Chapter One
Blood.Thescentcreptinto the air and would linger for days, along with hints of smoke and burned flesh. Familiar remnants of destruction. Draylon Aravaid knew them well.
Blood everywhere, on marble floors where well-dressed ladies once danced, even the elegant crystal chandelier. On his armor, gauntlets, and sword. He rounded a corner and stepped from the decimated ballroom into the castle’s courtyard.
A fountain bubbled in the center, beautiful except for the red-tinged water and arm hanging over one side, the owner hidden under the murky depths. Golden bangles encircled a delicate wrist. Even those of noble birth died with their treacherous monarch.
So much splendor despoiled. What should have been a picturesque sight was now marred with carnage, no grander than any other battlefield. Dying men groaned out their last. An untied horse galloped through the courtyard, eyes wide with fear. Vultures perched on the steepled chapel roof, awaiting their chance to feast.
Draylon no longer gagged at such displays—though sometimes they haunted his dreams. He removed his helmet and shook the sweat from his hair.
How many battles did this make? They blended together after a time, squabbles over land or wealth, someone wanting to be king and influential enough to win backing from others.
So many battles. So many lives destroyed.
And to what end?
The occasional clang of sword against sword rang out, more distant now than before. Nothing left to do but round up stragglers. Emperor Soland’s troops had once more fought to victory, and Draylon’s captains would see his will carried out. Now to prepare the castle for the emperor’s arrival.
Though he’d arrive in full battle armor, Soland’s sword never tasted blood. His eyes would also never see the bloodshed he’d ordered. So much easier to take lives when one didn’t have to look into the faces of the dying or hear their final screams.
Weak sunlight in the courtyard gave way to cooler darkness back inside the castle. How could anyone stand such confines? Cormir Castle, Draylon’s childhood home, sparkled in the bright sunshine, a glory of white stone, surrounded by the deep blue waters of the Ryel Sea. Constant ocean breezes drifted through its large windows, breezeways giving a lighted path from one section to another.
Gray stone formed the walls of Renvalle Castle, where he now stood, a drab structure with far too many stairs. Dark, damp, and immensely stifling. Best to ignore any discomfort. Draylon had endured far worse as recently as last night when he’d slept amidst a throng of snoring men on the hard ground.
Then again, he preferred the freedom of sleeping outdoors to the comforts of indoor living.
But to see the sea again…
Soon.
It had taken two new moons to break through King Lleval DiRici’s forces, eliminating the traitor once and for all. Battle won, the next steps belonged to diplomats. Not Draylon’s problem. With any luck, he would soon be away from this place.
Fatigue dragged at his body, his weariness accompanied by the odd bruising or injury he’d no desire to tend now. The emperor didn’t accept excuses. Draylon must continue.
He strode down a long central hallway, sword at the ready, pausing to poke his head inside the throne room. The lone body of a guard lay on the floor in a pool of blood.
No need to check for signs of life—his head rested a few feet away, open, unseeing eyes staring into nothingness.
More blood stained the floors, the victims having either limped away or been dragged.
A young woman carrying a pail exited a room ahead of Draylon, clapped a hand to her mouth, then scampered off in the other direction like a deer from hounds. If Draylon or his men were a threat to her, running wouldn’t help. They’d find her no matter where she hid.
Hiding hadn’t helped King Lleval.
Captain Rufe approached at a jog, helmet under his arm and riotous dark curls marred by blood and sweat. A gash on his forearm appeared nearly clotted. Pointing out any weaknesses was considered bad form. Draylon bit back concern, waiting for Rufe’s report.
“We’ve secured the castle, Commander Draylon. What are your orders?”
“Where is the royal family?” Well, except for the king and the heir. Both lay dead, victims of their treachery, by Draylon’s own hand in the king’s case.
One of many lives he’d taken this day.
“The queen attempted to flee. Our men caught her before she reached the next village. They’re bringing her back now.”
“Who is in charge of transport?” Wouldn’t do for the task to fall to bloodthirsty men or for word to get back to Cormira that Draylon’s men brutalized the queen of Renvalle.
“Lieutenant Lutrell.”
