Chapter 2
2
F lushed and reeling, Aven followed the guard down the winding halls toward the massive room located directly adjacent to the throne room. She was too young to remember the days when her family used the space for parties, drawing diplomats from all over the world.
They were long gone.
Her mother had often regaled her and her siblings with stories from those long-ago events, painting pictures of the glamour and the freedom, if only for a night. While her sisters made noises of pleasure and longing for those parties, Aven had scoffed even at three.
Who would want to twirl around in circles looking good for boys?
Now the doors to the throne room remained shuttered tight, whereas the solid wood panels lined with iron and steel—those leading to the war room—were always thrown open. The room filled with the echoing murmur of voices: the King’s and those of his generals.
Her father looked haggard.
King Fergus stood at the head of a long rectangular table carved from a single piece of wood and studied her as she made her way through the door. His cheeks were pale, and the dark ripple of scar tissue stood to attention. The slice, marring one half of his face from his brow bone all the way down to his jaw, spoke to his commitment to his people. It used to be that she’d see him out there alongside them.
Now his white hair and stooped posture marked him as ineffective. Too many years of fighting had taken their toll, although he was nowhere close to old age.
“Aven, come in.” He gestured for her to step closer, his rough voice familiar and foreign at the same time.
The cut of his tunic mirrored hers with a high collar and large round buttons keeping the two halves connected down the chest. His was made of sturdier material. She blew out a long breath and resisted the urge to bow to him. Even now, her father commanded whatever room he graced.
He possessed a lethal combination of intelligence, charisma, and ferocity that made him a better ruler than she would ever be. Thank goodness the responsibility would never be hers.
General Hunter hadn’t bothered to follow her down, and her guard escort halted at the door, cut a low bow to his ruler, and disappeared into the bowels of the castle. Leaving the two of them nearly alone for the first time in?—
Her memory faltered.
When was the last time she and her father spent any time together, just the two of them?
His pale eyes widened as they took in the dark lines of fresh runes on her wrist, unhidden by her tunic, along with several along the side of her neck and face. His brows rose, but rather than saying anything about them, King Fergus began with, “I wanted to speak to you about personal matters.”
He snapped his fingers, and his men rushed to do his bidding, their boots thudding heavily against stone on their way out of the room. Several of them did not bother to glance her way, although a few acknowledged her with a quick dip of their chins.
“I’m here at your disposal, Father.” When she should actually be in the barracks speaking to her men.
They rallied around her, loyal and steadfast, especially considering, as Hunter had stated, her age. Her status. Her gender.
She was a young woman and a royal to boot, yet they followed her when she called.
King Fergus tapped the top of the table twice with his massive knuckles before letting out a great breath. “I’m conflicted, Aven.”
“In regards to?” She shouldn’t press. He’d tell her in time. Whether she wanted to hear it or not.
It wasn’t like the two of them had the greatest connection. No matter what she said or did, it always irritated him. On the few occasions they actually managed to come together without hostility, he often left with his teeth gritted and hers grinding down to fine nubs.
Would today be any different?
“Your status.” His mouth twitched slightly as if he were displeased with her tone. King Fergus crossed his powerful arms over his chest in a gesture of dominance, and Aven ducked her head so he wouldn’t see her scowl.
Despite her title and her talents, she was the lowest in the pecking order, and she stood in front of her leader. Even if he happened to be her father.
“I have conflicted notions as to what your role and life should be like and what your current burden has become because of your… skills,” he clarified. “The gods know you’ve been forced into a certain position due to our current climate. Is it fair to you? Should I have put a stop to it?”
“Put a stop to what?” Her hand went to her wand again in a telling gesture before she forced her fingers to relax.
“You carrying weapons. You killing our enemies. You leading battalions. Take your pick.”
Much to her surprise, annoyance flickered through her.
Rather than sit, she remained on the opposite side of the table closest to the door, forcing both of them to raise their voices in order to be overheard. “I don’t understand. Why would you have conflicted notions? I’m happy where I am, with what I do.”
It never bothered her to wield a weapon and join her men in the meat of the fight.
“It isn’t befitting of a woman of your status. Whether you are in line for the crown or not, Aven, you should not be forced out into war to bear a weapon like a grunt.” King Fergus’s expression darkened, and he relaxed his arms into a more comfortable posture.
The stance was anything but casual. Even the look on his face spoke to the power he was used to shouldering.
He called her in there to talk about her status? Not strategy?
A colossal waste of time, and she struggled to bite back a groan.
“You’re not thinking of keeping me back from the battlefield, are you?” she asked, mustering her sense of calm. “It would be a mistake, when the plan depends on me heading my cadre?—”
“No,” he interrupted with a dismissive wave. “In this case, you’re right. It would be a foolish mistake to pull you from the field. I’m thinking of future fights. How many more will you take part in? How many will you barely scrape by while the healers work to fix your injuries? Aven, it’s not your place. You shouldn’t be covered in runes and waving a wand.”
She’d made peace with her lot in life, and not only that, she’d come to relish it. “I want it to be my place.”
There was freedom in the war even with the stench of blood coloring the air. Freedom in swinging a sword and cutting down her enemies, in discharging a gun into a rampaging line of fae warriors.
That sort of sensation could not be found in a dusty throne room with a crown on her head.
Not to mention there would be no more runes beyond the ones inked into her skin, and those faded with every hit she took. Her father wanted her pale, chained, dressed in a gown.
The thought soured her stomach.
Gods, she couldn’t imagine herself in the same flowing fabrics and pretty jewels as her sisters. For her father to bring this up now, right before the big event… it distracted her in a way she did not need.
“Under normal circumstances, it would not matter what you want. Only what you are. You were born into certain responsibilities, and as such, it would be more prudent for you to concern yourself with matters of the court rather than matters of war.”
A cold chill trickled down her spine.
Aven had always worked better with the grunts in her father’s army than the stuffy, upturned-nose debutantes and courtiers. Most were useless in a fight, and those who could wield a weapon were either insane or had no interest in women.
Or both.
She could barely remember a time when she was forced to interact with those types of people. The war had crept closer and closer to their doorstep, and she’d pivoted, using her innate gifts for strategy and logic to the best good for her kingdom.
None of her other siblings could wield a magical weapon or a wand the way she could, even her brothers. Oh, they possessed the brute strength, but not the depth of conviction to be truly destructive.
It made Aven invaluable.
She tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear, but there was no concealing her indignation. “So in this battle, I’m fine to fight, but you would pull me from future battles? To what end?” she asked mildly. “It makes no sense in the grand scheme of this war to take away one of your greatest assets.”
“General Hunter has informed me of several other very talented lieutenants who would benefit from a greater role,” he continued.
Aven recoiled. “Then let me work with them. I’ll train them,” she insisted. But she refused to back down on this.
Grief and frustration mingled together inside of her as she stared at her father. She shook her head, ignoring the small voice of warning in her head, the one telling her to drop this because no good would come from arguing.
“I’m a valuable part of your armies, and you should know better than to pull me from the field and put me in a corset.”
She’d never been able to keep her mouth shut and known when to be quiet. Rather than waiting for his reply, rather than digging herself a great hole, Aven turned and made a less-than-graceful exit from the war room.
Exasperation burned the back of her throat. She refused to be one of those white-faced, heavily made-up courtiers from her memories. Refused to focus on things like balls, banquet planning, fashion. Those were things for peaceful times. Not now.
Her fingers curled into white-knuckled fists at her side.
So focused on getting the hell away from the war room, she barely realized she had company until she ran directly into her twin sisters. The two of them circled her, blocking off her exits with their bodies and full skirts.
“Aven, honestly, you may insist on dressing like a brute, but do you need to act like one as well?” Iona sniffed delicately, and her pale blue eyes narrowed beneath the graceful fall of black hair.
Geleis reached out to steady Aven, swearing slightly under her breath. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Are you all right?”
Aven steeled herself. No escape from them, either.
The two ladies may be identical, both of them dressed in cloud-soft fabric wrapped around their figures to show off their curves, but their personalities were as different as night and day. One sweet and fair and the other a raging harpy on the best of days.
Geleis kept her hands on Aven’s shoulders to steady her when the younger sibling swayed lightly on her feet.
Aven hurried to break the hold, uncomfortable with the closeness and the touch. “I’m fine,” she bit out. “I just came from a meeting with Father.” She let them form their own opinions from her tone.
“To discuss your fashion or your choices in accessories?” Iona asked, staring at the sword. She folded her pale hands in front of her like a delicate protection against Aven’s uncouth nature. “He practically lets you run wild.”
They were older than her by five years, both of them more concerned with their future husbands and making a good romantic match than with anything else. There were different kinds of warfare, Geleis had once told Aven, and different ways to serve the kingdom. Bringing in fresh allies and more connections was their task.
They both took it seriously.
“Come on, sit for a moment. Nothing good is going to come of you storming off like a wildfire about to catch.”
Aven didn’t respond as Geleis directed her to a small side room just down the main hallway. The door swung open silently to a parlor with three walls dominated by bookshelves. The low glowing light overhead brightened at their entry, powered by magic, and several soft cushions rested near the expansive mullioned windows.
The view showed the first blossoms of spring in a nearby garden with the green heads of herbs poking up out of the rich earth.
“Sit.” Geleis physically pushed her onto the cushion and settled beside her. Iona chose a nearby seat and dropped into a graceful flounce on its edge. “What’s wrong?”
Aven gnawed on the inside of her cheek and debated what to share with them. No doubt the twins would take the King’s side of this argument. Neither one of them remained secretive about their desire to tame her. To make her into their image.
Except Aven had no interest in marriage. Or relationships in general. She was much too busy to look sideways at a man and wonder about his suitability.
There were six of them in total. Herself and the twins were the youngest, with her older brother Fionn first in line for the throne. Her second oldest sibling, Maeve, had her own skills and talents with herbs. Healing, Maeve always claimed. Then came Emmett, a headstrong young man rutting his way across the kingdom and playing at being a warrior.
None of them had what Aven offered to the army.
“Father merely wished to convey his thoughts on my occupation,” she said with as much diplomacy as possible. Her words were bitter and dried her throat further.
Geleis’s touch shifted to her knee and tightened. “I’m sure you aren’t too happy with him.”
Aven pushed to her feet to break the hold. “I don’t have time for this today. There is too much to do before I have to be off.” She glanced wistfully at the door.
“Of course she isn’t happy. Look at her face. Her blush has practically mottled her neck, and she’s ready to pace,” Iona said with a chuckle, a calculating look draping over her face. “Aven has never liked being told what to do. She’s more comfortable giving the orders. She should have been born the Queen herself.”
Aven shook her head vehemently. “I don’t want to be queen. Only want to do what I’ve always done.” She moved her hands in time with the words, and her new rune began to burn, her skin itchy and tight.
“Mother never should have let you run wild,” Iona insisted with another light sniff. “You were the baby, and so she coddled you. Perhaps Father is right.”
“You don’t even know what he said.”
Iona returned Aven’s scowl with one of her own. She’d never allow anyone else to see her in such a state; the look was reserved only for her siblings. “I can guess.”
“Whatever your opinions are, of me and what I do, there is nothing keeping me here to listen to them.” And she’d wasted enough precious seconds having these conversations. Aven strode to the door and paused there, her palm hovering above the hammered gold handle. Should something go wrong in the battle, she forced herself to acknowledge, she didn’t want to leave on this note with her family. “I love you.”
In case she didn't make it. In case the worst happened. And she did love them, somehow. Despite their differences.
“Aven, please, don’t run off this way,” Geleis started.
Too late.
Aven rushed into the hallway like she wanted to outrun the enemy rather than her family, her attention already fractured in too many directions to count.
The battle, and her father. Her duties. Her desires .
A few hours ago, she knew her place without a shadow of a doubt. Now her future split into two distinct paths, and what she wanted and what she had to do were no longer the same.