Chapter 20
Aedlin
Before Dother’s Death
There were too many eyes on her. Too many bodies crowded in the throne room, their gazes trained on Aedlin’s face. She squeezed her armrest, nails digging into the silver leaves decorating their front, and prayed to the Gods for strength.
There was no mask thick enough to hide her pain, the people of Berwick watching as the poise she’d hidden behind for decades cracked.
“We couldn’t find her.” Philip’s voice wavered, disheveled red hair falling over his forehead as he knelt before his queen. He stared at the polished white tiles, his reflection peering back at him, dark circles marring the flesh beneath his eyes.
Aedlin’s lower lip wobbled. She opened her mouth to speak but slammed it shut when a tear nearly slid free. Squeezing the armrest tighter, Aedlin didn’t dare look away from Philip, too afraid to face the guards and nobles gathered around them.
“I won’t stop searching,” he promised as he rose, hand pressed against his heart. “I will keep—”
“You’ve done quite enough!” King Dother’s voice echoed around the space, crawling up the marble columns lining the room until it coated the ceiling and crashed through the chandeliers.
Aedlin swore the light fixtures swayed, their blue and silver crystal prisms glistening.
A hush followed, a weight peeling from Aedlin’s skin as the focus shifted to the king.
She felt no relief. Her tense muscles wove themselves into knots, spine aching as she sat with a near-perfect posture.
Philip’s cheeks reddened. “Mora always comes back,” he said, attention still trained on Aedlin. His pained expression chipped away at what little remained of her self-control.
All she wanted to do was weep.
What would they think of her if she did?
The nobles wore their finest, donned in the most elegant silks and softest velvets, the colors so vibrant they nearly hurt the eye.
Precious stones glimmered beneath the firelight, hanging from ears and adorning fingers.
The Council stood among them. Watching Aedlin with displeasure.
Waiting to see how she fared with the king they’d chosen.
It was their throne too, after all. They owned Berwick as much as the royals did, its stability reliant on their contentment.
“She always comes back,” Philip repeated, pleading eyes lifting to the king. “Which is why I fear this is different. Something must have—”
“Someone must have failed in their duty to protect her,” Dother clipped.
He trailed his fingers over the flask on his belt, tracing the gilded daisies decorating its surface.
All the while, a dark, writhing mass of glittering onyx flinched away from his touch.
“Tell me, Philip, how do you intend to repent for your failure?”
King’s Guards shifted among the crowd, their royal blue uniforms standing out starkly. They clasped their hands at their front, fingers within reach of their swords, but where did their loyalty truly lie?
Had Aedlin not married Dother and the Council made true on their threats to dethrone her, an act only accomplished by violent force, what would the guards have done? Did they stand with her or with them?
What did it mean, to each of them, to protect Berwick?
To Philip, she knew it meant protecting Mora.
“I am aware of my failings, my king.” Philip scrubbed his hand down his face. “I will not rest until I bring Mora home.”
Dother’s gods-awful ring clacked against the flask as he considered the guard’s offer. It crowded Aedlin’s ears, the incessant tapping the one sound she could hear. Not a soul dared to breathe—they were like moths to a flame, watching their new king with curious eyes.
Finally, he spoke. “How can I expect you to find Mora when you are the reason she is lost to us?”
Philip flinched, dark blue eyes brimming with sorrow. “What would you have me do?”
Rising from his throne, Dother looked every bit like the royal Aedlin imagined he’d be. His crown gleamed, sapphires and diamonds glittering along sharp, deadly points. It was his only crown thus far, and he wore it well.
Was she meant to rise with him?
The Council would prefer a united front. Appearances were everything, and the people of Berwick needed stability now more than ever.
Sweeping her clammy hands across her gown, Aedlin stared at the soft pink and yellow fabric, considering her next move.
She’d need to have a word with Rosemary.
The dress the lady-in-waiting had selected mimicked the first stirrings of the sun, as if the tailor had plucked a sunrise from the sky and encased it in thread.
Perhaps she’d hoped it would hide Aedlin’s anguish.
Instead, the contrast made Aedlin feel more on display.
Though, she’d need to be careful. Rosemary felt like a piece of Mora; a small crumb of her daughter to cling to while she waited for her return. The last thing Aedlin wanted was to push Rosemary away.
Rising on unsteady feet, Aedlin clutched her thick skirt and made her way down the dais. Already, Dother stood at the bottom, circling Philip.
“What would I have you do?” Those azure eyes narrowed, something violent gleaming within his intense stare.
They were brighter somehow, the color ignited by the deep royal blue silk tunic he’d donned.
“You were tasked with protecting our princess. The sole royal heir. You failed more than Her Highness, Philip. You failed Berwick.”
“Your Grace,” Aedlin whispered, making her way to his side, a tightness building in her chest. “Surely, you don’t mean...”
“By the powers vested in me as Berwick’s king, I banish you from the island.”
The crowd gasped, Aedlin among them, her mind spinning as the chatter of the nobles buzzed in her ears.
With the flick of Dother’s fingers, four guards Aedlin didn’t recognize stepped forward, their focus trained on the king. Apart from one set of deep brown eyes.
Aedlin opened her mouth to speak, certain the endless crash of her heart against her ribcage could be heard by all, but before she could utter a word, Dother made his command.
“Take him away."
The brown-eyed guard hesitated, polished black boots frozen on pristine white tiles.
He swallowed, the strong column of his throat working as he looked to the queen, but a freckled-faced counterpart shifted subtly, knocking his elbow, and he snapped out of it.
They moved quickly, in near-perfect unison.
Philip didn’t fight them.
Not when they tore his sword free from his scabbard and tossed it to the floor.
Nor when they fisted his tunic with rough hands.
Mora’s guard didn’t utter a single word, his head bowed when they pushed him toward the exit.
“Wait!” Aedlin ordered, her demand a siren’s song reverberating off the walls.
Heads turned, the weight of the nobles’ attention once again pressing against Aedlin’s skin.
Lord Briar, a Councilman, frowned, his jaw working, fury churning in his stare like a hurricane, but Aedlin lifted her chin.
“Your Majesty,” she said, turning to Dother, “we must discuss this matter in private and ensure we do not make a rash decision.”
The king’s lips thinned. “Do you not want justice for your daughter?”
Aedlin frowned. “Of course I do—”
“Was it Philip’s duty to protect her?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did he not fail in his duty?” Dother edged closer, something akin to pity softening his features. “He is the reason your daughter is lost to us.”
Lost to us.
Mora was never coming back...
The room spun. A cold sweat soaked her brow while bile clawed up her throat. Aedlin took a step back, then another, until her heel hit the first stair leading up the dais. Oh gods, she was going to collapse in front of them all.
Lowering herself to the floor, she pressed her hands to her temples and took a slow, deep breath.
Dother faced their people. “See what this guard’s failure cost us? Your queen is in distress and your princess is gone. This cannot go unpunished.”
“My king,” Aedlin breathed, her voice softer than she wanted. Weaker. There was a near-maddening pounding in her ears, the crushing feeling in her chest threatening to empty her lungs. “A moment?”
The king was by her side within a breath, kneeling on the dais as he examined her face. “Do you need me to fetch a healer?”
“I will survive.” Aedlin ran a clammy hand down her face, willing her body to cooperate. It was enough she’d allowed herself to sink to the floor in front of them all—Aedlin couldn’t afford to lose herself any further. For her sake and Mora’s. “I wish to discuss this privately.”
Dother shook his head. “Your heart is too close to the matter.”
“And yours isn’t?”
He sighed, lips twitching into a hopeful smirk as he traced the delicate golden filigree on his flask. “It’s different for me.”
Something stirred on his finger, the dark orb in his ring swiveling in its casing to stare at Aedlin. Goosebumps rose on her flesh. She swallowed against the burn in her throat, telling herself it wasn’t truly looking at her, though she wasn’t sure she believed it.
“How is it different?” she asked.
“There are few things I’m more certain of than Mora.” Those bright eyes gleamed. “When she’s ready to be found, I’ll bring her back myself. I swear it.”
“What if...” The queen’s voice cracked, a tear slipping free.
Someone cleared their throat—Aedlin’s head snapped up, searching for the source.
It was Lord Clairmont, another member of the Royal Council, disappointment fluttering across his face.
Damn the gods. “I can’t do this,” she said quietly, praying only Dother heard.
Dother leaned in, his breath heating her cheek as he whispered, “Let me carry this burden. An example must be made. The Crown needs to appear united and strong.”
He was right. Aedlin’s mother had repeated those same words over and over throughout Aedlin’s youth. A united Crown was what Berwick needed.
“Philip,” Aedlin called.
Dother straightened and motioned for his men to approach. When had he employed his own guards? Why did they look to him as if his word was all that mattered?
Black boots clacked against the floor until they overtook Aedlin’s vision. She blinked the tears away, forcing herself to lift her head and look at Philip, ignoring the stormy stare of the guard gripping his tunic.
Philip offered a sad smile, his head dipping in reverence. “I acknowledge my failure, Your Majesty, and I accept my punishment. All I ask is—” His voice broke. He closed his eyes, breath shuddering while he collected himself. “I beg that you write to me once Mora is found… Please.”
Aedlin’s lower lip wobbled. “Yes, Philip, I’ll make sure you know.”
“Thank you, my queen.”
Dother shared a look with his guards, the four of them nodding before they turned to leave, forcing Philip to follow.
Aedlin watched Philip go, her gaze trained on his red hair until the crowd shifted and he disappeared from sight.
When Dother called for a healer to tend to the queen, she hardly heard him. Everything was muffled, as if she’d been shoved under water, the liquid flooding her ears, her mouth, her lungs. She was drowning silently, under the careful watch of her kingdom.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
To Philip.
To Kalyan.
To Mora, most of all.