Page 43 of Crownless Heirs

Iron-wrought gates loomed around the estate. Fomorian soldiers patrolled in tight lines, their boots crunching against stone as the distant clash of swords echoed off the cliffs. Combat training, she guessed, listening to the shouts and metallic shrieks. She wove through the soldiers, most offering nothing more than a nod.

When a voice called from behind. “Xarnach’s been looking for you.”

She turned, startled, and stared up at a towering fomorian. He wasn’t like the others. Half human, easily seven feet tall, with rough, bluish skin and deep emerald hair that shimmered like seawater. His features were both handsome and fearsome, but it was his voice that truly struck her. It was low, resonant, and powerful enough to ripple through her bones.

She scowled. “I don’t need to be babysat, Skurath.”

Skurath laughed. “You know he doesn’t give me much choice. And besides, Bres would skin us all if anything happened to you.”

He wasn’t joking. Bres was the coldest soul she had ever met. Even brief encounters with him left her blood chilled. His eyes were hollow, his smile always cruel. The kind of smirk worn by nobles who hid venom behind charm.

She made a point to avoid him and took every precaution to keep it that way.

“How long’s he been looking for me?” she asked with a sigh.

Skurath’s face turned grim. “Long enough that Bres noticed. They’re leaving again for the coast and Vaelric wants to see you.”

Her stomach dropped. Valeric was hurt, and she hadn’t cared at all. She didn’t even check on him. She gave Skurath a nod and moved toward the castle doors.

Riona moved through the castle’s halls, the quiet click of her boots swallowed by polished stone. The place was breathtaking with its vaulted ceilings adorned with painted battles, chandeliers that dripped crystal like frozen starlight, and walls veined with gold leaf that shimmered even in shadow. It was a palace meant to impress. But the beauty was surface deep, There was no warmth in the light, no life in the echo of her footsteps. Just silence and cold marble, dressed up in finery. It didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a tomb.

“Riona! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?” An older man’s voice called from behind a pillar.

She turned to see Xarnach quickly approaching, his twisted body moving in odd strides. “Sorry to worry you, Xarnach. I was in the garden.”

“Come, come. We can talk later. Bres and Vaelric are waiting for you in the dining hall.”

Riona gave a weak smile and followed him. As they entered the grand dining hall, Bres’s eyes landed on her with apparent disapproval. It made Riona wince. She immediately looked toward Vaelric, seated at the far end of the table. He didn’t sit at the head; instead; he chose a chair along the left side.

She slipped into the seat beside him. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time admiring the garden.”

Bres shot her a look. “Are you sure it wasn’t because of your friend?” he asked, voice low and pointed.

“Not at all. What’s done is done,” she replied smoothly. “And I believe Vaelric wouldn’t have acted without just cause.”

Bres studied her carefully, eyes scanning her face for any hint of deceit. After a long pause, he seemed satisfied. “Hmm. I wouldn’t want the woman who captured my son’s affection to deceive us. Why haven’t you come to see that his wounds have healed?

Riona kept her expression blank, forcing a small smile as she reached for Vaelric’s hand. “I knew he was in excellent hands; you have the best healers in the realm. And I would never betray him.”

The doors opened with a soft creak, and a procession of Fomorian servants entered the hall. Each moved with practiced precision, balancing silver trays stacked with platters of roasted meats, vibrant fruits, and ornate bowls filled with thick stews and spiced grains. Goblets carved from crystal were filled with dark wine that shimmered in the candlelight.

Riona said nothing as the dishes were laid before them, each course more elaborate than the last. The scent was rich and overwhelming, but her appetite had vanished. She kept her eyes on her plate, hands folded neatly in her lap.

Across the table, Bres spoke as if nothing were amiss.

“We’ll leave for the coast before first light,” he said, slicing into a piece of blood orange glazed venison. “The outposts near the cliffs are vulnerable, and I want to inspect the warding stones myself.” He faced Vaelric. “And how about the girl? You’re sure she won’t be an issue?”

Vaelric gave a nod, his mouth still full of bread. “Positive.”

With an unimpressed expression, Bres watched as Vaelric’s fingers closed more firmly around his fork. He clutched it as if he intended to stab him.

“Do you have something you’d like to say?” Bres asked, observing.

There were many things Vaelric yearned to say, including his envy of the love his sister received, the mother he never had the chance to know, and the repeated letdowns his father expressed with each order he fulfilled.

“Nothing,” he replied, putting his fork down.

The rest of their conversation faded into background noise as Riona slowly pushed food around her plate. Under the table, Vaelric rested a hand on her thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.