Chapter 1
“We’re late, Elowyn,” Vega said through spent breath, over the clipped sounds of our heels.
“I wouldn’t be late if I didn’t have to dress up in this ridiculous garb,” I muttered, pulling at the maroon brocade bodice that bit into my ribs.
Laughter shrilled down the wide hall. The scent of mulled wine and crackling pork skin followed it.
Twenty years had passed since I’d last walked Highthorn Castle. I hardly remembered it, having been barely a child when I left. Yet its memory haunted me every day I was away. My father’s deafening silence had only deepened that dread.
Until his letter arrived.
Elowyn,
I welcome you to Highthorn Castle for the Yule Day feast. We expect your arrival tomorrow morning.
Great be the Guardians,
King Eadric Blackthorn
It was the first letter he had ever sent me directly, and I wasn’t sure if I should be hopeful or afraid.
At least I knew he wouldn’t easily welcome me back into the fold, no matter how hard Vega had tried to convince us both of the contrary.
But if I was clever, maybe I could gain a foothold within his court.
At the threshold, the feast roared inside, waiting to swallow me whole.
Hundreds of unfamiliar faces reveled in laughter, libations, and dance.
Jesters, their bells tinkling, somersaulted to luscious music.
The sharp scent of evergreen cut through the air.
Garlands wrapped every railing, adorned with red bows as large as my head.
They must have cut down a forest to drown this place in Yule. It was sensational.
If only I could have enjoyed it.
Fear slammed into my diaphragm, making each breath a struggle. Or was it the damned dress? I tried to calm my mind. I could do this. I had to do this.
Earn his admiration. Join his court. Then do something other than sit around and wait, like patronize an artist or musician. Maybe utilize a courtier’s stipend to support an almshouse for the sick and destitute. Finally, use the blood that ran through my veins to make a mark on this world.
With a nod, I acknowledged the man stationed near the entrance and clad in the king’s colors. Black and bloodred.
“Lady Elowyn Blackthorn!” he bellowed.
The show had begun.
Faces, whitened like mine as if we were all sickly, turned in unison like heads on pikes.
Finally, they would get a good look at the king’s discarded daughter, the child of the Whore of Oakhaven, whom he had executed.
The daughter he had stripped of titles when he proclaimed his marriage invalid.
A cautionary tale in the flesh. Guilty of the most unforgivable crime known to man: being female.
Especially reprehensible in the absence of a male heir.
I could practically hear Vega’s thoughts as she side-eyed me: Smile, Elowyn. You are a lady.
Years of banishment from court to a rural mountainside property of the crown made me forget that fact often.
“First, greet the king and queen. Remember to curtsy,” Vega advised. “Do not rise or speak until the king acknowledges you and be sure to smile.”
There it was. I wanted to roll my eyes but kept my face in check. I knew all of this; it was practically carved into my skull at this point. But my governess was only trying to help. She knew just how badly I needed this to go well.
Quickly, I tipped my chin in understanding. Vega faded from my side without a word and I was on my own.
Wearing my practiced grin like armor, I walked across the room.
I felt the weight of every guest’s eyes on me, compounded by the heaviness of the ridiculous, ornate gown Father had gifted me—likely meant to silence any rumors that I was unkempt.
Even though I absolutely had been for the better part of my exile.
Vega had written to my father many times before about my need for proper financial support, but the letters were ignored. Like my existence. So we used what little stipend I received to pay for tutors. Not on clothes befitting my status.
Now, I could speak five languages, debate the intricacies of politics with finesse, knew all the great wars and the reasons they happened, dance the popular steps, and play an array of instruments, the virginal being my favorite.
Men bowed at my presence and women quickly curtsied in my wake. My heart beat in triple time. Their eyes on me felt so peculiar, yet even stranger, good.
I was a true lady, raised in a crumbling country house, and now these people couldn’t take their bloody eyes off me.
A hearty laugh boomed through the great hall, rumbling through me and seeming to quake my very world.
The laughter of a king. He held a large tankard that sloshed as he toasted the man to his left.
His face was full and ruddy, the same freckles that marked my cheeks speckling his, but his hair was a faded reddish-gray, lacking my fire.
For one brief second, he almost looked human. Less legendary in the flesh. His belly, fat and soft. His amber eyes that I’d inherited underscored with tired, sagging bags.
The queen at his side rested a hand on her swollen belly.
She was pregnant.
The sight sent a feeling like a small blade between my ribs.
Her lips were pressed into a thin, tight line as she nodded curtly to a short, portly man whispering beside her. Her yellow hawk’s eyes sliced across the crowd in my direction.
I mustered my strength, tucking away the feelings that cut and burned.
I had prepared for this moment my entire life and I wouldn’t ruin it with feelings.
Now was the time to show my father I was fit to be within his court.
Because that was the only way I could secure any semblance of even minute power.
The only way a bastard could make any impact in this country.
Make the king like you. Or die trying.
But another part of me, which I despised, secretly hoped he would also accept me.
Maybe even love me. If I was worthy.
I stepped closer, into his atmosphere, and the room silenced.
I curtsied deeply before the king and his queen, who sat above all. The weight of their gaze was heavy and judging. My muscles cramped and my soul ached in bitter embarrassment as I waited for him to acknowledge my existence.
The king finally spoke. “Who be this lady before me?” He was loud, his words not just for me but for all.
My heart clanged in my chest. I took a deep breath and commanded it to slow.
“It is I, Your Majesty, Lady Elowyn Blackthorn,” I said, still holding my pose perfectly.
“My daughter? There is no way you are my daughter. She is but a wee thing.” His bravado reverberated through me, threatening to knock me down.
But I rose, tall and straight, to meet the king’s gaze.
He tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne, waiting.
I had read every chronicle about my father I could get my hands on.
Questioned tutors viciously for hours on every account of his actions and intentions.
The circumstances of his life from childhood to the present day.
I even interrogated Vega, for the millionth time, on the carriage ride to Guardian’s Watch about what she remembered of him when she served my mother long ago.
There were three absolutes I gathered about the king. He was a proud man. He was a violent man. But most importantly, he greatly admired wit.
“Of course it is I, if you are the distinguished King Eadric, protector of glorious Oakhaven.” I looked around for show. “Or do I have the wrong great castle?”
Then he did the most frightening thing of all. He smiled. A belly laugh followed, booming from his barrel chest.
Our audience, the court, exchanged uneasy glances as they laughed apprehensively along.
“My good daughter.” The king stood from his throne and stalked in my direction. His stature was intimidating, but I had earned my height from him. Together, we stood tall over his courtiers.
“It is good to see you.” His large arms engulfed me in an unexpected hug that was too tight. Air rushed out of my lungs as his arms constricted around me and lifted me from the ground.
The acrid scent of ale and cardamom seeping off him nearly choked me. He dropped me and a big paw fell onto my shoulder.
“Look at you, a Blackthorn you be! I could spot those fiery tresses from atop Highthorn’s ramparts.
” He tugged on the long plait that swung over my shoulder, woven with ruby and pearl hairpins he had given me.
It was a wonder Vega had tamed my wild curls at all.
“Let us hope you can drink like a Blackthorn too, because Yule is a time to celebrate and be merry!” he said to the crowd, who cheered in response.
A man appeared with a platter of tankards. The king took one and pushed it into my palms without even a second glance, spilling some on my dress in his carelessness. Then he stalked back to his throne. Dismissing me.
That was it.
The eyes of his court followed his lead, falling from me in disinterest. Taking shreds of my pride with them.
Song filled the room, conversation overtook the silence, and Vega appeared back at my side.
“That went very well,” she said with a grin.
It did? Gulping the mead, I tried to quell my dry mouth. My hands trembled as a whirlwind of thoughts spun round.
I knew I’d have to play the part. Smile, curtsy, and deliver my lines. I rehearsed every step, every word, and the performance was flawless. Every mark met. Then why did the entire interaction feel completely wrong?
Vega ushered me to rows of long tables set with candles twinkling among rivers of evergreen and holly garlands. We sat as servers with platters of meats and sweetbreads filled the plates before us. But I wasn’t hungry. I only craved mead.
The sweet-sour taste went down with ease, promising to rinse away the bad taste left in my mouth. Maybe the ill-tasting thoughts and feelings could be washed away with drink too.
Twenty years. He sent me away for twenty fucking years. Killed my mother. Annulled their marriage. Called me a bastard. Banished me. Never wrote or visited. And he pretended all was fine. He didn’t even look sorry.
He called me good daughter. Yet treated me like a stranger.
Flames sizzled in my chest, turning my heart to ash and crumpling it. Leaving only a hole in its place, begging to be filled with more drink and rage.
“Ever since the queen’s wretched son built that damned city on the sea, it keeps happening,” a graying courtier sitting next to me said to another, his words pulling me from my firestorm. “Two ships down just this week.”
The queen’s son?
“The ship last month had ten of my horses on it. Then poof, gone,” his conspirator added with a snap of his finger. “Six hundred gold and my best crew, vanished without a trace.”
The first hushed to a treasonous whisper. “We all know what it be, even if the king denies it. Nymphaea calls her children to stop the abomination built in her domain.” The man scowled. “Sirens.”
“Lady Elowyn. Elowyn.” Vega pinched my arm swiftly to get my attention. “Elowyn!”
“What?”
The pair noticed me, and with wide eyes, stood and left.
Dammit.
“Be sure to eat some food. It isn’t good to drink on an empty stomach,” Vega said through a counterfeit smile. She took the nearly-empty tankard from my hands, placing it on the table, only to have a diligent servant girl refill it.
“Those men were speaking of sirens.”
“It’s not polite to eavesdrop,” Vega dismissed swiftly, picking at her plate.
“They were speaking of them as if they were real.” I knew people believed in the mythical creatures, but surely not educated men at court. “They said they took ships and men because the queen’s son created some city on the sea. What does that even mean?”
“Some are more zealous than others and blame the Guardians and their children for everyday tragedies. And they speak of Sir Cedric Gyldford’s city on the sea, which is a very impressive feat.
He spearheaded the creation of a rather large port off the coast of Gyldmare they call Whiterok.
” Her soft green eyes widened in excitement.
“Might I add, he’s here this evening, unwed, and reportedly very handsome, but a bit rakish. ”
I didn’t even bother to ask how she already knew he was unwed.
“Why have I never heard of this place before?” I asked. It was an oddity that surely would have captured my attention: a man-made port out on open water. How did the ocean not eat it away?
“You mean why haven’t I kept you up on the latest ship and harbor news?
Likely because you won’t take your head out of a book long enough to even discuss what dress you’ll wear for the day, Elowyn.
” She gave me an impish smile. “Now, enough maritime talk. Let us discuss instead how well that went. How are you feeling?”
Worthless. Invisible. Angry.
“Did you know the queen was with child?” I asked, prodding the wound that the queen’s pregnant swell had cut.
“No. But they say that is why the king married her,” Vega said softly, her eyes looking me over compassionately, gauging my hurt as if I was a wounded dove that had flown into a glass window. “She has four sons from her previous husband, the Duke of Gyldmare.”
Soon she’d have a fifth. The king’s long-awaited heir. Rendering me even less than the nothing I already was.
“I wish to dance,” I exclaimed, shooting to my feet.
“What? You hate to dance.”
It was true. But if I sat there a moment longer watching Vega look sorry for me, I would go mad. So, I strode to the center of the feasting hall, weaving through the people who shuffled in and out of the crowded space.
I would dance, be happy, and pretend that my life was wonderful.
I would smile just as Vega said.
Even when it hurt.