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“Ha!” King Urich coughs before finishing his words. “The child. I should’ve known.” He glares at Malek. “You were bested by a girl and her army? I was a fool to ever believe my kingdom could endure with you in my stead.”
Malek’s face morphs into something resembling a gargoyle. “So, it’s true?” he hisses in frustration. “All those words spoken in the barracks of the queen’s lover being the father of a phantom child…the queen’s sudden death and the disappearance of the queen mother. We thought them old wives’ tales, but it is all true. What other reason would you have to send away a child you sired? This lass is indeed a Starling…and she has a legitimate claim to the throne?”
King Urich’s twisted smile could shame a jester. “Only if you allow her to live.”
Sir Malek backs away slightly, his eyes still darting from the king to the window behind him. “The real question is, why didyouallow her to live after convincing the kingdom she was a stillborn?”
“I allowed the queen to sway me. The pleadings of a woman is a man’s damnation.” The frail king attempts to fully sit up but fails. “It doesn’t matter now, though, does it? I will return to dust soon, but I truly hate that I chose such a scoundrel as my predecessor.” The king clears his throat, his voice weakening with each word. “Had you spent more time securing our allies rather than visiting brothels and taunting villagers in the streets, maybe you’d wear the crown. Looks as though you will be visiting the dungeon instead, aye?”
“And you’ll be visiting Hell!” Malek lunges, plunging his sword deep into King Urich’s chest.
My hands fly to my mouth and I hear the slight rasp of my silk skirt ripping as Sir Victor tugs me behind him and swings his sword at Malek.
“Go ahead, King-slayer,” Sir Victor shouts. “Let’s see how you fare against a real man and not a dying king or a frightened boy in the streets!”
Malek’s grin is sick and vile. “I may lose a crown this day, Sir Victor, but you will lose your life.”
The crash of steel on steel fills the room as Malek and Victor match each other blow-for-blow. A surge of panic overtakes me, and I stumble back when Malek swings his massive sword dangerously close to Victor’s face. But Victor ducks and comes up sword first, blocking Malek’s advance. Victor pushes Malek hard against the window, and they both fall through it as it breaks, an explosion of wood and glass.
My own screams fill the room, “Victor, no!”
I rush to the window. Malek and Sir Victor have continued their battle on the street below, along with a few other men still tangled in swordplay around them. Most of our soldiers are now lining the sidewalks and homes of the palace dwellers, securing their safety and staving off any attempts at rebellion. I look for Jordy, but he is nowhere to be seen from this vantage point. I need to get down there.
I glance at the king as I pass his bed, his body now bathed in a sea of red. A sound stalls me, and I force myself to look into this paled face. It is faint, but I hear it. The king is barely breathing, clinging to whatever life is left in his evil bones. He is mumbling a single word, but I can’t make it out. I step closer, but he does not see me. He is entranced with whatever it is his dying eyes are focused on across the room. His stony, blue eyes widen more and I turn to see what he is looking at. Nothing is there.
“Wil-low,” his raspy voice whispers out. “Willow… No!”
His eyes are licked with terror as his breaths finally stop. King Urich is dead, and my mother was the last soul he encountered on his way to meet his maker.Good.I place my fingers on his lids and close his widened eyes, affording him more kindness than he ever bestowed on me or my kin. But evil will not change my heart or my decency.
“May God have mercy on your wretched soul, Urich of Enverness.”
I make my way out of the palace, a slew of my own soldiers already milling about the corridors and halls.
“Is Sir Malek bested?” I ask the first soldier I encounter.
“No, my princess. General Victor is blade-to-blade with him now. We will afford the general the honor of taking Malek himself, but we will not allow Malek to survive if Sir Victor is bested. Malek is fighting a war he cannot win. His men have all surrendered or have fallen, your highness. It is only a matter of time.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and ask, “Do you know Jordy, the baker’s son?”
“Aye, my lady. I know him.”
“Have you seen him? Is he—”
“Take comfort, Princess Milla. He has not fallen. He is safe, and in the front courtyard as we speak.”
“Thank you, kind sir. Good fortune to you always.” I clasp the top of his arm and he winces. Then I notice the tear in his shirt.
“You’re hurt.” I push aside the fabric, revealing a deep gash in his arm. I pull a vial of poultice and a strip of cloth from my pouch. “Rinse the wound and pack it with the poultice, then tie the cloth around it. Leave it wrapped for three morrows and then repeat the process again until it heals completely, understand?”
“Aye, your highness. Thank you.”
I nod and make my way outside the castle, relief filling me with the news that Jordy is safe. I fear for Sir Victor’s endurance against Malek. Victor’s sutured arm is still healing, no matter his bravery and strong will. I need to do something.
And I need to do it now.
CHAPTER 25
I stay near the outside castle wall once I’m in the courtyard, trying my best to remain out of sight. My boots crush the broken glass of the window that Sir Victor and Malek fell through, and there they remain, dueling in the middle of the courtyard like gladiators on display for our amusement. The other enemy soldiers are bested, and my stomach churns when I see the lifeless bodies of the fallen. Why didn’t they surrender? Why would they allow honor to keep them true to the likes of Malek? A clutch of my soldiers are standing on the ready, watching the final act of swordplay, seeming ready to strike if their general is struck down. I will never understand a man’s sense of honor. Honor is of no value to Sir Victor if he is dead, and Malek could be bested in one surprise blow from a soldier if I so command it.Perhaps Iwill.
