Our surroundings have changed by now as our horses follow the winding pathway that leads up to a stately building. It spans across the land, the exterior made of coarse, irregular stones, atower on one side providing the onlyheightin the otherwise flat architecture. “Is this your castle?” I ask Odgar.
“Yes, but believe it or not, my sister and I don’t live here. We live in the Great Hall closer to the main village. It’s a smaller castle, if you will.”
How strange.
We continue toward the castle and Odgar makes a sound as if he intends to say something but stops. He tries again. “The Zenith … I know they have this ridiculous plan, but what about your forces? Your guards? Army?”
My stomach twists. “Rheon isn’t just the leader of the Zenith, he’s the Lord Commander of the entire Royal Brigade. My guess is that he’s taken the crown for himself.”
“Well fuck,” Odgar says quietly. “So, a ruthless sadist with delusions of opening a rift to another realm sits on the Erleyan throne.”
“Yes, and I’m certain they all think I’m dead.”
“Do you want to explain that or?—”
“No.”
I feel rather than hear his sigh. “Alright so …” He pauses long enough that I almost prod him to speak again. “My brother will ask you this, forgive me. But what do you have to offer to Uldarvik with an alliance?”
I stare down at my hands again and then at his on the horse’s reins. Briony is no longer staring straight ahead, but looking my way, curiosity on her face. “You said in Uldarvik, magic is considered a blessing from the gods, right?”
“Correct.”
“So, if I’m blessed by the gods, I’d say that’s fucking impressive enough to warrant an alliance.Tworoyals blessed by the gods?”
Odgar laughs, pulling the horse to a halt. We’re close to the massive black door of the castle, a guard posted on each side.He dismounts and stands below me, peering up with a brilliant smile on his face. “I’m inclined to agree.Nowyou’re thinking like a survivor.”
Beside him, Briony dismounts. She looks at the castle, her hands folded demurely in front of her as Odgar helps me down from the horse. He offers me the crook of his arm, and I hesitantly link my elbow with his. “Let’s go convince the king to let us be wed, then,” he says.
Guilt churns in my gut, but I can’t bring myself to tell him the full truth of everything. Not now. Not when it may very well scare him away, and not when simply talking about it may break me.
Guards open the castle doors for us to make our way inside. None of them are in uniform, but they’re dressed similarly in black and grey with leather armor and furs.
Our boots echo on the tiled floors as we walk toward the throne where a slim man sits. A crown rests atop King Freyr’s wavy blond hair, which falls to his lean shoulders. He casts a blue gaze down at us as Odgar announces our presence.
“Your Majesty, presenting Princess Carys Meredyth fa Rhodri, rightful heir to the throne and queen by succession of the Kingdom of Erleya. With her is High Priestess Briony.”
Impressive introduction, but I’ve arrived with no crown, nor coin, nor worthy possessions. With a scarred body and bruised soul, my hair in shambles and a shadow of its former glory. I curtsy weakly and it feels absolutely unnatural. “Your Majesty,” I say, lifting my chin a fraction and pushing back my shoulders. My body protests but I resist flinching. “My gratitude for the warm welcome to your beautiful land.”
King Freyr raises a brow. “How odd,” he says. “We just received word of your death, Princess Carys.” His voice is not quite as deep as Odgar’s, but it booms across the large space, nevertheless.
Even with my chin still lifted, my heart falters. “I—” My words run away. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to speak. I clasp my hands before me, praying that no flames erupt. “I—”Godsdammit, Carys. I draw in a breath, but pressure quickly builds in my chest. I resist the urge to squeeze my eyes shut—to turn and run and never stop.
“As you can see, brother, she’s very much alive.” Odgar’s voice is tight as he speaks.
“And you are certain this is the true heir of Erleya.”
“Seeing as I danced with her at the Feast, yes.” I stare at him wide-eyed; isn’t he pushing it with the way he addresses the bloodykingof his land? “I would like to ask for Princess Carys’s hand in marriage.” His voice is unwavering and wrought with certainty.
I turn my gaze back to King Freyr and his eyes meet mine. “You have been usurped. What do you possibly have to offer Uldarvik by way of marriage?”
I swallow thickly. “The Erleyan throne is rightfully mine, Your Majesty. My ancestors have worn the crown for centuries. My father’s bloodline is descended from the sun goddess Agryna.”
Holding out my hand, I focus, willing a tiny blaze to my palm. Instead, a massive flame ignites, sending Odgar, Briony, and a couple of the guards scattering to get away from the heat. I quickly clench my fists, but not before tiny embers jump from the flame and land on the carpet.
It doesn’t ignite, however, and I notice Odgar’s hand at his side flick subtly.
Thank you, I think.
