Blood of the Stars (In Love and War #3)

Chapter 1

One

Queen Emeline

THE KINGDOM OF NORTHUMbrIA

“Prince Ludwig, Duke of Miltenburg, has sent the queen yet another gift,” says Lord Louis, my most faithful knight, with a crooked smile.

He bows as he offers a small silver trinket box in his hands. The sizable red-and-blue jewels encrusted on the box are rather lovely, but the prince should know by now that the bedazzling of ornaments won’t change my mind.

“If there is a severed ear in there, I will not be pleased.”

Louis muffles his laughter with a cough because this is hardly the time to be making jokes, especially when my ealdormen look on with sour scowls on their faces. But I cannot help it. The Prince of East Francia must accept the reality that I will not marry him—now or ever.

However, I humor my court as I accept the box from Louis.

My three ladies-in-waiting stand off to the side, attempting to conceal their hilarity as they remember the last gift Prince Ludwig sent.

Just in case anyone has forgotten, I have left the monstrosity on display as a reminder that I do not need nor will I ever want a king to rule my kingdom, especially one who is rumored to stand at a miniature height of five-foot-one.

The gift I speak of is a painting of Prince Ludwig and his beloved strapping black horse, Phillipe.

He is depicted as robust and tall, leading his men into battle.

However, the artist, I believe, had quite a wicked sense of humor because, looked at from a certain angle, it appears the prince is rather fond of his horse, or rather, Phillipe’s arse, because if I didn’t know any better, I would think the prince engaged in bestiality as he mounts the horse indecently.

Prince Ludwig clearly asked for his manhood to be the focal point, as mayhap, an aphrodisiac for me? All it did was raise questions about whether he was aroused because he was about to ride his horse—and I mean that in every literal sense of the word.

Poor Phillipe’s mouth is parted wide, eyes filled with fear.

My heart bled for the dear horse.

My mouth, however, was filled with laughter at Prince Ludwig’s attempts at “wooing” me.

I leave this painting on display as a reminder that no one will ever rule my kingdom but me.

Opening the box, I hold my breath as I pull away the white silk. Wrapped beneath are a set of pearl earrings. They are lovely. Too bad I despise pearls.

Slamming the lid shut, I offer the box back to Louis. “Lord Louis, give these to Lady Clementine. I am sure your wife will have more use for them than I.”

Gasps sound around the court. My ealdormen are horrified that I am defaming East Frankia this way. I would think they would be accustomed to their queen being defiant, but I do like to remind them every now and again.

“My queen, if I may speak freely,” says Ealdorman Rufus, the weasel who once served my father, King Eanred, and favored my brother, Aethelred, before I cut off his head, that is.

I smile at the memory of finally ridding that twisted smile from his monstrous face.

It’s in battle where blood is spilled, and the guttural screams of victory vibrate in my loins do I feel most alive. This is hardly orthodox for a queen to behave, but bathed in the blood of my enemies is where I belong.

The crown that sits upon my head, however, does not allow me to partake in battle any longer, as my children are too young to rule. My sacrifices will not have been for nothing, as ensuring the safety of Northumbria and my people comes first.

If anything were to happen to me, I know rodent ealdormen like Rufus would seek out Aethelred’s children, whom I was not aware he had until after his death, and help them take the throne.

They are the rightful heirs, but they have my brother’s blood coursing through their veins.

Therefore, they are a danger to me and my kingdom.

They are in the care of monks, but I know it’s only a matter of time before they come for my beloved and me in Northumbria. They will learn of their heritage one day, even if they are bastards, and when they do, I will be ready.

But for now, I have other pressing matters to deal with, like Ealdorman Rufus.

“What is it, Lord?” I ask, unable to keep the annoyance from my tone.

“Prince Ludwig is a sensible choice of suitor. By selecting a foreign prince, we enforce our ties to the kingdom of East Frankia. This alliance secures Northumbria's future. We would be unstoppable in battle. Trade. Please, do not act with haste.”

The court falls quiet because they know I do not take kindly to being told how to rule my kingdom.

Straightening out my red dress, I take my time to reply because I wish to watch Ealdorman Rufus grovel on his belly like the serpent that he is.

“Do you claim to know the future, Lord?”

“No, of course not, my Queen!” he gasps, horrified because such talk is heresy. “But Northumbria would be stronger if ruled by a king…and queen.” His slip of the tongue has not gone unnoticed, for if he had it his way, only a king would sit on this throne.

“If I choose a foreign prince, he will draw England into foreign politics for his own advantage. But if I marry a fellow countryman, I would be drawn into factional infighting. How does this make our kingdom stronger?

“Are you questioning my ability to reign?”

“My Queen, your words wound me. I was merely suggesting—”

But he has spoken enough.

“I merely suggest you keep your philosophies to yourself then, Lord…before my words do more than wound you when I cut out your tongue. Dare speak to me on this matter again, and I will be sending Prince Ludwig my own gift…and that will be your head.

“Understood?”

He nods quickly, thankful he still has a head to nod with.

“Tis most splendid then! Let’s never speak of this matter again.” I stand, bored by this conversation. “Let us go.”

My ladies-in-waiting follow me as I leave my court, who are open-mouthed and frustrated with my stubbornness, but no man will ever tame me.

However, I tell a lie as there is one man who ever could, but I’ve not seen that man for many moons.

I do not know where he is.

I do not know if he is alive.

And this is the sacrifice I must make for my kingdom because a Saxon queen cannot love a Northman.

But I do.

I always have.

I’ve loved him since I was twelve years old.

A love fated in the stars…stars which I wish to set alight. For what good is love if you cannot embrace it with both hands?

“Mother!”

That word grounds me. It reminds me that yes, I am queen. But first and foremost, I’m a mother, which to me, is the reason I do what I must to ensure the safety of my children—half Saxon, half Viking.

“I like your dress, Mother,” says Sune, the darling boy whose eyes are so like his mother’s—the mother who I killed.

“Oh, thank you,” Cecily sobs, her chest heaving. “You are honorable, Emeline. You are a good woman who—”

But I don’t give her a chance to finish because I am neither of those things when I draw the blade across Cecily’s throat. Blood squirts from the wound, showering me in her blood. But I do not move. I allow myself to be immersed in her life force, for I was the one who took it.

Her eyes widen, stunned that I would kill her when I said she would be spared. “M-my baby.”

“Shh,” I whisper, cupping her cheek before stabbing the knife into her abdomen and cutting downward. “I intend to show mercy to your baby. You, however—”

My hand is soon saturated with Cecily’s warm blood as I slice through her flesh.

“You made your choice, and now, I have made mine. And you chose wrongly.”

Cecily’s chin droops forward, and she watches her final moments on this earth as I cut through her stomach. I intend to keep my word and save her child. I just never stipulated the terms.

The moment the final breath leaves her, I reach into her split cavity and pull out her child. She was right—it is a boy. A boy who will hate me when he discovers how he was brought into this world.

I clean the fluid from his mouth and whack him lightly on the back before a robust cry cuts through the still air. I sever the umbilical cord and smile. He will grow to be strong, like his father.

Cutting through Cecily’s dress, I use it to swaddle her baby and gently rock him. “You are a miracle,” I whisper, instantly in love. “Never allow anyone to tell you otherwise. Half Viking. Half Saxon. You decide what legacy you wish to follow.”

I shake myself from the memory because Sune is my son even though he didn’t grow in my belly. He is too young to know this at only nine years of age. But soon, he will wonder why his hair color is unlike mine.

Or that of my other son—Loki.

Loki is eight, but he is far wiser than his young years.

I suspect he already knows that he and Sune are different. Sune is a skilled warrior with a rotten temper when provoked. Loki is the spitting image of his father through and through. But unlike Sune, he shows no interest in the ways of war.

I am fearful for Loki’s future. He is carefree and spirited, and I know his name will be notorious in many moons.

I just don’t know how.

“Thank you, sweetling,” I say with a smile as I take Sune’s hand. “What did you get up to today?”

Sune and I walk through the palace, looking for Loki in the only place I know he will be.

“I practiced my swordsmanship with Lord George.”

My heart aches, for I remember a time when I watched my brother doing the same thing with Lord Robert, my beloved friend who sacrificed his life for mine.

“Nay, child…you live to tell your story. The story of a brave warrior who refused to surrender. Live for me. Live for the people of Northumbria!”

Those words ring loudly when I need them, for Lord Robert is only one of many who sacrificed their life for Northumbria and me.

“Did you display mercy to poor Lord George?”

Sune’s jovial laughter is answer enough.