PROLOGUE
“Let them in.” King Maltrier pulled in a
shuddering breath and then coughed raggedly for a minute.
“Your Majesty, are you sure?” his longtime
servant asked. He had the same relentless attitude that he always had, but he
sounded more earnest than ever, as if he could will the King not to die.
“Get them, Solmis. Now.”
Solmis walked wearily across the darkened
room. He heaved open the weathered door to the King’s bedchamber and spoke to
the pair of guards standing watch, “Get the boys. The King wishes to speak with
them.”
One guard punched his right fist to the
left side of his chest in a formal Byern salute and then walked into the outer
chamber. A moment later, he returned with two young boys with the same dark
hair and blue-gray eyes that marked them as Dremylon heirs.
“This way, boys,” Solmis said. He was one
of the few people who could get away with calling the Princes boys.
“Thank you, Solmis,” Edric, the crown
prince, said with a smile and the confidence of someone who never wanted for
anything.
The second son, Kael, pushed past them
both, mimicking his brother’s stride. His face was set in a scowl. Some of his youthful
exuberance had already drained out of him, and in its place was cynicism from
losing a mother too young and from having a sick father, but mostly, it was from
being second.
“Father,” he called out.
“Come here, Kael,” the King said. He patted
the side of the bed. “You, too, Edric.”
Edric walked to his side and settled into a
chair while Kael hoisted himself up onto the bed.
With Edric being fifteen and Kael at thirteen,
both were much too young for this kind of loss.
The King had seen his youngest, Jesalyn,
earlier that day. She had cried the entire time, understanding what was coming
and knowing she could do nothing to stop it. In tears, she had run out of the
room and straight into Consort Shamira’s arms. She had all but raised the child
after his wife, Queen Adelaida’s unceremonious death.
But he couldn’t waste thoughts on that now.
He was tiring with every passing moment. The boys…they had to know.
“Solmis,” the King said, regaining a shred
of strength.
His servant, his old friend, left the room,
giving them the privacy they needed.
“Father,” Kael repeated impatiently.
“I’m dying,” King Maltrier said.
Silence followed the declaration. Kael
looked aghast. Edric tried to hide the shock of what he knew would be coming
next.
“Edric will succeed me.”
“I’m too young to be king,” Edric
whispered.
“Fifteen is not too young.” The King
thought that was questionable, but he would not dispute it with his son. Edric
had to be strong. He had to rule. “You have the Consort and my High Order to
help and guide you.”
Edric swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Father.”
“Trust in yourself, and all will go as
planned. I have formed an alliance with Aurum for Jesalyn to be queen and
another with Tiek, who has offered you their young Princess Kaliana. Honor
these matches to keep our people safe. A strong king is one with an heir.”
The King leaned over and coughed into a
handkerchief for several minutes. His throat was raw, and his lungs ached. He
didn’t know how much more he could take, but he had to pass on their legacy.
But could he put that burden on them?
He had to decide now.
No. He would tell only one. He would pass
it on to the boy most like himself—the one who could handle the knowledge, the
one destined to rule.
The King turned to one of his sons and
said, “I need to speak with your brother alone for a moment.”
His eyebrows knit together as hurt and
confusion clouded his features. “But, Father—”
“Go,” King Maltrier commanded.
He clenched his jaw, stood, and left
without another word.
It was the last time the King would ever
see his son.
The door closed roughly behind him.
King Maltrier turned to his other son. “You
know the story of our ancestor Viktor Dremylon.”
He nodded, but the King continued anyway.
“Viktor struck down the evil Doma court that
subjugated our people. Then he claimed the throne for himself with the sole
purpose of ruling in a fair and just system.”
“Yes, Father.”
“History is told by the winners.”
“What do you mean?” He tilted his head and
looked concerned.
Perhaps he thought the King had already
lost his mind.
“Viktor did destroy the Doma court, and he
ushered in a new era of Dremylon rule that has persisted two thousand years up
until you today. But what is not in the stories is that the Doma court had ruled
because they had powerful…abilities.”
His son laughed like his father was telling
a fairy tale.
“Listen!” the King snapped. That sent him
into another fit, and his son helped him sit up, so he could cough into his
handkerchief.
When King Maltrier leaned back again, the
King saw blood had coated the white silk.
“Father, you should rest.”
“I need to tell you—” He was interrupted by
another cough. “—the truth. Viktor beat the Doma court and the most powerful
leader they had ever known, Domina Serafina, by stealing magic—dark magic, a
magic that cursed Viktor and all his ancestors. It cursed me…and you…the entire
Dremylon line.”
His son remained silent and still. The King
had gained his attention.
“Now, I must leave you with this, Son.” The
King retrieved a heavy gold key from around his neck and placed it in his son’s
hands. “A lockbox in the wall in my closet contains Viktor Dremylon’s writings.
Collect it, and tell no one. You must continue our legacy. Anyone who has Doma
blood and discovers their magic must be eliminated. They threaten our power,
your power. They threaten the very world we live in.”
