Chapter 2
Ian ignored the morning chill as he descended the castle steps into the open courtyard below. The sun had barely shown its presence, not having had time to chase away the chill of the night.
While his body shivered awake, Ian’s mind was far away.
Sleep had been fleeting since Meena and Sol had left for Falqri.
They intended to secretly deplete Gareth’s store of chaos magic, but it was an incredibly dangerous mission, and Ian had no doubt that Gareth would brutally retaliate if he found out. When he found out.
Ian, only a few seasons younger than Gareth, had known the young king of Chendas for his entire life.
They had never been close friends, though they had seen each other often.
When they were children, Gareth had the annoying habit of turning every game into a competition, and he had a cruel streak that came out when he lost. Ian, Onric, and Aden had quickly learned to just let Gareth win.
But Ian had also felt a certain kinship with the other prince, even if there had been no true friendship.
They had both shared the heavy responsibility of being a future king, a responsibility that Gareth had been forced to take at a young age.
Ian’s feet begged him to return to his bed, with its blankets and leathers.
But his mind did not even register the desire.
He had no choice but to walk forward. To walk toward the small meeting room near the great hall of the castle, where his father already waited.
Where they met daily to discuss the complicated future with their most trusted advisors.
Ian crossed the courtyard and stepped into the slightly warmer hallway of the main castle.
The smell of baking bread wafted through the halls.
The kitchen staff were the only members of the palace who rose before the king.
Ian tried to relax his tense shoulders, but the cold still clung to him. He still could not fathom that Gareth, the boy he had known his whole life, was the true orchestrator of the fight they now faced—not the returning Majis.
It was Gareth who had orchestrated the attack that turned Aden into a beast—an attack that was intended for Ian. Gareth had also attempted to secretly execute Erich.
But that was far from the worst of it, and until now, the neighboring king had kept his nefarious activity a secret from, well, everyone.
When Gareth had inherited his crown, he had also inherited clandestine control of the Majis slaves on the Isle of Istroya.
It was Gareth who had manufactured the storms that ravaged Iseldis, destroying every greenreign crop.
And it was Gareth who had been feeding into the generational public sentiment that the Majis were their enemy.
Ian stopped for a moment outside the door to his father’s meeting room, composing himself as he attempted to gather his thoughts for the discussions ahead.
Even if they somehow defeated Gareth, then freed the Majis and convinced the people to welcome them back to Iseldis peacefully .
. . Ian would still be getting up before the dawn, walking this same path from the palace wing of the royal family to the meeting room of the king.
This was his life, and it always would be.
He pushed open the door and stepped into the meeting room.
Not that he had to worry about taking the crown in the near future. His father was strong and healthy, and Ian was not eager to take his place.
As expected, King Frederich sat in his usual seat at the far end of a broad table. To his left, a clay pot puffed out steam, filling the room with the aroma of strong tea. Bread and fresh fruit sat on a wooden board at the center of the table.
The food looked untouched, but that was also expected.
King Frederich preferred to start his morning with only tea, but he always asked the kitchen to send up a plate of food for the other councilors who would be joining them.
At the moment, those councilors had yet to arrive.
Ian silently joined his father at the table. It was too early for idle words, and King Frederich seemed intensely focused on the parchment in front of him.
Ian poured himself a cup of tea, following his father’s preferences. He exhaled, settling deeper into his chair as the beverage brought warmth to his frigid body.
In order to defeat Gareth, Iseldis would have to make a public stand against him—and they would need the support of the surrounding kingdoms to do so. The other three kingdoms, however, had no reason to believe ill of Gareth and his intentions.
When Erich and Aizel had returned from Chendas and exposed Gareth’s treachery, King Frederich had instantly sent messages to Allys in the north and Etrar in the west. Falqri in the south seemed to have more knowledge of Gareth’s true intent, hence Sol and Meena had traveled there.
But asking the kingdoms to stand against Gareth was no small matter. It had been done in secret, and Frederich still waited to hear back from his fellow monarchs.
Two councilors entered the room, briefly greeting Frederich and Ian before they sat down.
With a heavy breath, Frederich lifted the topmost sheet of parchment and slid it across the table to Ian.
Repositioning the parchment in front of himself, Ian wondered what further news could have arrived in the night.
It was another message from Gareth.
Under pretense of helping Iseldis prepare for the Return of the Majis, Gareth had been sending his soldiers through the kingdom to aid in the defense on the shore. Along with his soldiers had come daily missives offering advice—or, demands, really.
The presence of Gareth’s soldiers provided an additional level of difficulty in making a public stand against the king. If they renounced Gareth, they would be instantly bringing war to the heart of Iseldis.
Ian looked over the daily missive from Chendas.
Gareth complained that bandits had been harassing the soldiers he was sending to Iseldis, and he criticized Frederich’s lack of control over the people of his kingdom.
Gareth asked—demanded—that every effort be made to stop this bandit activity so that they could unite together against the incoming Majis.
Gareth’s tone was conciliatory, but Ian could now see the double meaning behind his words.
“We have never had an issue with bandits before,” Ian said, looking up at his father.
He felt a glimmer of pride that the people of the kingdom were not pleased with Gareth’s presence, even if they did not know the full truth.
“As wrong as this is, I cannot blame our people for pushing back against the soldiers, especially while food is scarce.”
Frederich smiled beneath his beard. He picked up a pen from the inkwell in front of him. “Unfortunately,” he said, “I will have to tell Chendas that with the Majis on our doorstep, we do not have the resources to deal with errant bandits. The soldiers will have to fend for themselves.”
Ian nodded in agreement. The conciliatory tone could work both ways.
A knock sounded at the door, and King Frederich’s personal squire entered the room. “Your Majesty,” he said, approaching the table with a quick bow. “A messenger from Clerbon has arrived. He will only speak his message to a member of the royal family.”
Ian was standing before the squire had finished speaking. It was not uncommon for messengers to request a private audience. He would hear the message and relay it to his father. Frederich nodded as Ian followed the squire out of the room.
A man in travel-worn clothing stood in the hall. He bowed deeply when he saw Ian. His hair was damp and frazzled from his journey, and he smelled strongly of horse. When he stood back up, Ian could see the exhaustion in his eyes from riding through the night.
“Your Highness?” The messenger addressed Ian, but he phrased the words as a question.
“Ian Sirilian,” Ian replied, introducing himself.
Apparently not satisfied at Ian’s words alone, the messenger turned to the squire for confirmation. Ian appreciated the man’s caution.
“The Crown Prince of Iseldis,” the squire said.
Ian motioned for the messenger to follow him into an empty room further down the hall, as it appeared the man wanted complete privacy.
Seemingly satisfied that they were alone, the messenger turned to Ian.
“Your Highness, I have just come from Clerbon. We received word some four hours ago that Princess Philomena and her husband are on their way back from Falqri. They travel in haste and secrecy. The princess said to tell you—” The messenger paused as though trying to remember the exact wording.
Ian appreciated his thoroughness. “We have succeeded in our goal, but we have been found out.”
Although this news had been expected, Ian felt a deep fear settle in his stomach. But he kept his face neutral, not wanting to show his fear to this stranger. “Is that all?” Ian asked.
“Her ship will land by nightfall. She asks for a small and unmarked retinue to see her safely back to the castle.”
“Thank you,” Ian replied. “Get some rest, my good man.”
The messenger bowed deeply as Ian left the room.