38. A Crown and a Curse
A Crown and a Curse
Darien
“My son, the rightful Prince of Safír, not only defeated the Empress, but saved my life as well.” Torsten clapped a hand on Darien’s back as his voice boomed over the crowd. “It is with immense pleasure that I pass on my crown. We could live a hundred years and never find another as worthy.”
Thunderous applause met Torsten’s words. Darien’s chest swelled with pride as he looked into Torsten’s beaming face. Never before had his father regarded Darien like that.
The battle of Diamant had been ruthless, but it ended in victory.
The vast hall encompassed the entirety of the Vienám.
Even the Jotnar were present. Darien recognized Skaei and Eluf immediately, their large frames distinct from a distance.
But it was those who sat in the front row that held his attention.
Anara cheered along with everyone else. Halla jumped up and down, her voice loudest of them all.
Even Masai and Kai were there, smiling as if they were genuinely happy for Darien.
But at the very edge of the row, though Larissa smiled at him, tears fell from her eyes.
Panic strangled Darien’s heart, squeezing out the satisfaction from moments before.
Larissa’s presence alone was enough to remind him.
No matter what he’d won in their victories, the moment he accepted the crown, he would lose her.
Another hand fell on Darien’s opposing shoulder. “For decades, I was lost to Shiko’s control. Only my brother could have brought me back to who I was.”
Calder stood at Darien’s other side, but there was no menace or anger in his expression. No, not Calder , came the strong feminine voice in Darien’s mind. Aeron .
Aeron squeezed Darien’s shoulder, his face on the crowds. “I willingly and gladly pass the crown onto him. To our new King, my brother!”
Darien’s mouth fell open of its own accord.
Aeron nudged him hard enough that Darien staggered. “Come on, brother, keep your composure.”
“But, it’s your crown—” Darien started.
Aeron cut him off. “Not any more. You’ve earned it, Darien. You’ll be the king I never could be.”
Darien glanced over his shoulder at Larissa. “But—”
“Oh.” Aeron’s joy lessened. “Sometimes you have to do what is best for our people, Darien, not for yourself.”
Flanked by his father and brother, Darien was led further up the stage to where the Safírian crown waited.
He faced the crowd as his father murmured the words of protection and duty over him.
Darien’s eyes sought Larissa, even now, needing her reassurance.
He knew she understood. Hadn’t she been the one to convince him of his responsibilities?
But when he finally found her seat, it was empty. Her back was turned toward him as she made her way through the crowd. She was leaving.
Darien’s legs tensed, ready to chase after her. But his people demanded a ruler. He could be kinder than his father had been, more loyal than Aeron. He could bring them into a new era of peace. Didn’t he owe that to them?
Larissa’s white hair faded into the shadows, and Darien could take it no longer.
Just as Torsten lowered the crown to place it on his head, Darien sprang forward, leaping off the stage and rushing through the crowd that melted around him.
At the back of the hall, Larissa pushed on the grand oak doors.
Under her fingers, the runes etched in the wood glowed and swirled to life.
Darien reached her, grabbing her hand in his.
“Lara, don’t go—”
But as Larissa turned to face him, it wasn’t Larissa at all. Skuld, the goddess of fate, towered over him, her eyes glowing in judgment and her hair swirling around them both. “Your decisions define you, Darien Torstenson.”
Following her gaze, Darien turned back to the stage.
Only now, Aeron sat on the throne, but it wasn’t Aeron.
Not anymore. Calder sprawled across the chair in the lazy fashion, twirling the Safírian crown on his wrist. Torsten bowed before his eldest son, his body bruised and broken.
The entire crowd sobbed as they prostrated themselves.
Draugr sauntered through the crowd, slashing at any who did not show the proper respect.
“All thanks to you, brother!” Calder called out.
He lifted the crown, setting it firmly on his head.
With measured steps, he descended from the stage and crossed the massive crowd in less time than it should have taken.
He stopped before Darien, a smirk permanently fixated across his mouth.
“You would sacrifice our whole kingdom for her, wouldn’t you? And people think I’m the villain.”
Darien reached toward his hip, but his sword was gone.
Even Darien’s royal finery had been replaced by his farm clothes.
He backed away, but Skuld blocked the exit.
Her massive hand spread across his chest. His skin burned, and he jerked away.
His shirt fell forward in tatters, the burnt ends filling his nostrils with the smell.
“Look well, Darien.” Skuld moved in front of him, offering a small mirror for him to hold. Angling it just right, Darien stared at the shape on his chest.
Though it was not one he’d ever seen before, was not even sure it had a name, he understood its ragged edges without needing to be told.
The rune of death.
The mirror fell from Darien’s hands, shattering against the floor. The hall, the crowd, his father, even Calder disappeared. Darkness crowded around him, and only Skuld remained.
“When?” Darien gasped.
Skuld shook her head. “That is not the answer you have earned, but I will tell you this.” Her voice deepened, yet lightened at the same time as the voices of the other Norn joined in with hers. “ Second-born King, usurper of the throne. Hel’s fingers welcome his bloodline home. ”
“My bloodline?” Darien gasped. “Because of a stupid test?”
“We only read the runes, Darien Torstenson. Perhaps we read them wrong,” Skuld’s voice grew farther away as shadows crowded over Darien’s vision. Cold fingers pulled him into the darkness. “Though we have never been wrong before.”