4. Birthright
Birthright
The King was a fickle man. Some days, he was kind, jovial even.
On others… King Caelith Blackthorne ruled with a dark cloud hovering over the kingdom.
Most days, his mood ran somewhere between madness and glee.
Even the most skilled seers in the realm could not always predict which way the feather would fall.
Today, King Caelith had a keen edge to his gaze, a stillness in his posture that made Cypress take pause.
The banners of House Blackthorne hung from every rafter, and behind the throne, as if he was reminding everyone who entered whose den they’d entered.
As always, the throne room was cold–even in the height of summer.
The thick stone walls of the Keep insulated against the heat to a near freezing degree.
The only respite for the chill was the warm breeze coming through the large windows at either end of the throne room.
It caught on the edges of Cypress’s ruined skirts, and the once again disheveled length of her braid.
A servant announced Cypress’s and Lieutenant Oswald’s arrival to the court, voice echoing through the opulent room as the large door slammed shut behind Torren. As always, Cypress was introduced as Lady Cypress in the presence of the King and court.
When King Caelith set his eye on Cypress's prisoner, he waved his hand, and the court fled until only King Caelith, Cypress, Oswald, and Torren remained.
Cade and Caelith shared many features, but it was easy to tell them apart by the color of their eyes. Cade’s were the deepest navy blue, like a midnight ocean.
King Caelith’s eyes, on the other hand, were an uncannily dull, flat, lifeless grey. From her years serving the royals, Cypress saw the edge of madness around the rim of his iris.
Cypress tore her gaze from the King and instead focused on her surroundings, looking for any sight of Cade.
Golden candelabras with unlit candles were spaced evenly along the pillars on the walls, and she had no doubt someone would be within the secret corridors listening to their conversation.
There were fresh flowers draped across every surface, likely sourced from the castle gardens, but the Prince was not hiding amongst the pillars.
Silence reigned in the opulent throne room as the trio stopped before the raised mezzanine.
Cypress dipped low in her curtsey while Oswald practically prostrated himself before the King in his dark, uncomfortable-looking throne.
As far back as the first kings, they had all used this as their seat of power.
It looked to Cypress like a chair carved from wood, then splashed with molten metal. The now solid and blackened metal almost oozed over the edges of the seat and dripped from the branches above Caelith’s head. The feet of the chair looked like claws from of a bird of prey.
“Explain,” The King ordered in a booming voice.
Cypress cleared her throat. “This thief was intercepted while breaking into Prince Cade’s quarters at the Joust,” she said, laying out the basics of the fight and aftermath. “Prince Cade identified the male as Torren.”
King Caelith nodded, resting his head on his hand, elbow propped on one of the thicker branches peeking out to the side. “What are you looking for, boy?”
Cypress watched the muscles of Torren’s jaw work, some ember of fire in his stormy grey eyes as he glared at the king.
“The scepter. We need it to keep the Wylds sleeping,” the thief finally gritted out, as if the admission cost him something.
King Caelith hummed, nodding. “And this is the only reason you have returned?”
Returned? Cypress narrowed her eyes at the word.
“Yes,” Torren seethed, the ropes around his arms and chest straining against the rising and falling of his chest.
King Caelith sat back on the throne, rubbing his chin. “And, I am to believe your return has nothing to do with your birthright?”
Torren curled his lip and spat at the king’s feet. “I don’t want any fucking birthright you gave me.”
Cypress sucked in a breath and braced against the inevitable outburst that would result in the disrespect.
Only… It never came.
King Caelith merely looked down at the small globule of Torren’s spit, mere hairsbreadth away from his velvet slipper, then raised his eyebrow and gazed once more at Torren’s face.
Prince Cade strode through the large doors a heartbeat later, a scowl lining the normally relaxed face, blond hair windswept, cheeks flushed.
When the pair of Blackthorne royalty were side by side, it was hard to deny their relationship. Prince Cade was a mirror of his father; even their builds were practically the same, despite the king being thirty years his senior.
“What is he doing here?” Prince Cade demanded as he approached his father’s seat.
“Apparently, he needs the scepter,” King Caelith drawled, still just peering at the dark-haired male bound in the center of the room.
“I thought he was exiled,” Prince Cade said, crossing his arms, leaning against the side of his father’s throne.
“He left with his exiled mother, you know this, Cade,” the king retorted, his hand rasping against the regrown stubble along his chin.
Before Cypress was able to form a thought, to even begin to question the tangled web of information that had just been revealed, the king turned to her.
“You will go with Torren. Inspect the Wylds and report back any sightings. If the Wylds truly are awakening, then I will discuss with my counsel the use of the scepter. Torren, you will not set foot upon my land again, under any circumstances. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” Torren hissed, rolling his shoulders. “Now, will someone release me from these infernal ropes?”
“Wait. Wait. Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on? This man is a thief. Why aren't we just throwing him in a cell to be forgotten about– as we would with any other thief bold enough to trash Cade’s quarters? My place is here, guarding the Prince, as it always has been.”
King Caelith regarded Cypress with a keen eye, scrutinizing her for a moment too long before he spoke. “Think of it this way, Captain. You will be guarding a Prince, just not the Prince. This is Prince Torren, first of my line.”
“First of your line? How have I never heard of him?” Cypress demanded, crossing her arms. She knew she was toeing the line of disrespect toward the King, but she couldn’t summon even an ounce of care. Cypress wanted answers, and she wanted them now.
“I was married once before Henrietta, Cade’s mother.
Unfortunately, the relationship was not…
Fruitful, let's say. Our courtship was dissolved, and Rosalind was exiled. Torren here, went with her. I’m told her carriage was attacked by bandits on the road.
I had assumed both of them perished.” King Caelith explained with a shrug, splaying his hands in a placating motion.
Cypress’s instincts clamored at her, the wind whispering in her ear. Some of what King Caelith was saying was a lie. She knew it.
And what better way to find out than to follow the truth? Cypress took a measured breath and clasped her arms behind her back. “Why me?”
“Who else can I trust to have this kingdom, my heir’s well-being in mind, than his personal guard?”
Cypress nodded, expecting that angle. “But my place is here, Sir. Send Lieutenant Oswald.”
King Caelith shook his head. “No, Captain. You will follow Torren. You will inspect the Wylds and report back. I trust you alone to determine if the Old Ones have awoken, and if this kingdom is in danger.”
Cypress straightened her spine a fraction at the King’s use of her actual title– Captain.
“Old Ones? Why is everyone talking as if the thief has brought a nightmare upon our doorstep?” Cypress asked, crossing her arms once more.
There were stories of old beings who once roamed the Wylds before the first kingdoms. Old things that were sometimes more beast than man. Terrifying stories to keep the orphans in line, obedient throughout their training– lest the Old Ones awaken to destroy the kingdom in the dark of night.
Or so Cypress had thought.
“The stories are true, Captain. And you’ll do well to remember them. You depart at daybreak.” King Caelith ordered, waving his hand to dismiss the three of them. “Leave us.”
Cypress turned on her heel, waving Lieutenant Oswald and their captor along with her.
Well. Apparently, the thief was a fucking Prince.
Sighing, Cypress ordered, “Free the Princeling,” To Lieutenant Oswald without breaking her stride. The King had explained much, but she knew there were still things being intentionally hidden. No former Queen is merely exiled.
Cypress struggled to recall if she had ever been aware of this other Queen’s name in her youth…
but there was nothing. Ever since she could remember, Queen Henrietta had sat alongside King Caelith.
She’d fawned over their son, Cade. Had insisted that Cypress be educated alongside the Prince.
Cypress had long suspected Queen Henrietta had hand-picked Cypress out of the orphanage to befriend her son—someone who would be loyal to Cade, and challenge his more asshole-ish tendencies.
Cypress had been that for Prince Cade long before they’d been friends, and long before she became Captain of his guard.
But, Cypress could not recall any instance of a single mention of a previous Queen and heir. Not even a whisper between castle servants. Not a single hushed Torren in the middle of the night as the maids walked quietly through the halls.
So what had this previous queen–Torren’s mother– done to make the entire kingdom forget she even existed?