasha's parents had stopped their movements and must have dismissed the courtiers, for the silence was absolutely deafening.

"Unless..." Natasha's heels clicked against the floor, a drumbeat that matched his heart, a beat that called for war and blood and death. Her eyes chilled him more than any Seralian winter could. "Unless we haven't been dealing with them. Who would have the greatest stake in our keeping the Island?"

"The governor, I imagine," Connor spoke after a moment of thought. "If we returned the Filipias, governance of the region would return to the king or whomever he assigned, not a man who is legally and technically married to a foreigner and has Arlean ties."

"No." That one word, but curt enough to stop him in his tracks.

"Darling, what is it?"

"No, it's not the Governor. It's his daughter, Celeste Mendoza. I forged a letter under the name of that traitorous baron's wife... but I never followed up on that lead until now. It's her. It's Celeste!" She stopped pacing abruptly. "Give me the letter."

He obliged, though unsure of how it could help them. Teeth gritted in anxiety, he watched as she peeled the letter open and revealed that it was actually two pieces of paper stuck together with...

"Rice," she said with a laugh. "We always used that trick as children when we wanted to send hidden messages to one another, hold two pieces of paper together using cooked rice in place of paste."

Her eyes skimmed over the second sheet of parchment. "Look."

My dear sister,

I fear this letter may be intercepted by an entity whom I dare not name. But I must tell you of the dangers I face in the Island and why I have not dared to return home all these months and years.

First, I shall confess to my own cowardice, my own fear and shame. When I landed on the shores of the island, I found that my lower leg had been greatly damaged, along with the ship that had wrecked. I had been left for dead, abandoned and weak and helpless as a newborn babe for the first year of my tenure there. My sense of masculine pride, as you must be familiar with seeing as you have a husband, suffered a fall. I felt like less of a man, unworthy of the crown and its duties—unworthy of you, my sister. I felt that I had failed you and failed Arlea. My brother was dead, my sisters had been wed to foreign princes (for you must understand at the fine that rumours had been swirling about concerning yourself and Harold Saunders), and I had been left for dead. I was half a man and half a ghost. When Celeste found me, lifted me from those dark times—we became friends.

But I knew her true nature, for I had seen the look of countless courtiers like her: the cunning serpent beneath the innocent flower, as it were. I knew that one day, she would call in her debt for allowing me to stay on the island, hidden from the world. I knew that one day she would ask of me what I was unwilling to give: my hand in marriage. Celeste is no typical scheming maiden looking to entrap a man into matrimony; she views me as an avenue to the crown. Sadly, I fear she will do anything she can to get it—and the woman is capable of a great many things.

I must confess that the Marquis of Delmore, Blake Rutherford, had a hand in helping me come to these realizations. The man, if nothing but persistent, is quite the advisor. If all goes well, I will soon board a ship taking me back home.

I remain,

Your most devoted and loving brother,

Prince Matthew Blackmore

Connor sucked in a breath, as he saw the violet seal: stamped with a pattern of Blackmore stars.

"My brother, returned to us?" The paper fluttered from Natasha's fingers to the ground. "It seems too much to ask. Too good to be true."

He dreaded that it was.