Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Only a few minutes passed before Aleron’s royal man-at-arms entered the tent. His stride hitched when he saw her in the queen’s regalia. His throat worked and Elina espied a tearful gleam in his eyes before he blinked it away—yet not before his emotional response filled her heart.
Ten years past, Serjeant Iarthil had awoken a fifteen-year-old Elina in the middle of the night, a similar glistening in his eyes that the darkness hadn’t been able to hide. But those tears had been from grief, not pride. He’d led her to the queen’s bedchamber, where her mother was gasping her last breaths—poisoned by her own brother, Soren. With her final words, the queen urged Elina to flee from the palace, while Serjeant Iarthil swore an oath to the dying woman that he would guard her daughter with his very life.
It was he who’d gathered a retinue of dedicated soldiers and faithful companions to protect and accompany Elina—the true heir to Aleron’s throne—until she could overthrow Soren’s rule. It was he who’d led them from kingdom to kingdom, negotiating for asylum and forging alliances, until Elina was old enough to lead the negotiations herself.
In time, with a look here, a memory there—Elina came to understand that Serjeant Iarthil had not only served her mother but had loved her deeply, fiercely. Nothing had come of it, of course. Though he was the queen’s highest ranking guard, duty had compelled her mother to marry the prince of a neighboring kingdom. Whatever their feelings, the honor of each had kept their passions bent toward serving Aleron.
But it meant that when he looked at her now, Elina knew not whether he was seeing her mother, who’d often worn this ceremonial garb, or if he saw Elina herself. Yet it hardly mattered. Either way, everything Serjeant Iarthil had fought for this past decade stood before him in resplendent robes. She lacked only one thing.
Two of the knights charged with guarding the royal strongbox had followed him into the tent, carrying between them a small chest emblazoned with Aleron’s seal. Elina gave to Serjeant Iarthil the key she kept chained around her waist. He produced the second key. With a flourish, the double locks were opened and the lid lifted.
Her crown lay upon a bed of silk. No mere circlet, the Crown of Aleron was an ornate headpiece studded with precious jewels and made of pure gold.
And so very heavy.
Sudden weariness threatened to sag her shoulders. Instead Elina straightened her spine. She reached for the crown—and was stopped by Serjeant Iarthil’s upraised hand.
“If I may, Your Highness?” he asked quietly. “Allow me to use my strength so that you may preserve yours.”
Gratitude closed her throat, and she nodded.
Lifting the crown from the chest, he stepped in front of her. In the years since they’d fled Aleron, his hair had become fully gray and their travels had worn new creases into his face. In her more fanciful moments—and especially after realizing how he’d loved her mother—she’d imagined that Serjeant Iarthil was her true father, because he’d cared more for Elina than her mother’s king consort ever had. The pale silver of Elina’s eyes had been unmistakably inherited from the Prince of Tagdon, however, so those fanciful imaginings always fell apart.
“You are certain of this, Your Highness?” As he gently set the crown into place, his troubled gaze met hers. “Surely when the prophecy spoke of a barbarian who’d once worn chains, it meant someone other than an imprisoned thief awaiting execution.”
Elina had thought it meant something else, too. She’d thought her warrior would be someone like Kael the Conqueror, who’d once been in chains because he was stolen from the Dead Lands as a child and enslaved in the Blackworm mines. When he finally escaped, Kael had waged a bloody war against Geofry the Child-Eater, the cruel king under whose banner Kael had been taken. He’d killed the tyrant and freed the people of four kingdoms…and those people had begged him to take the throne.
In all the lands she’d traveled through, those four kingdoms had been the most prosperous and the people the most content. And Elina had hoped—hoped so fiercely—that a warrior such as Kael would return to Aleron at her side.
But she had no time left for hope.
“I am certain,” Elina said. Completely, utterly certain that if she didn’t soon return to her kingdom, she never would. The prophecy mattered little now. While she wouldn’t ignore the witch’s words—Elina needed every advantage when facing her uncle—she also couldn’t afford to wait for a barbarian warrior to drop into her lap as her enchanted jewels had.
An imprisoned thief would have to do.
Despite her reply, Serjeant Iarthil pressed, “It is not too late to change course, but it will be once the proposal is issued. You will be bound by your vow.”