Chapter 2
Aedlin
Before Dother’s Death
Aedlin ran her fingers over a peony’s delicate pink petals, praying her tears wouldn’t fall. Something inside her was dying, each shallow breath a waste as the remaining pieces of her soul shattered.
“Have I made things worse, Kal?” she whispered to the flower, clenching her teeth when a tear managed to spill down her cheek. It dripped from her chin, splashing on the blossom. Staining it with her misery.
She sighed, brushing the moisture away with unsteady hands. Bits of pink and green fluttered to the stone floor, but it hardly mattered; Aedlin tore off the rest of the leaves, watching as they fell to her feet.
“Have I made everything worse?”
When she closed her eyes, she could almost hear his voice. The low, soothing tone she’d loved so much flitted through her mind like a ghost she prayed would haunt her for the rest of her days.
All will be well, my love.
“Ever the optimist, even in death,” she breathed, snapping the flower’s stem and tossing it onto the table with the rest of her clippings.
“I’m making our daughter a garland for her door.
Again.” Peering at the empty room, her hollow amber eyes grazed over the glass dome of the atrium.
Clusters of red and orange leaves rested on its surface, caught between windowpanes—autumn spread its rot through Berwick, the ravenous beast so hungry it called her husband to walk among the dead as well.
Leaving Aedlin to carry the burden of her crown alone.
Her new ring dug into her finger as she clenched the bloom in her fist, destroying what little remained.
“She’s furious with me, Kal,” she whispered to the empty room, struggling to talk around the lump in her throat. “You always knew how to talk to Mora better than I do.”
In Aedlin’s mind, Kalyan chuckled, the melodic sound so beautiful, yet so far away she thought her chest might cave in. Her hand drifted to her heart, a sob wrenching free. It echoed through the atrium, an eerie, haunting wail bouncing off the glass. Surrounding her. Cocooning her in her grief.
“I can’t go through with it,” she said between gasps, her breath surging in and out of her lungs so fast she nearly choked. “I can’t lie with him.”
She clawed at her tight bodice, desperate for relief; Aedlin couldn’t breathe in this damned wedding gown, the press of the boning like a vice around her ribs.
Nails snagged dozens of carefully sewn sapphires and diamonds.
A splash of golden pollen stained the white fabric while threads snapped, gems bouncing on the floor before plinking against her potted plants.
They’d dressed her up like a prized mare, parading her down the aisle while too many eyes watched. The Royal Council among them, their words still ringing in her mind.
Give us a king or we may no longer have use for a royal family who overturns our Laws and strips us of our Indentureds.
“Damn the Council,” she seethed, slamming her fist on the table’s hard wooden surface. The sting of the blow shot through her hand, bits of plants digging into her flesh. Aedlin crushed the beginnings of her garland, peonies, roses, lilies, and baby’s breath flattening under her fingers.
What did it matter? Mora would destroy it anyway. Clenching the remains of a bloom, she moved away from the ruined garland until her back pressed against a lemon tree. Its branches scratched her skin, the scent of citrus crowding her lungs. She cringed, her stomach churning.
The Council demanded a new king—the cost of her and Kalyan’s attempt to protect Mora.
Things had been turbulent in the years since they’d abolished the Laws, and the nobles would have their dues, whether through the Althenis line or...
Aedlin swallowed, clutching her throat as she imagined what came next should their displeasure ebb too far.
She’d given in. It was that or the gallows—what choice did Aedlin have?
She may be the Crown of Berwick, but the Royal Council wielded more power than most realized.
When they’d recommended Lord Cillian Dother, she’d hoped...
Aedlin ran her fingers through her light brown hair until they pressed against the warm metal of her silver crown. It dug into her scalp, pulling at her carefully woven, tight bun.
Lord Dother seemed to make Mora happy, but her daughter wasn’t ready to be queen.
Mora needed time to grieve. Time to learn to breathe without Kalyan there. Aedlin would never breathe again, and no one would notice or care; if she could spare her daughter the same fate, she would.
You’re still a coward, Aedlin thought, sinking to the ground. Her skirt pooled around her, drowning her in a soft mass of silk tulle. Opening her fist, she watched as bits of pink rained down into her lap, the color stark against the ivory gown.
She’d done her duty. Maintained a straight face as she wed a man she did not care for, forcing herself to peck him on the lips once they’d spoken their vows.
The moment she could slip away, she made for Mora’s door.
Though, she couldn’t bring herself to knock.
Not as she stared down at the crushed bits of flowers littering the threshold.
Aedlin had wandered after that, too afraid to go to her rooms—her new husband would come to consummate their vows eventually. It wasn’t until her shoes tapped against the atrium’s hard floor, each footstep reverberating through the cavernous space, that she’d realized she was running.
From Dother.
From her daughter.
From the weight of her crown.
With a shriek, she tore the tiara from her head and tossed it aside, metal clanging against stone. It echoed off the walls. A taunt from the Gods—she could remove her crown, but she’d never escape her fate.
“Oh, Kal, why did you have to leave me?” More tears leaked down her cheeks. Aedlin sniffled, wiping them away with her sleeve. “I need you.”
“Am I interrupting?”
Aedlin’s heart squeezed in her chest at the boom of Lord—no, King—Dother’s voice.
Tipping her head away, she wiped her face and smoothed her expression, though a pink flush remained on her fair cheeks. “No, Your Majesty,” she said, sweeping the petals from her skirt before she stood. “I was gathering new flowers for Mora’s garland.”
The king raised a brow, his azure eyes roving over her sullied dress before flicking to the mess she’d made. Thankfully, he was polite enough not to say a word. “Did you enjoy the ceremony?” he asked, brushing loose flowers to the ground before leaning against the table.
Tears burned behind her eyes, her throat constricting, but she offered a polite smile. “It went well. I believe our people and the Council are pleased.”
He nodded, a faraway look on his face as he grazed his fingers over something on his belt. It was a bottle. Beautifully accentuated with gilded daisies and leaves, and strips of what appeared to be golden wood lining its neck. Its contents, however, made Aedlin’s breath catch.
“What in the name of the gods is that?” she blurted, staring at the writhing onyx mist. It glittered as it moved, flecks of gold trapped among the smoke.
Dother caressed the glass, his eerie ring clinking on its surface, and Aedlin could have sworn the dark mass flinched away, pressing against the other side.
“A wedding gift to myself,” he said with a wicked grin.
The gem inside his ring twisted in its casing until a black iris peered up at her. Aedlin swallowed, shivering as she held its stare. “If this is a magic item, it’s best not to display it in public.”
Dother shrugged, pushing away from his perch. “Why not? The Laws are overturned, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing.” He stepped closer, the weight of his attention so heavy Aedlin tensed and shifted back. The lemon tree’s leaves tickled her arms, an overpowering scent of citrus invading her from both sides. “It’s time Berwick learned not to fear things it doesn’t understand.”
Dressed in royal blue regalia, glints of silver sparkling along his buttons and decorating his sleeves, Dother looked every bit like the king the Council wanted.
He towered over Aedlin, the sharp points of his crown staring down at her.
The queen stood taller, pushing her shoulders back and straightening her spine, a retort brewing on her tongue, but Dother spoke first.
“I believe there’s one more thing we must do before our union is official in the eyes of the Gods.”
Aedlin took a slow breath through her nose, tensing as she tried her best not to tremble.
Things had been different before. When she’d married the charming man with a glimmer in his mischievous brown gaze.
She’d known Kal was hers after a single meeting.
Had dreamed of their wedding night as she’d waited for him to become her husband. Berwick’s king.
Now...
Dother’s focus burned her skin as he looked down at her, goosebumps blooming in the wake of his sharp stare. Bile churned in her belly, but... this was her duty. And duty never cared about Aedlin’s wants. Finding love once was a blessing—she should be grateful she’d had even that.
The Fates had woven her a destiny and Aedlin could do nothing but walk this path with her head held high.
“Fine.” She nodded, careful not to grind her teeth—Aedlin curled her fingers into fists and hid them in her thick skirt, swallowing her feelings until her throat burned.
“We will consummate our union, but that will be it. This is a political marriage, and nothing more. After tonight, you will return to your chambers and never enter my bedroom again.”
The king dipped his chin, tapping his finger on the strange bottle’s golden stopper. “I’ll agree, on one condition.”
Aedlin’s lips twitched, desperate to curl into a grimace, but she held them firmly in place. There would be no conditions. This was all she was willing to offer. Yet, she narrowed her gaze and asked, “What might that be, exactly?”
“I would like an heir, so I ask that you drink a tincture in order to increase our chances.”
Nausea clawed at her throat, a sour taste invading her tongue. “Mora is heir to the throne.”
“And what a mighty queen she’ll be one day.” Dother’s smile softened. “Our child won’t change that, though we both know Mora’s hesitant.”
An ache pulsed in Aedlin’s temples, her heart pounding furiously. “Without an Enchanter, tinctures are useless. You might as well attend morning service and pray for your heir; you’ll have the same outcome either way.”
He crossed his arms, muscles feathering in his jaw. “Then you should have no issue drinking it.”
She matched his stance, tilting her head so she could stare down her nose at him. “So long as my daughter’s right to the throne is upheld, I’ll agree to your drink.”
“Of course.” Dother pulled his hand away from the bottle at his hip, smug amusement lighting up his face. “It’s late and I’d prefer to get this over with. Let’s retire to your rooms.”
Aedlin’s feet were like stone, refusing to move as Dother beckoned her forward—it took all her might to take a single step. When the new king hesitated, she nearly sagged, praying he’d changed his mind.
He glanced at something on the ground behind her. “Don’t forget your crown.”
Heat bloomed in Aedlin’s cheeks, but she nodded before bending down to retrieve the diamond and sapphire encrusted tiara. It might as well have been a shackle. When she placed it back on her head and followed Dother out into the hall, she wondered if perhaps it was.