Queen of the Chimera (The Novi Navarro Chronicles #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

T he bickering of the Royal Council faded into the background as Fallon’s half-demon eyes caught sight of Novi and her handmaid Callista making their way out to the gardens. From where he sat five stories above, he could see her graceless, awkward gait, a result of carrying their unborn child who was due at any time. A swell of pride rolled up in his chest as he studied her body. She was so big, so full, so beautifully round. Every time Novi said she was uncomfortable or felt unattractive, it only made Fallon hum in secret delight. While putting her in that delicate condition had been enjoyable, it had not been easy. The fact that he might clamp eyes on their daughter within not months or weeks, but days filled him with anticipation.

And trepidation.

The need to keep both mother and child safe burned so hot it felt like molten lava in his veins. If it were up to him, she’d be locked in his private chambers round the clock, sequestered under heavy guard. For better or for worse, the Royal Physician had informed Fallon that regular exercise was important for Novi. Also, she was stubborn. She wouldn’t have stood for being locked up day in and day out. Not after all the time spent locked away in the Temple of the Chimera. It was a monumental effort just to keep her from climbing onto him for another ride in the sheets. It wasn’t that he found her undesirable—far from it—but the risk of affecting their unborn child weighed too heavily on him to indulge in such carnal pleasures.

All he wanted was to usher Novi back into his chambers and curl his protective arms around her. Let her keep her mind distracted with reading books and gossiping with Callista about which servant would be the first to fuck the new kitchen maid. Novi didn’t need to know there was a serial killer in their midst. She didn’t need to worry about the Estellian claiming to have information about his long-dead brother. It wasn’t the first time Fallon had heard this rumor, although it was the first time he’d been approached by a trusted member of his cabinet.

Renata from the Shipper’s Guild, of all people, had taken him aside the day before yesterday, and mustered the courage—or stupidity—to suggest that an enemy from the Estellian Empire had crossed the Ellunian Straits just to pass along the message that Dillon was still alive. He’d allegedly been doing forced labor at Bleakmoor Prison, deep across enemy lines.

Fallon had been seconds away from relieving Renata from her duties when she’d dropped that secret name…

Nillin.

To anyone else, it sounded benign. Nothing more than a two-syllable word.

But to Fallon, it stopped him in his tracks. It nearly stopped his heart from beating.

“Nillin?”

“Those were his words, sire,” Renata stammered with a shaky voice. “Marinossian’s exact words were that his friend in prison only ever called himself Nillin. He said his brothers gave him the name...something to do with being as unimaginative and boring as vanilla.” Renata bowed her head even lower. “Those are not my words, Your Highness. Please forgive me for speaking them out loud.”

She’d waited so faithfully, trembling and obedient, for the heir to the throne to demand she turn in the chimera brooch that signified her importance to the Crown. Surely he’d banish her from court any second. But as the seconds passed, Prince Fallon of Sinaryos didn’t fly into a fit of rage. He was too busy choking down the lump in his throat.

“Nillin is short for Dillon Vanillin,” he explained in a voice that only she could hear. Renata’s eyes darted up to see her prince wearing a tight, cautious grin.

“That’s not exactly the name I recall hearing around the court back then, sire,” Renata admitted. Fallon shook his head.

“No…it’s well-known that Dillon the Villain earned his name in response to how he treated his enemies,” Fallon confirmed. “My brother was taught to keep a list, just like His Majesty.”

The timid expression on Renata’s face drifted away, replaced by the curious intelligence of a woman on the cusp of middle age.

“I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness, but what’s the reason for the other name?”

A soft laugh escaped Fallon’s chest, making the medals on it catch the light streaming in from the windows.

“As a firstborn, Dillon was groomed since birth to become king. He never had any say in what he studied, how he dressed, who he married, or even what he ate. He always did as he was told, and was told what to think.” The sovereign folded his arms across his chest as he tapped into the hidden memories of his youth. “As you can imagine, this stifled any development of his imagination, whereas Prince Tristan and I had the freedom to explore our own interests and ideas. Perhaps Tristan was given too much freedom, but it’s more common than not when there's an heir, a spare, and one for good luck."

Renata cautiously nodded in agreement, signaling to Fallon that she would keep this information private.

"The three of us argued and teased one another constantly," he added with a rueful, wistful smile. "Dillon’s worst offense growing up was that he wasn’t very creative…He was forever waiting to be told what to do, so he wasn’t much fun to play with. Hence the name, Dillon Vanillin. Nillin for short. As far as I know, only Tristan and I ever called him that.”

Gathering herself to stand tall once again, Renata studied Fallon’s body language. He was thoughtful. Bittersweet. Pensive.

“Should I arrange a meeting with Marinossian, sire?”

Fallon shook his head.

“No. Tell Mauricio everything you’ve told me, and whatever else Marinossian said to you. That’s all I want for now. As always, your discretion is appreciated.”

Renata bowed her head and hurried away to find Fallon’s personal secretary, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Now it was two days later, back in that same room, where he felt just as alone with his thoughts.

What if the Estellian was telling the truth, and his older brother was still alive? What would Dillon be like after being in prison for almost a hundred years? Would he be fit to rule? Was it even possible to break him out of the infamous prison island? Regardless if it was, the Estellians would call it an act of war. What if Fallon did nothing at all? It might be better to leave things as they were, rather than risk Dillon being used as a pawn for political gain. After all this time, it might cause more harm than good.

And then there was this Marinossian fellow from across the Ellunian Straits. What did he want? Why would he risk traveling to enemy territory with this information? Fallon needed answers, and he knew that Mauricio was busy finding them. His faithful secretary was invaluable with his resourcefulness. He had ways of seeking out information that made Fallon hesitant to ask for more details. The last thing a prince should do was implicate himself of any wrongdoing.

Fortunately, he was scheduled to meet with Mauricio as soon as this Royal Council discussion ended.

Fallon absentmindedly reached for his pocket watch. The second-hand was dragging itself across each hour, ticking so slowly that the poor hands might as well have been made of lead. He had to stop himself from audibly groaning in frustration. It had only been seven minutes since the last time he’d checked his watch.

“I beg your pardon, Fallon—are we keeping you from something more important than coordinating the official confirmation ceremony of your precious parliament?”

Fallon’s eyes drifted away from his pocket watch, past the financial and military advisors, the dukes, the earls, and all the other high-ranking nobles. He looked in the direction of the only person in the entire kingdom who would dare speak to him in such a condescending tone—Her Majesty Queen Laena.

“Forgive me, Mother,” he said with a courteous and obedient nod of acknowledgment. “I was admiring the view of the Royal Gardens.”

“I would prefer it if you redirected your attention towards the discussion at hand,” Laena said with a look of loathing. “Surely now that His Majesty’s approved your plans, you wouldn’t want the council to think you didn’t appreciate his willingness to work with you.”

“Certainly not. I’m grateful for the opportunity to have such a discussion. My duty has always been to the people of Sinaryos,” he answered with a modest smile. “A prince is married to his kingdom from the day he is born.”

“Ah, yes,” Laena said with a sickly sweet smile. “Perhaps now is a good time to discuss your upcoming marriage.”

“My upcoming marriage?” Fallon repeated. “I didn’t realize I was engaged to be married.”

Laena narrowed her eyes at her son.

“You’ve sired a bastard with your favorite concubine and proven yourself capable of continuing the Blackwood name. The Royal Physician has assured us that the baby is strong and healthy. She’ll be born any day now, so there’s really no point in delaying wedding plans. You need to be married and give Lady Jennae a child as soon as possible.”

Fallon’s relaxed demeanor went flying out of the room as he sat up straighter in his chair.

“You can’t be serious! Lady Jennae?”

“She’s the obvious choice, sire,” Worlic explained. “If His Majesty intends to expand the kingdom or has need to protect it from the Estellians, we need the financial backing of the second wealthiest family in Sinaryos.”

“Unless you’d rather we go into debt again to pay for it, sire,” added the Minister of Coin.

“Seeing as how His Majesty is in a coma, I highly doubt he has plans to go to war. We’ve been at peace for decades! There’s no need!”

“It’s always best to be prepared, Fallon,” his mother said, ignoring his frustration. “Discussions have already begun with the Duke and Duchess of Ordeya. They’ve agreed to have Lady Jennae unite their family with ours.”

Fallon closed his eyes, trying to twist his grimace into a polite smile, but in his heart he felt sick. He’d known Lady Jennae since they were children. She was like a sister to him. The thought of taking her to bed made his stomach turn. To make matters worse, the Royal Council wouldn’t be satisfied with one royal baby. They’d be breathing down his neck until he’d done the same as his father and sired an heir, a spare, and one for good luck.

He felt the press of yet another door closing in on him. If life was a hallway filled with doors leading to adventure, freedom, or even a handful of choices, there weren’t many left open for Fallon to explore. When he was a young naval officer there seemed to be no doors closed to him at all. As a second son, the only limits placed on him were the fact that he had to work three times as hard to earn every medal on his chest, lest his overbearing father be accused of going easy on the boy. Instead of discouraging Fallon, it only made him work ten times harder.

With Dillon at the helm of the succession, the entire world was thrown wide open to Fallon, and it tasted like the salt of the sea. It felt like the wind in his hair, the ocean spray hitting his face, the lurch of a ship as it rose up on the waves of a storm and slammed back down again. It sounded like a squall bearing down on him and his crew, the songs of sirens luring them to crash into rocky shores, and the calls of seabirds as they returned to the docks with new tales to tell.

And then, after one fateful battle against the Estellians, their Crown Prince Dillon was killed. He’d been groomed for the throne since the day he was born. The day he died was the day that the doors of opportunity slammed shut for Fallon, leaving the second son to fill that void.

When they were younger, Dillon had let him try on his crown on more than one occasion.

“If you like it, you can keep it,” he used to say.

“Perhaps I will,” Fallon would tease, but he always gave it back. Even in his youth, he treated the crown like an anchor that threatened to pull him to the bottom of the deepest ocean. Now it hung on his very soul like an oppressive weight, slowly crushing him to nothingness. It felt like all he ever did was see how far his back could bend before it broke in half. And then he’d bend it back again.

And again.

And again.

To Fallon’s horror, King Balerin had confessed to sleeping with Rowena, an Estellian spy…a woman who’d been key in the demise of the Ellunian Empire. Fallon had sent his father to rest in his chambers until he recovered, not knowing if it would take him a few days or a few weeks. He hadn’t expected the fearsome ruler to languish for almost a century.

While Balerin convalesced out of the public eye, Fallon patiently sat through the meetings with each council and listened to one report after another about his kingdom’s state of affairs, all while trying not to think of his father’s affair with Rowena. Balerin’s mistake had cost over ten thousand Ellunian lives. Without them working the fields, crops failed, famine set in. And after centuries of war against the Estellians, King Balerin had driven Sinaryos deep into debt. His subjects were angry and starting to turn against him.

And yet, somehow, Fallon had managed to steer that behemoth ship of a kingdom in ruin to what it was today—a shining example of prosperity and progress. All he needed was for Balerin to get out of the way.

Fallon was the highest-ranking military officer in all of Sinaryos…Admiral of the Royal Sinaryan Navy…the largest fleet in the Ellunian Empire. True, Fallon was lucky to get out on the open water once a season, thanks to a dead older brother, a useless younger one, and an ailing father. If Tristan was their only backup plan for keeping a Blackwood on the throne, it was no wonder why the Royal Council wanted him to sire a string of heirs as soon as possible. After everything he’d been through, after all the secrets he’d been forced to keep, after all he’d done for the good of the kingdom, having no say in who he married was the last straw.

A more impetuous prince would’ve lept to his feet and flipped the table in a fit of rage. As much as Fallon wanted to set fire to everything in that room, he forced his anger down...down, into the bottomless pit of his soul. It was a space he’d created the day he inherited his brother’s birthright. It was the place where he sent the worst of his outrage and frustration, lest he take it out on his subjects. And remarkably, this hidden place never seemed to run out of room.

It was an ulcer festering within his heart, but it allowed his mind to think more clearly, such as in situations like this. If he pushed back too hard or too fast, he’d lose his argument.

He would fight this war one battle at a time.

And he would win.

Perhaps Marinossian’s timing was perfect. If there was the slightest chance that Dillon was still alive, that meant there was a chance of Fallon’s dreams coming true.

He could hand over this crown of oppression.

He hadn’t dared to dream in so long that he didn’t have a clue what that alternate reality looked like. All he knew was that Novi was right there at the heart of it all. The risk was great, but it was too tempting not to take it.

Fallon drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he gazed back out the window. Novi and Callie were strolling along a flower-lined path where courtiers stopped to give their blessings for an easy birth and a healthy baby. The Sacred Son of Sinaryos turned away from the window and addressed his council, feeling a bright spark in his demonborn blood that had been gone for too long.

“You’re right. Lady Jennae is the most sensible choice for a future queen,” he said. “You’ll have no argument from me, provided that you adhere to my conditions.”

Queen Laena’s demonborn eyes flickered in annoyance as she cast a glance at Worlic.

“What, pray tell, are your conditions? Think carefully, Fallon. You’ve already been given much more than you deserve.”

“Then you’ll be delighted to hear that I’d like to give some things back,” he said through a tight-lipped smile. “Twelve of them, to be precise. I have no need for a harem anymore, so the girls should be dismissed as soon as possible.”

“You have a duty to them,” Worlic argued, but Fallon wasn’t having any of it. Not from an old man who was more loyal to his father than him. “They gave up everything in service to the Crown.”

“Then you can find other suitable work for them,” Fallon said with an unconcerned shrug. “I’ve fulfilled my duty with my favorite concubine. There’s no need to keep an entire harem. Think of all the money you’ll save.”

Worlic frowned, but it didn’t stop him from making notes. Keeping twelve high-maintenance high-born ladies fed and clothed to the standards they were accustomed to was, in fact, very expensive.

Anything else, sire?”

“I will be keeping Novi as my mistress and common-law wife.”

“Absolutely not,” Laena shot back. “That’s out of the question.”

“You will grant me this,” Fallon said, steeling his resolve. “If she’s good enough for Daiyana and the rest of our gods to bless with the gift of a demonborn lifetime, then surely she’s good enough to be the companion of a future king. That is the reason so many of you call her Sacred One, is it not?”

Murmurs rose from around the table. According to the newspapers, the idea was extremely popular among the general public, but it had yet to take hold among the snobbery of the nobility. It wasn’t often that the demon gods of the dark elves bestowed gifts upon them, and now they’d looked past the most illustrious demonborns and gone and blessed a human of the lowest rank. A barmaid, no less.

But those newspapers and Fallon did have a point.

Worlic leaned close to Laena, whispering in her ear. She was frowning, yet she didn’t argue with him.

“As long as it’s understood that she is common ,” said Laena. She was clearly running out of patience. “What else?”

“Wait until after Novi gives birth to make the official wedding announcement. Or the engagement announcement,” Fallon said, not letting his expression soften. “I will not have the stress of this news jeopardize the safety of my firstborn.”

Laena shot him a skeptical look.

“She won’t be a legitimate firstborn. She’s merely a bastard sired to prove you can produce an heir.”

“Legitimate or not, she will be my firstborn,” he said coolly as he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “And I will not have Novi be upset by anything until that child is safely born into the world. Do you understand?”

Nods and murmurs of agreement rose up in response to seeing Prince Fallon on the verge of losing his temper. Unaffected by his frustration, Laena merely watched him with a bored expression.

“Aren’t you going to stay and give input to the details of your wedding?”

Fallon didn’t bother to stifle the cold, cynical laugh that escaped his chest.

“Haven’t I made my position on the matter perfectly clear?” he asked, waiting for the footmen to open the door for him. “I could not possibly care less about this wedding.”