Crown of Blood and Ruin: A dark fairy tale romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 3)

There was no time to worry about Stave and his tantrum over a Timoran taking the throne.

Folk surrounded us at once, leading us back to the cart, tossing more petals, more bones, and herbs with their blessings until we were driven to the royal longhouse for the feast and celebration.

Fury must have stretched the longhouse. I had no other explanation for how most of Ruskig stuffed inside the walls.

Valen sat beside me at the head of the great hall, his hand possessively on my leg, my head on his shoulder. All around people laughed, drank ale straight from ewers, danced to lyres and hide drums. They were happy, and I could not look away.

Here, we could pretend there were no enemies beyond the walls.

Here, we could be at peace, even for one night.

Whenever someone passed where we sat, they’d bow, sometimes drunk and snickering, but they’d address me as queen. The word had yet to settle right in my ear.

I was not born to be a queen. Never aspired to be one.

In truth, I didn’t know how to be one now.

As if he sensed the unease, Valen squeezed my hand and leaned close to my ear. “You look terrified of the word.” He snorted a laugh, his thumb drawing seductive circles on my leg. “Queen. You despise the title.”

“I don’t despise it. I’m unaccustomed to it, and like another monarch I know, don’t particularly enjoy every eye on me at every moment.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “I love folk fawning over me. The more exuberant they are in their adoration, the more satisfaction I take from it.”

“Pity,” I said, taking a drink of sweet wine. “Your repulsion toward a royal pedestal is one of the things I loved so much about you.”

Valen laughed and kissed the side of my head, drawing me closer. His breath teased the curve of my ear when he lowered his voice and whispered, “What troubles you about the crown, Elise? Tell me, and I will not stop until I take it away.”

Brutal. Kind. Fierce. Gentle. A collision of opposites made up Valen Ferus. It was no wonder I loved the man to the depths of my soul. He could be all those things and leave me feeling safe and empowered in every breath.

I let out a sigh, running my fingers across his chest. “Timoran queens were figureheads, pretty trophies for their husbands, but power remained with the king. Your world, the world of your parents, all of Etta is different than the world in which I was raised. This crown—I have no idea what I am supposed to do.”

“This is your world too. I assure you, the land we see now is not the land of my parents. It will be ours.” Valen rubbed the ends of my missing fingertips, the only blood he’d ever spilled of mine when his mind was cursed and polluted with bloodlust. “You have always been my equal; titles mean nothing to me. But now, to these people, your word will carry the same as mine. When Sol, my father, and I were imprisoned by King Eli, my mother raised our armies. She and Dagar were the ones who created Ruskig as a refuge. You have the same power, and I trust you to lead here the same as my father trusted my mother.”

Valen paused. A muscle tightened in his jaw as he watched the celebration unfold. “Elise, even as a child I knew my parents were equals. They worked together. No strategy was made without my mother’s approval, and when they were able, decisions were made together. I promised your mother before she died, you would never have reason to fear me, and you would have all of me. You do have all of me. There is no one I would rather share this burden with, no one I trust it with more than you.”

He tapped the silver circlet on his head.

I studied our laced fingers. “I am Timoran, and I am not convinced everyone will take orders from a Timoran queen.”

Valen used his knuckle to tilt my chin up. “Then you do not give them a choice. You, my love, have a gentle image of my mother, I think. You’ve only read her writings as she speaks of her family. The woman came from raiders and warriors like you, and she was unafraid to gut a man if her family were ever threatened. She did, more than once.” He paused and pressed the back of my hand to his lips. “You never were for Timoran or Etta, Elise. You were always for fairness, for people. Do not forget the first time I saw you, sneaking away from a serf gambling table. Or the first real conversation we had.”

I scoffed. “I remember. You were rather arrogant, you know.”

He grinned. “I was confused. You made no sense. A Kvinna hiding on the balcony, wanting to do more, be more. Not for herself, but for others. You mesmerized me that night, and you have never stopped.”

“You say the right things, Valen Ferus.” My fingertips touched the sharp line of his jaw. I leaned in to kiss him but jolted back when the slap of a hand on the table drew a quiet to the longhouse.

Halvar stood in the center, drinking horn raised. “To our king and new queen.” The people cheered, some drank to us, some began to dance again until Halvar held up a hand. “We have gifts. Of course, keep in mind we are in the middle of a war and live in a refuge. Imagine we are in the old courts and are showering you in fine things.”

Valen rolled his eyes. I laughed, as Halvar snapped his fingers and the Guild of Shade hurried to us. Casper and Stieg stepped forward first. In their hands were blades, both wrapped in skins.

“Been working on these since we left the fight at Ravenspire,” Stieg said. “Figured this day was coming.

My mouth dropped as I gingerly fingered the polished edge of the dagger. The hilt gleamed in untouched bronze, and in the center a smooth, glassy crystal caught the firelight, breaking into a prism of color.

Valen was gifted its equal, but in the hilt was a black onyx stone.

“From a court of ice,” Casper whispered, pointing to my dagger. “Your people were strong, resilient against the harshest lands.”

“To a court of fire and fury.” Stieg gestured to Valen’s blade. “One burned to ash, but together, we have no doubt you will restore a land greater than what any Timoran or Ettan has ever known.”

“These are beautiful,” I whispered.

“I didn’t know you two were so poetic. You ought to write the sagas.” Valen laughed when Casper shoved his shoulder.

A council member shoving a king. I smiled, thinking I preferred our court of ice and ash over anything I’d seen before.

Halvar and Tor gave nothing to Valen, insisting it was penance for all the grief he caused them as boys, but they had a silver ring made for me. Shaped like a moonvane blossom with the crest of the Ferus line engraved on the band.

Valen slipped it over my finger, kissing the top, then returned his attention to the furs, the quilts, and herbs some of the people offered. Next Ari, Mattis, and Siv came forward.

“Have it known, this was my idea,” Ari said with a touch of mischief.

“Untrue. You suggested them as a gift, that is the extent of your idea,” said Mattis.

Ari waved him away. “The details don’t truly matter. Elise, I know how fond you are of reading. With great effort I have—” He grunted when Siv elbowed him. “Several of us thought to gift you something of a relic from the courts of King Arvad and Queen Lilianna.”

Valen sat straighter as they pushed a wrapped parcel to us. With unsteady hands, I pulled away the skins and held a stack of old, wrinkled parchment.

“What are these?”

Siv stepped forward, a sad smile on her face. “When Queen Lilianna was in captivity at Ravenspire, she wrote missives. We don’t know who they were written to, but we thought you might find some comfort, maybe wisdom in them.”

Valen touched the parchment with a bit of reverence. “I’ve never heard of these.”

“Nor had we,” said Ari.

“When did you find them?”

“Axel,” Siv hurried to say. “Before either of these two sods takes another lick of credit, Axel found them and had them in his possession.”

My eyes lifted to a place halfway down the long table. Frey chuckled and clapped his brother on his shoulder. Axel returned a gentle nod, his face buried in red heat. Going out on a limb, I’d guess the man would rather do without the credit.

But Valen wouldn’t stand for it. “Axel, where did you find these?”

He let out a long breath, and when his brow furrowed, he reminded me a great deal of his brother. Axel stood taller, but with less bulk and brawn than Frey. He spoke softly and had a wickedly cunning mind from what I’d witnessed in the townships. Axel had a way with folk, he helped soothe skirmishes, and had already devised places to dig fresh-water wells to avoid trekking back and forth to the river.

“My time in chains was spent with many traders, My King. When I learned of the missives, I could not allow something so valuable to Etta to be traded between men who cared nothing for the queen.”

“You stole them from a trader? Without being caught?”

Axel’s face deepened with stark red. “Unfortunate, but the master who last owned them became quite ill that very night. I’m afraid he never saw the sunrise.”

The room silenced for no more than three breaths. All at once deep, booming laughter shook the walls, and rattled the ale on the table. Casper, with his thick meaty hands gripped Axel’s shoulders, shaking him. “You bleeding sod. Poisoned him, did you?”

Axel pinched his lips. “I admit nothing.”

It only caused more laughter, more drinking. I cared little if Axel cut out the serf trader’s throat, and I let my fingers trace the rough edges of the stacked parchment.

New writings, new words. Words Valen had never seen. Part of me wanted to slip away and read through them now. What was life like for Lilianna as Eli’s prisoner, what did she know, what did she learn?

“Thank you,” I said. “All of you.”

Tor rose and came to Valen’s side. “There is one more.” He held a small box in his hands and regarded Valen with a touch of caution. “It was not from us and bears the mark of Ravenspire. Found at the walls.”

The longhouse fell into an abrupt, unsettling hush. Only the crackle and spitting fire made a sound.

Valen rose to his feet and snatched the box from Tor before he could even set it down. His eyes flicked to me. “It is for you.”

My stomach turned sour. “Runa knows.”

“You don’t need to—”

“No,” I said, reaching for the box. “This is the game, Valen. She is beginning to set her moves, and I must meet her there.”

He gripped the box for a long moment, before giving in and handing it to me. Ashamed how my hands trembled, I sat, desperate to hide them from the gawking eyes of the room.

Inside was a handwritten note placed over something small and wrapped in cloth.

Mother would want you to have her ring for your vows, sister.

I set the note aside, allowing Valen to see it, then slowly reached inside the box, removing the cloth.

A strangled noise came from my throat. I bolted to my feet. The box fell off my lap. My blood went cold in my veins. Frigid, wretched anger flooded my mind and body as a blackened, scabrous finger rolled onto the floor.

A sapphire and gold ring still attached.

Horrified gasps pounded off the walls of the longhouse as folk who’d seen blood and gore ran from the dead finger of my mother as it went still on the floorboards.

I wanted to retch.

Valen was at my side in a moment. Hatred and bloodlust burned in his eyes. I understood and felt much the same.

I did not know how long I stood there, staring at the ring, hating everything about Ravenspire. But when I looked at the stunned faces again there was sympathy written in some of the eyes.

I didn’t want sympathy.

I wanted blood.

My fists clenched at my sides. Valen’s hand on the small of my back fueled me.

“When we face Castle Ravenspire,” I raised my voice so there would be no question, so no one would miss my words, “no one is to touch the false queen. Understand me—Runa Lysander of Ravenspire is mine to kill.”