Dead Crown (Valentine #2)

Prologue

The baby was dead.

Reesing wanted to turn his head away from the sight of his pale wife and the tiny body on the blankets. He wanted to run outside, scream at Elira, and let the cold take him. Instead, he stared at the baby who would never take a single breath.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” whispered the midwife.

Reesing almost wanted to rage at her so he’d have a way to vent himself. He wanted someone to blame who could also be threatened so they’d fix things and make the agony go away.

It wasn’t the midwife’s fault.

Aisi had bled so much inside, she'd passed out just after the final push. The midwife had used her healing magic to keep the Queen alive, but blood loss took time to recover from. She hadn’t been able to do a thing for the child, and no magic could undo death.

How was he supposed to tell Aisi the cord had been wrapped around their son’s neck? How in the realm was he supposed to tell her their little boy was dead when she came around?

Every single thing about him was perfect.

He had all ten fingers and toes, and nearly translucent wisps of hair lay about his pointy ears.

He had a small but fluffy tail and eyes the color of northern green sea ice like his Father, with slitted pupils that wouldn’t respond to light or dark in death.

He was the perfect little cat fairy baby they’d dreamed of for the past months while debating on names. But he’d never move.

Panic clawed at Reesing’s insides. He couldn't tell his wife and crush her with the words.

“Are you sure Aisi will live?” he demanded.

The midwife frantically nodded. “Yes, m’lord. She’ll need lots of rest and-”

“Keep her sedated if you need to until I return.” He pointed at the large leather bag she’d brought that sat on the floor with its limp strap. “You’re going to put Tivar’s body in there after I wrap him.”

Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “Wh-what?! I'm-”

“Don’t argue!” He headed for the closet room with his ears pulled back.

Aisi had kept some of his Mother’s hand-knitted shawls as a memento, although she rarely wore them.

The last Queen, Matta, had preferred darker colors, and Aisi, who had been born with poor eyesight that couldn't be fixed with spectacles, probably wouldn’t notice if one went missing.

On the bottom shelf in the back, he found three blue ones.

He took one with scalloped edges and returned to the bed to wrap his precious son. “Keep his Grandmother’s shawl around him. It’ll be his shroud so he’ll have something from us. When you take him to your home, bury him deep in your herb garden so he’ll never be found, and no one will disturb him.”

A royal body should have been buried in the tomb. At least his son would be in Ymir’s dirt, and his body would never be tampered with. He’d be safe in a quiet spot where life grew to aid others.

The midwife stared at him as if he’d asked her to take the body, tear it apart, and fling the pieces from the Castle roof.

“Keep him in your bag until you get home later. For now, stay here, and if she wakes up, sedate her. If she asks for Tivar, say I took him to the physician’s rooms because I just wanted to be doubly sure he’s all right. I’ll be back in a bit with a new baby.”

“A new baby?! And you expect me to bury your son in my herb garden?” The midwife gripped the base of the tiny horns poking out of her bluish-blonde hair.

He paused with his son. “Yes, and you’ll do it. If you ever say a word about this, you’ll know what prison is like.”

That shut her up. Reesing paused before he forced himself to forever hide his baby’s face with the fabric. Once the body was fully swaddled, he handed it to the midwife and left the room.

His younger half-brother with no blood relation to the crown line was pacing the hall. Elswere was probably imagining the time when his wife would give him a baby too. For a moment, his face lit up at the prospect of a niece or nephew when he spotted Reesing and hurried forward.

His smile dropped when he saw Reesing’s expression. “What? Is…”

“The cord…” Reesing closed the door and gripped the handle.

“She bled a lot. She’ll live, and she’s passed out.

Tivar was stillborn.” Elswere froze a foot away from him, and his tail went limp as he started to say something, but Reesing spoke again.

“Put on dark clothes, go down to the carriage house, and tell the carriage hands to get lost if they’re around.

Get the unmarked one ready. I’ll meet you down th-”

“What for?” interrupted Elswere.

Reesing told him why and where they would go, and Elswere said he was mad. He refused. Reesing ordered him to go down and ready the carriage. Elswere named the reasons why his plan was insane and pleaded with him to rethink things because the consequences would be grave.

Reesing knew he was right, but it didn’t matter. Not when he could spare his wife such a loss. He refused to budge, and Elswere finally left to do as he was told.

Reesing only went back to the bedroom to change into dark, warmer clothes and grab two of the blankets intended for Tivar. Aisi had spent months knitting little blankets in every color with various designs. Tivar would never even know it.

When he slipped into the carriage house later, Elswere had opened the double doors. Despite the hood and scarf covering most of his head and face as he sat in the driver’s seat with the reins loose in his hands, Reesing still felt his disapproving gaze before he climbed in.

He settled on the seat with the two blankets balled up in his lap and hidden under the folds of his plainest cloak.

Part of his idea was madness, and Elswere was entirely right.

The bloodline for the Crown had to run through the males.

While Elswere was technically royalty, he could never be the King since Queen Matta had slept with another man and admitted the truth to her husband.

King Wegen had kept the secret to avoid shame.

They’d already had Reesing as an heir, so he’d been able to get away with it.

Luckily, Queen Matta had slept with another cat fairy with the same coloring, so Elswere passed well enough. If anyone ever suspected he wasn’t truly a part of the male Cleel line or wondered about his folded ears, they kept their mouths shut.

If something happened to Reesing, and Elswere took the throne, Iceland would slowly decline. The line had to go through the King and his true sons, not daughters or bastard sons born of other males.

Adopted sons didn't count either.

There might be a way to thwart it without revealing the secret, although his plan was half-cooked, and Reesing could barely think of the future with grief twisting his heart.

They could have another child and hope for a boy.

Or he could go ahead, save Aisi the grief now, and tell her in several years.

Please let the new baby be a girl. He could hide the truth forever if so.

He peeked out the window after they left through the gate. The Castle, built of white, iced stones, looked dull. The sky was particularly cloudy and dreary as if it were also mourning the death of Tivar.

Everyone said losing a baby was worse for the Mother because she felt it grow and kick. The baby was a part of her from the moment she conceived, it took its sustenance from her body, and she pushed it out when it was ready to be born. A man could only experience it if he were an abundant male.

The wheels were muffled by the snow. Quite a bit had fallen a week ago, and the streets were never fully cleared.

Snowflakes drifted down as the carriage carried him through the streets of Havaska.

People hurried by, and he caught a shadow as someone flew overhead.

Life went on even with someone dear to him dead.

What if the woman was gone? Dear Elira, please let the child be a girl.

He squinted through the window when the carriage slowed near the specific area he'd told Elswere about. He frantically scanned the side of the street. Reesing had seen her before a few times, and it was always around the same spot.

The last time had been the previous morning when he'd gone into the city because Aisi had craved a particular food from a certain sweet shop, and he’d wanted to get it for her himself.

He finally spotted his goal and banged on the inside of the carriage so Elswere would know to stop the horses.

The woman appeared ready to piss herself.

The carriage was unmarked and nice enough for someone with money.

Clearly, the man who stepped out had coin, although she wouldn’t be able to tell his identity with his dark cloak and the hood pulled forward.

His scarf helped too, and he'd left his Crown in his bedroom.

Near the Winter Solstice, her belly had been quite big despite her gaunt look. On the New Year the previous day, he had noticed the bundle in her arms. She was rather hard to miss due to her pink cloak. It was a good weave but stained from street life. Up close, he could see how ragged the hem was.

He had no idea what circumstances had brought her there, and she stood in the doorway of what used to be a scent shop before it closed down.

The bowl for begging on the step was empty, and the new life she held in her arms and partially concealed with her cloak was wrapped in rags.

The tip of the baby’s white tail poked out, and as she shifted a little, he spotted one of its tiny, pointy ears.

Reesing had no idea how to go about asking for such a thing. As a child, he’d been taught things like etiquette and how to fight with a sword. Purchasing a baby hadn’t been one of those lessons.

“That’s a lovely child, miss,” he started, although he could barely see it. “How old is it?”