We Three Heroes E-Book

Lynette Noni

• Herausgeber: Pantera Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Medoran Chronicles
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Seitenzahl: 527

Beschreibung

Alexandra Jennings might be the hero of the Medoran Chronicles, but she would be lost without her three closest friends. They are her strength, they are her hope, they are the reason she keeps fighting. To Alex, her friends are the real heroes, and like all heroes, they each have their own story.Meet the real D.C. in Crowns and Curses and discover how she becomes the princess Alex once despised but now adores.Follow Jordan on his healing journey in Scars and Silence as he struggles in the wake of being rescued from his living nightmare.Walk beside Bear in Hearts and Headstones as he faces an unspeakable trauma while helping his world prepare for the coming war.D.C., Jordan and Bear are the heroes of their own stories. It is time for their stories to be told.

Leseprobe

WE THREEHEROES

WE THREEHEROES

THE MEDORAN CHRONICLES NOVELLAS

LYNETTE NONI

First published in 2018 by Pantera Press Pty Limitedwww.PanteraPress.com

Text Copyright © Lynette Noni, 2018Lynette Noni has asserted her moral rights to be identified as the author of this work.

Design and Typography Copyright © Pantera Press Pty Limited, 2018PanteraPress, three-slashes colophon device, and good books doing good things aretrademarks of PanteraPress Pty Limited.

This book is copyright, and all rights are reserved.We welcome your support of the author’s rights, so please only buy authorised editions.

This is a work of fiction, though it is based on some real events. Names, characters, organisations, dialogue and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, firms, events or locales is coincidental.

Without the publisher’s prior written permission, and without limiting the rights reserved under copyright, none of this book may be scanned, reproduced, stored in, uploaded to or introduced into a retrieval or distribution system, including the internet, or transmitted, copied or made available in any form or by any means (including digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, sound or audio recording, and text-to-voice). This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent recipient.

Please send all permission queries to:Pantera Press, P.O. Box 1989 Neutral Bay, NSW, Australia 2089or [email protected]

A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry for this book is available from the NationalLibrary of Australia.ISBN 978-1-925700-97-8 (Paperback)ISBN 978-1-925700-92-3 (eBook)

Cover and Internal Design: XOU CreativeEditor: James ReadProofreader: Desanka VukelichTypesetting: Kirby JonesPrinted and bound in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

Pantera Press policy is to use papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

Author’s Note

The following novellas contain spoilers for thefirst four books of

THE MEDORAN CHRONICLES

It is recommended that you read Akarnae, Raelia, Draekoraand Graevale before embarking on the stories containedwithin these pages.

Contents

Author’s Note

D.C.’S STORY

CROWNS AND CURSES

JORDAN’S STORY

SCARS AND SILENCE

BEAR’S STORY

HEARTS AND HEADST ONES

Acknowledgements

About the Author

CROWNSANDCURSES

A NOVELLA OF

THE MEDORAN CHRONICLES

One

Delucia was dreaming again.

Tonight, it was a good dream. She was flying on the back of a mythical draekon, high up in the sky, the sun bathing her skin and reflecting off the crimson scales beneath her.

Glancing down, she could see the whole of Tryllin laid out, from the harbour all the way up to the palace and beyond. If she squinted past the glow of the shining city, she could almost see the balcony of her bedroom jutting out from the eastern tower. But she cast her eyes away. Right now, her life at the palace didn’t exist. Here and now, she had no responsibilities, no duties, no obligations. Soaring high above the city, she wasn’t a princess—she wasn’t the heir to the human throne of Medora. She was nothing. She was no one.

She was free.

Then the clouds swept in, stealing the sunshine, and suddenly the draekon beneath her vanished.

With the powerful beast no longer keeping her aloft, Delucia began to fall.

An endless scream left her lips as she plummeted towards the city that was no longer shining, but shadowed by darkness. Fire—there was fire everywhere, smoke rising to the heavens. It burned her skin and clogged her throat, choking her screams, allowing the cries of others to reach her ears as she fell closer and closer to the ground. The city itself seemed to be screaming in pain—along with all those trapped within it.

People—those were Delucia’s people.

And they were dying.

A thunderclap sounded, the noise so loud it pierced Delucia’s ears and drowned out the screams. Lightning streaked all around her, so bright it was blinding, taking with it the vision of the burning city. All that remained of her senses was the ringing in her ears, the scent of smoke, the wind tearing at her body, and the scorching heat of the embers that were now nearly within reach.

Her sight cleared just in time to see the single image, one almost as shocking as the end of her beloved Tryllin.

It was a man—a man standing at the steps of the palace, a crown of golden hair atop his head, eyes blazing like the fires surrounding him.

His face—Delucia had never seen such a face. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him. And yet, she could feel the emotion pouring from him, the disgust, the loathing. It was like oil coating her skin, suffocating and poisoning her from the outside in. Because somehow she knew that this beautiful man considered her amongst what he detested. Like the city dying around them, he wished for her to suffer the same fate.

And as she fell close enough for his golden eyes to lock on hers, the last thing she saw was his satisfied expression as he witnessed her death.

Delucia sat up with a gasp, her hand flying to her pounding chest. Panting loudly, she tried to steady her breathing, allowing the early morning light streaming into her bedroom to soothe her.

“It was a dream,” she whispered to herself. “Just a dream.”

But… it had felt so real.

Her doubt was enough that she pushed back her covers and rose on shaking legs, staggering towards her balcony. Only when she looked upon the beauty of Tryllin laid out across the horizon did she utter a sigh of relief.

No smoke, no fire, no shadows, no storm.

Indeed, there was not a single cloud overhead, the rising sun hinting that it was going to be a glorious day.

Finally, her heartbeat began to calm. Unable to help herself, she let out a quiet laugh, wondering what had possessed her to think it had been anything other than a fantasy conjured by her sleeping mind.

“Something amusing, Princess?”

Startled, Delucia spun around to find her stern tutor at the entrance to her room. The bushy-haired woman had one grey eyebrow arched and was clearly waiting for an answer.

“Just a dream I had, Mistress Alma,” Delucia said, fidgeting with the edge of her nightgown.

“A dream?”

Delucia knew better than to answer truthfully, the warning in Alma’s voice enough to prompt caution. But she couldn’t help herself. “I was flying on a draekon, until I wasn’t, and then I saw a man, only he wasn’t a man at all.”

Alma’s eyebrow arched even higher, enough that it was like a baseless triangle resting above her eye. “A man who is not a man? What madness is this you speak?”

Delucia bit her lip as she considered the swiftly fading dream, the vision losing clarity the longer she was awake. Given the ending, she didn’t want to recall most of what she’d seen, what she’d felt. But fading or not, she still felt certain enough of her answer to say, “I think—Mistress, I think he was a Meyarin.”

Alma’s second eyebrow rose to meet her first. “Draekons and Meyarins? Gracious, child. You’re thirteen years old—such nonsense should be beyond you.” Her forehead crinkled, the lines deep with age. “I take it Master Ying is to blame for filling your mind with such tales of whimsy?”

“It was only a dream, Mistress,” Delucia said quietly, feeling a stab of worry. She didn’t want Master Ying to get in trouble—not again. It wasn’t his fault she was always begging for stories from the time when Meyarins and draekons had ruled Medora. Millennia may have passed since either of the immortal races were last seen, but unlike most humans, Ying was not as quick to dismiss or forget legends of the past. And since he was charged with educating Delucia on the history of their world—amongst other things—he was the best chance she had to learn what no one else would teach.

Of course, it helped that Ying himself was just as fascinated by the ancient immortal beings as Delucia was. She knew he would love to hear about her dream, unlike the strict Mistress Alma, who was looking at her with clear disapproval.

“Princesses do not dwell on dreams,” Alma said. “What you envision while sleeping is no one’s business but your own—and it’s to stay that way. Do you hear me?”

Delucia decided not to remind Alma that she’d only been answering the question asked of her. Instead, she ducked her head and replied, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good,” Alma said brusquely. “Now get dressed, child, or you’ll be late for breakfast.”

As Alma turned and left the room, Delucia looked out at the view again, a sense of melancholy settling over her. While the latter half of her dream had turned into a nightmare, the beginning had been wonderful. The sense of freedom she’d felt while soaring the skies—oh, how she longed to close her eyes and return to that moment.

But… the joy of her memory was fleeting, overshadowed by the horrors that had happened at the end—horrors that were still affecting her, since her pulse, while much calmer, had yet to ease into a resting heart rate. The man—the Meyarin—the way he’d looked at her… Delucia had felt his hatred. Just as she’d felt his pleasure when she’d met her end.

Shuddering, she turned from the view, determined to let go of the lingering dream.

This wasn’t the first time a vision had affected her so. She’d been a vivid dreamer for as long as she could remember, and she often awoke with clear memories of what her subconscious mind had experienced while sleeping. It was just… lately, her dreams had left her feeling… different. Not necessarily a bad kind of different, just different. Especially on the days when her dreams were… more than dreams.

Delucia hadn’t told anyone, but at least three times so far over the summer, she’d had dreams that had come true. Small, inconsequential things, for the most part. Like when she’d dreamed that Warden Cassidy would be retiring from her position as head of the Shields, with Commander Nisha promoting Warden William into the role. That had happened in real life not two days after Delucia had already seen it—in her sleep.

Then there was the time she’d dreamed about Advisor Jaxon scolding his grandson Declan for wearing a wrinkled shirt while visiting the palace, with Jaxon so lost in his tirade that he’d missed a step and tripped down the stairs, breaking his ankle. Delucia had never liked the surly advisor, but she’d still felt bad when that dream had come to pass, wondering if perhaps she should have sought to warn him.

Lastly, just three days ago, Delucia had dreamed that a small delegation would be visiting the palace from the coastal city of Harovell—and indeed, that very morning, she had awoken to hear the news from her father that guests would be arriving that evening and staying with them for the following ten days.

Delucia wasn’t sure what to make of her dreams—of her premonitions. Once was a fluke, twice was a question mark, but three times? And with each occurrence offering such specific detail? She was beginning to wonder if she should tell someone. Not that she knew who, exactly, she should share her concerns with.

It wasn’t a question of who might believe her; she was a princess, after all. No, it was a question of who might fear for her sanity. That was why she had remained silent so long—that, and the niggling doubts she felt about her own recollections.

If nothing else, she found comfort in knowing that her most recent dream wasn’t one that foretold future events. Mistress Alma had been right about the nonsense her sleeping mind had conjured—draekons and Meyarins had long since been lost to the past.

“Princess! Why are you still standing there?”

Delucia jumped at Alma’s voice, the tutor having returned only to find Delucia right where she’d left her.

“Your parents and their guests are waiting for you in the north tower. Goodness, child, stop daydreaming and get a move on.”

Delucia offered a quick apology and hurried towards the clothes her attendants had laid out during the night. Being the height of summer, she was relieved to find a simple skirt and top combination, paired with comfortable sandals. In seconds, she was dressed and wrangling her deep red hair up into a ponytail as she rushed after Alma and out of her room.

While Mistress Alma was officially considered a tutor in what Delucia considered ‘Princess Studies’—deportment, etiquette, literature, music and the arts—she was also in charge of Delucia’s day-to-day schedule. She was more a royal nanny than a tutor, someone the king and queen trusted to manage Delucia and make sure she was where she needed to be, when she needed to be there.

Like right now—when Delucia was meant to be at breakfast with her family.

As the human rulers of Medora, her parents were always busy. But when it was within their power, they made sure to start the day by spending time with their daughter.

Normally, Delucia treasured their daily breakfasts—the only dedicated family time she was almost always guaranteed to have with them. While her classes with Mistress Alma and Master Ying were on hold for the summer, meaning she had plenty of free time up her sleeves, her parents were afforded no such holiday from their royal obligations. They weren’t just hers—they belonged to the whole of Medora. Just as Delucia herself did, and would even more when the time came for her to take over the throne.

That day, however, was long into the future. For now, Delucia had to settle for sharing her parents with the rest of the world, something she was able to do without resentment because she knew just how much they loved her. That, and they always made sure that the time they spent with her, brief though it might sometimes be, was without distraction. Their breakfasts were for them. As a family.

… Except on the rare occasion that others joined them. Like yesterday. And today. And the rest of the coming week.

There was a reason Delucia was dragging her feet along the corridors, why she wasn’t eager to reach the north tower like most other mornings. And that was because, part of the delegation who had arrived would be dining with them again—the group from Harovell whose visit she had dreamed.

That dream wasn’t the first time she’d seen them.

She’d met them before. Just the once. Five years ago.

They’d stayed longer than ten days that time. And when they’d finally returned to their city on the west coast, they’d done so only after teaching Delucia some hard truths—truths she had spent the last five years living by.

Truths she would carry with her for the rest of her days.

“Now remember, child,” Mistress Alma said as they reached the doors to the dining parlour—a much smaller space than the banquet hall that was used for more official events. “Princesses are always gracious hosts.”

And with that, the tutor gave Delucia a nudge through the doorway, leaving her to continue forward on her own.

She was late—Alma hadn’t been wrong about that. All eyes swung her way as she walked towards the table filled with food, the smell reaching her nose and causing her stomach to growl. But at the same time, that very stomach was also clenching with dread at what was before her—at who was before her.

Head high, back straight, eyes forward. Delucia mentally chanted Alma’s repeated teachings as she placed one foot in front of the other, determined not to reveal that she was shaking on the inside. Rage, hurt, betrayal, humiliation—everything she’d felt five years ago had returned to the forefront of her mind. She couldn’t even look at him—at the person responsible for all that she was feeling. Instead, she focused on her parents, both seated at the head of the table.

“Mother, Father,” Delucia said as she approached. “I apologise for my tardiness.”

Such formality was normally overlooked during their daily breakfasts. They were a family—they didn’t stand on ceremony when it was just the three of them. But since they weren’t alone today, Delucia knew that she wasn’t only their daughter this morning; she was the princess of Medora. And she had a role to play.

Gritting her teeth, she moved her gaze to the two others seated at the table. The first wasn’t that hard to look at.

“Lady Nerita, I trust you slept well?”

The High Court judge of Harovell offered Delucia a small smile, her blond hair catching a ray of sunlight streaming in from the overhead windows, resulting in an almost angelic effect. “Indeed, I did, Princess. Thank you.”

Delucia offered a short dip of her chin before summoning the courage to turn to the boy seated to Nerita’s left.

“And you as well, Lord Maxton?”

It took every iota of diplomacy within Delucia to resist reaching for the water jug and tipping it over Maxton’s smug head when his lips curved up in a hateful smirk. He knew exactly how hard it was for her to maintain any level of civility while in his presence, yet he was determined to make it even more challenging for her.

“I could have slept better,” he drawled. “There’s a draught in my room.”

Delucia dug her fingernails into her palms, careful to keep her reaction out of sight. If they were alone, she would tell him that it was the middle of summer and any lack of warmth he felt was merely due to his own cold heart. But since they were in company, her response had to be much more courteous.

“I’m sure we can have you moved to a new room.” The kennels, perhaps, so he could be amongst his own kind. Though, Delucia wouldn’t wish his presence upon the poor dogs. No one deserved such miserable company.

“No need, Princess,” Maxton said, the smirk still on his face. “We’re only here for the rest of the week. I’ll find a way to endure it.”

Delucia was already counting down to the end of his visit. Inwardly, she prayed that the next seven days would fly by. Outwardly, she pasted a smile on her face and dipped her head again, before taking the seat to her father’s right—a position that was, unfortunately, directly opposite Maxton.

Sharing the same light hair colour as his mother, along with her blue eyes, it was easy to note the resemblance between the two. But while Nerita’s features were filled with kindness, her son’s expression held nothing but thinly veiled contempt. It was easy to miss—Delucia was certain he had everyone else fooled.

Just like he’d had her fooled.

Everything about him portrayed the poster child of perfection. The doting son, the generous friend, the person everyone wanted to spend time with.

It was all a lie.

But five years ago, Delucia hadn’t known that. And within seconds of meeting him, she’d fallen completely under his spell.

For the first eight years of her life, she’d never had any real friends. She’d grown up a princess, her closest companions being the stern Mistress Alma and the passionate Master Ying. There were very few children who visited the palace, and those who did—blood relations of the servants, advisors, counsellors and military leaders—all treated Delucia with the respect owed to her station. She wasn’t a girl to them, she was a princess. It made forming personal relationships all but impossible.

There were, of course, the maids who attended her, but they came and went as often as the weather turned. Delucia had only ever managed to grow close to two of them—Annelyse and Bahrati—but that hadn’t… ended well. And once they’d left the palace, Delucia had been careful to maintain distance from any of her new maids, knowing they would only leave when their tenure was up and never look back.

Eight years was a long time to go without having a true confidante outside of her family, so when Delucia heard that a boy her age was coming to stay at the palace for a number of weeks, she’d begged her parents to keep her identity a secret. She was lonely—so lonely—and she’d wanted just one chance to make a real friend, someone who would treat her like a normal girl. Of course, she’d known he would learn the truth eventually, but she’d only wanted a few days, certain that was all it would take, and then her royal status wouldn’t matter. They’d be friends by then, true friends—best friends—and her being a princess wouldn’t change that.

In the end, she was right. It wasn’t her title that changed anything.

Because Maxton had known all along who she was.

And he’d played her, from the very beginning.

He’d earned her trust, earned her adoration. And then he’d used it all against her, betraying her in the worst possible way.

“It’s such a beautiful day,” Queen Osmada said, her gentle tone easing the tension Delucia felt bunching at her shoulders. At least, until the queen added, “Perhaps Maxton would like to go riding through the gardens with Delucia after breakfast? She goes every morning in the summer—if she had her way, I’m convinced she would choose to live in the stables.”

Nerita chuckled softly along with the queen, but dread was filling Delucia, like a vice wrapping around her chest.

“Actually, Mother,” she said quickly before anyone else could speak, “I already have company for today’s ride.” She managed to summon what she hoped looked like an apologetic smile when she turned to Maxton and said, “Perhaps another morning.”

That morning would never come, if she had anything to say about it. She’d lie through her teeth if it meant avoiding him as much as possible for the next seven days. Then he’d be gone, and she could breathe freely again.

“Such a shame,” Maxton drawled, reaching for a cinnamon roll and tearing it apart with his fingers. There was a mean spark in his eyes when he added, “We both know how much I enjoy visiting the stables and spending time with the horses.”

Delucia couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. Her hands were shaking as she reached for her fork and stabbed the metal into the omelette on her plate, using considerably more force than was necessary. She winced at the scrape of steel against porcelain, hoping no one else noticed.

“I’ve no doubt that my son will be able to entertain himself, just as he has the last three days,” Nerita said, sipping from her teacup. Her words held no accusation, but they still caused both the king and queen to look at Delucia with disapproval.

She knew the reason for their censure. Mistress Alma’s final words hadn’t been a reminder—they’d been a warning: ‘Princesses are always gracious hosts.’

Delucia had been anything but gracious to Maxton since his arrival.

Upon first laying eyes on him three days earlier, she’d refused to offer a single word of greeting, ignoring the pointed looks from her parents. Duty had required that she maintain an air of cordiality, especially given Nerita’s importance as a High Court judge. But seeing Maxton’s arrogant smirk had raised her hackles enough that she’d had to spin on her heel and storm from the room lest she follow through on her overwhelming desire to slap the smug look right off his face.

The two days since then had seen little improvement to her disposition, though she’d managed to sit through both tension-filled breakfasts much as she was today, only doing so by remaining as silent as possible and focusing on her meal.

She knew her parents were concerned by her behaviour. Her mother had sought her out after supper last night, and Delucia had offered a vague excuse about clashing personalities. Osmada, however, had seen through the lie to the pain underneath, yet she’d thankfully not pressed for further details. Instead, she’d gathered her daughter into her arms, her physical touch soothing Delucia more than any words ever would. When the king had joined them soon afterwards, he’d asked no questions, simply wrapping his arms around Delucia and holding her close.

Despite the comfort her mother and father offered freely in private, she knew she was expected to step into her princess shoes and offer companionship to Maxton as a guest of the palace. Her parents didn’t know why it was so difficult for her, why she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. If she told them, she knew they’d understand. But she was too ashamed to share. The hurt and the betrayal—five years later and it had barely faded. If anything, it had only increased, along with the walls of stone around her heart.

“Lord Maxton might want to consider a trip into the city today,” Delucia suggested to no one in particular while cutting into her side of bacon. “The markets are always enjoyable at this time of the year.”

“Indeed, they are,” King Aurileous said, pouring a glass of juice and handing it to Delucia before turning to Maxton. “It’s easy enough to organise a Warden escort if you’d like to venture out for the day?”

In response, Maxton raised a haughty eyebrow at Delucia and said, “Perhaps I’ll wait until the princess is free to accompany me.”

Having just taken a mouthful of juice, Delucia barely managed to keep from spraying it all over the table. She quickly swallowed, prompting a coughing fit—which gave her the time she needed to think of a suitable reply. Preferably one that didn’t involve launching over the dishes and stabbing Maxton with her butter knife.

She had no idea what in the name of Medora he was thinking, saying something like that. She knew he despised her—she’d heard the truth from his own lips five years ago.

‘… worthless, gullible, snooty little princess. No wonder she doesn’t have any friends—who would want to be stuck spending time with that spoiled royal brat? No one, that’s who.’

She could still hear his mocking laughter ringing in her ears, just as she could hear the laughter of those he’d been entertaining with his stories—her young maids, Annelyse and Bahrati amongst them, as well as a plethora of stable and kitchen hands, and other children born to the palace servants. All of them were kids she had tried to befriend at one point or another, with none but Annelyse and Bahrati ever making her think she had a chance of friendship with them. And those two… well, in that moment, Delucia had understood that she’d never had a chance with them, either, since Maxton had already claimed their attention. His charisma, his magnetism—people wanted to be close to him. Delucia hadn’t been able to dredge up any blame towards the two girls, not when she herself had fallen into the same trap. And that trap—that desire for Maxton’s companionship—had left her wide open for the hateful things he’d said that day, and for the hurtful responses from those listening.

The laughter—she would never forget their laughter as they’d listened to Maxton explain that Delucia had believed he was her best friend, how she had shared things with him that she’d never told anyone else. Her hopes, her dreams, her very heart—he knew it all. She’d laid herself bare to him. For him.

And it was all true. Because Maxton had been everything to her, filling the gaping hole of loneliness she’d felt all her life.

At least, until that day, that moment, when his words and laughter had smashed her vulnerable eight-year-old heart to pieces.

She never would have known if she hadn’t arrived at the stables early, excited for their ride together that morning. She never would have known if she hadn’t searched for Annelyse and Bahrati beforehand, only to find them keeping company with her supposed best friend. She never would have known if she hadn’t paused upon the sound of voices and raucous laughter, only to hear the hideous, hideous things being said—about her.

Sometimes she wondered how long Maxton would have let his ruse of friendship continue if she hadn’t discovered him first. But the moment she’d stepped out of the shadows with tears in her eyes and he’d realised he’d been caught, he hadn’t so much as tried to feign an apology. Annelyse and Bahrati—they’d at least looked ashamed, and within a week, the two maids had left the palace of their own accord. But Maxton… he’d just smirked that awful smirk—one she’d never seen before that day—and she’d known. None of it had been real for him. Everything they’d shared had been fake.

“Sadly, my week is rather full,” Delucia lied smoothly, her voice slightly hoarse from having just coughed up her tonsils—and from the emotion she was fighting to keep contained as the memories threatened to overwhelm her. “If you wish to see the markets before you leave, you’ll be better off planning a trip without me.”

“Sweetheart, surely you can find some time for Lord Maxton?” King Aurileous said, a gentle reprimand in his tone.

Delucia couldn’t keep from shooting pleading eyes towards her mother.

Osmada was no fool—she read the panic on Delucia’s face and placed a hand on Aurileous’s forearm. Her kind eyes moved from her daughter to her husband and then to their guests before she fibbed, “Unfortunately, Delucia’s schedule is indeed demanding over the next few days. Mistress Alma likes to keep her busy during the summer months to ward off boredom.” She then offered to Maxton, “Should you visit again, we’ll make sure to set some time aside for you to enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company.”

Delucia wondered if her omelette was going to make a reappearance, such was the sick feeling in her stomach at the very thought of having to endure another visit. And yet, she kept her features serene, mirroring the slight smile her mother offered, while hoping her face wasn’t as green as she felt it surely must be.

“I’ll look forward to our return, then,” Maxton said, his tone laced with dark humour.

Delucia didn’t need to look at him to know he was deliberately trying to rile her. To her shame, it was working. But she needed only to get through this breakfast—and seven more—before he was gone. And if she ever dreamed of his coming again, on the off chance that it just might come true, she’d be sure to disappear from the palace or claim an illness so as to never see him again.

If nothing else, her experience with Maxton had taught her a valuable life lesson, one that she was grateful for, in hindsight. Annelyse and Bahrati had driven the point home, but it was Maxton to whom Delucia gave credit for what she had discovered.

Thanks to them—thanks to him—she’d learned the truth: that she could trust no one.

For eight years, all she’d wanted was a true friend. And when she’d thought she’d finally made one, he’d shown her exactly why she was better off on her own. Friends were nothing more than people with the power to hurt those whom they were meant to protect. And that day in the stables, Delucia had learned that once and for all.

Never again would she let anyone into her heart. Because people did nothing but let each other down.

Delucia had her family. She needed no one else.

She wanted no one else.

Not anymore.

And never again.

Two

Delucia hadn’t been lying when she’d claimed to have company planned for her ride that morning—company that gave her a good excuse to hurry through what remained of her breakfast before taking her leave of the parlour. She did so while ignoring the concerned looks from her parents and avoiding Maxton’s smug gaze entirely.

Hurrying back through the richly decorated hallways to the eastern tower and up the golden staircases to her bedroom, Delucia was quick to don her riding clothes before skipping back downstairs and out the rear entrance of the palace, heading towards the stables.

Like every other day, she allowed the dusty scent of pine and hay to wash over her, breathing in deeply and finding peace in what the smell represented. Horses didn’t throw hateful words and stinging betrayals. Horses offered soft nickers and whiskered kisses—the perfect balm for any inner turmoil.

“I was beginning to wonder if I’d be riding by myself today, Princess.”

Delucia allowed a small smile to settle on her lips as she stepped further into the stable complex and turned towards the owner of the voice.

“Sorry, Jeera. Breakfast ran longer than usual.”

Jeera James, the eighteen-year-old niece of Medora’s military commander, accepted Delucia’s excuse without comment, her only response being to offer a respectful bow once she had the princess’s full attention.

Years ago, Delucia had been frustrated by the clear line Jeera carefully maintained between them. No matter how many times Delucia had tried to befriend the other girl or asked to be treated like any other person, Jeera remained adamant about keeping a professional distance. It used to hurt—adding to the loneliness Delucia felt. But now she understood better, especially since she knew that once Jeera was finished with her education at Akarnae Academy, she planned to join the Warden service—a position that would require her to treat Delucia as a princess at all times. It was a shame, since Jeera was one of the few younger girls who had spent much time around the palace while growing up, and if she’d had any other career in mind, Delucia liked to think they might have been friends.

Of course, that was before Delucia had decided she was better off without any friends.

Even so, she was pleased to be in Jeera’s company once again now that Akarnae was closed for the summer holidays, even if the other girl already acted like a Warden-in-training.

“I brought Dancer in from the field, but I know you like to groom her yourself, so she’s waiting for you in her stall,” Jeera said, indicating down the aisle. “I’m taking Onyx out today. Stablemaster Corbin said he could use a good ride.”

“And what about—”

Before Delucia could finish her question, the clop, clop, clop of horseshoes on cobblestones met her ears, and she turned to find the chestnut-coloured Admiral walking their way, led by the Warden escort appointed for their morning ride.

“Princess Delucia,” William Ronnigan greeted, offering a bow—one that turned into a stumble when Admiral head-butted the Warden’s shoulder, overbalancing him.

“Good morning, Warden William,” Delucia returned, unsuccessful in hiding her smile. Of all the Wardens in service to the crown, William was one of her favourites, the man as kind as he was intelligent. But he was also perhaps one of the most unskilled horsemen she’d ever encountered. It never failed to amuse her, though she did feel sorry for him at times—such as right now, when Admiral was snuffling at his collared uniform, ignoring William’s shooing gestures and instead sinking his big teeth into the black material and tugging hard enough to tear the seam.

Delucia covered her mouth quickly, hoping William was too distracted by fending off Admiral’s continued assault to have caught her quiet laugh.

The Wardens were on a rotating roster when it came to accompanying her on her morning rides—something she believed was unnecessary, but Commander Nisha remained adamant about allocating them as protective detail. While Delucia only ever rode through the palace grounds, the gardens that backed onto the forest and down to the coastline were extensive enough that there was an element of danger, should an intruder break through the wards and trespass upon the royal lands. The king and queen allowed Delucia as much freedom as was deemed safe, but even they were firm about her always having someone along for security purposes, ready to Bubble her away at the first sign of trouble.

William, while an uncommonly graceless horseman, was always wonderful company. And Delucia was delighted that both he and Jeera would be riding with her today.

Leaving the Warden to battle his playful steed and Jeera to hunt down and ready Onyx, Delucia travelled up the aisle, patting the noses of the stabled horses until she arrived at Dancer’s stall.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Delucia cooed as she unlatched the door and entered, earning a soft whinny of greeting in response.

Dancer—or Moon Dancer, as her full name was—had been a gift from the king and queen for Delucia’s ninth birthday. That year had been difficult for her, with the aftermath of Maxton’s betrayal and her realisation that she would never truly be able to trust anyone. Added to that, just weeks before her birthday, she’d been abducted from the palace grounds during a state dinner and held for ransom. Her kidnappers had drugged her with a strong sedative, and even now her memory of that night was fuzzy. It was only thanks to Commander Nisha’s best Wardens that she’d been rescued within minutes, and suffered no lasting harm. But the abduction had frightened her parents enough that they’d made the decision that she would no longer attend public functions, not until she was old enough to defend herself. With her hidden from the public eye, no one would be able to identify her as she grew older—and thus, no one outside of the palace would know who ‘the princess’ was in order to kidnap her.

Since that only meant less people for Delucia to meet and ultimately be hurt by, she hadn’t been upset by her parents’ decision. In fact, she’d been grateful for it, since she could remain within her own bubble at the palace, keeping to herself. But try as she might, there had still been an ache of loneliness within her—something that had eased slightly on that birthday when she’d been led to the stables. It was there that she’d first seen the stunning dappled-grey filly with the bright red bow tied around her arched neck—a sight that had prompted her to burst into tears.

Together with the stablemaster, Delucia had been involved in every step of the mare’s training. Dancer was more than just a horse to Delucia—she was like family. And she was much better than most human companions, of that Delucia was certain.

Chatting quietly to the mare as she groomed and saddled her, Delucia was soon leading Dancer out of the stall and down the aisle until they were outside where William and Jeera were already mounted and waiting. Admiral’s head was drooping low to the ground and he looked like he was about to drop off to sleep, while Onyx was prancing and jittery, with Jeera’s attention focused on keeping the gelding under control.

In one swift move, Delucia was atop Dancer, settling into the saddle and gathering her reins.

“Where to today, Your Highness?” Jeera asked, her hands soft and her back straight as she sought to settle her mount.

“He looks like he needs a good gallop,” Delucia said, gesturing towards the agitated Onyx, “so I vote we head down to the beach.”

Jeera looked excited, but William released a long-suffering—and nervous-sounding—sigh.

Delucia took pity on him and said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to sit out most of the fun since Admiral is still recovering from spraining his fetlock last month. Nothing more than a light canter for you, or Stablemaster Corbin will have our heads.”

William hadn’t been promoted to leader of the Shields for no reason—the man saw what others didn’t. Delucia had no doubt he knew she was letting him off easy, and the grateful smile he sent her way confirmed as much.

It was just as the three of them began to head in the direction of the topiary gardens—a shortcut leading to the stream they would follow all the way through the forest and to the private sandy cove—when once again Delucia heard the sound of clip-clopping hooves, these ones moving at a swift trot.

She turned around in her saddle, her spine stiffening when she saw who was approaching.

“I know you said you already had company,” Maxton said from atop his striking black gelding, “but then I thought, the more the merrier, right?”

Delucia couldn’t even form a sentence, stunned as she was by the realisation that he intended to join them. During their conversation at breakfast, she had made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t invited. So for him to have completely ignored her wishes… that was just so purely Maxton. The expression he now wore—that infuriating smirk—revealed as much. No explanation was necessary; Delucia knew he was there for one reason only: because he knew perfectly well that the last thing she wanted was to be anywhere near him.

“Lord Maxton, does your mother know you’re out here?” William asked. His eyes weren’t on the boy, though. He was instead watching Delucia, observant enough to note her tension.

“My business is my own, Warden,” Maxton said, his tone brimming with contempt. “My mother doesn’t need to know my every move—and I’ll thank you to remember your place and only speak to me if I so wish.”

That was enough to snap Delucia from her silence, and she opened her mouth to demand he apologise to the Warden. William was one of the top ranking military leaders in the whole of Medora. His position was considerably higher than anything Maxton could ever dream to hold, and despite being appointed as Delucia’s protective detail for the day, he still deserved to be treated with the utmost respect.

However, before she could get a single word out, Jeera got in first.

“I heard you were back, Lord Maxton,” she said, her drawl more disdainful than anything he had ever managed. “Pity you didn’t bring some manners with you this time. But then again, some things can’t be bought with Mummy’s money.”

Delucia’s mouth dropped open.

Maxton was shocked enough to splutter, “How dare you—”

“It’s a good thing we’re already down at the stables,” Jeera interrupted, not at all concerned by Maxton’s darkening features. “This way you can be taken away with the rest of the dung.”

An inelegant snort burst from Delucia, her surprise at Jeera’s insult too great to suppress.

Maxton looked like he was about ready to launch from his horse and topple Jeera to the ground. “You think you’re safe because of your aunt, Jeera James?” He sneered. “Think again.”

“Empty threats,” Jeera said, removing one hand from her reins and giving a dismissive wave. “We’ve been here before, Maxy-boy. Do you really need a reminder of what we talked about five years ago?”

Maxton paled, his reaction startling Delucia, especially when his eyes jumped to her and away again.

“If you want, I can hunt down Kaiden and Declan, since I’m sure they’d be happy to have another chat with you,” Jeera continued, her words bland but there was a clear threat in her tone. “Especially since you being here right now means you didn’t listen to our warning.”

Jeera gave a pointed dip of her forehead towards Delucia, holding Maxton’s eyes the whole time.

Delucia wanted to ask what was going on, what she was missing. A strange feeling was worming its way through her—a hint of suspicion at what they might be circling around. But before she could utter a word of question, William cleared his throat.

“All right, you two. That’s enough,” he said, quietly but firmly. “Lord Maxton, without consent from Lady Nerita, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to come with us. Princess Delucia’s safety is my priority, and if you were to join our group, we would require a second Warden to keep an eye on you.”

“Then just go and get—”

“And unfortunately,” William interrupted before Maxton could finish his order, “the other palace Wardens are all busy this morning.”

That much, Delucia knew to be untrue, since she’d walked past at least three Wardens on her way down to the stables, none of whom had seemed particularly overwhelmed by their workloads. She said not a word of disagreement, however, and she would have reached over and hugged William if she hadn’t feared he would lose balance and fall right off his horse.

“Once the three of us have returned, I can organise for another escort to take you out,” William said. “Presuming, of course, that you still wish to enjoy the trails later in the day.”

Scowling, Maxton shot a glare at William and then at Jeera before wrenching on his reins and giving his poor gelding a harsh kick, taking off the way he’d come without another word. Not once during his exit did he look at Delucia—something that she found both a relief and a concern.

“What was that about?” she wondered aloud, but neither William nor Jeera had any answers for her.

“My rear is already beginning to ache and we’ve barely left the stables,” William said instead. “Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

Benching her uncertainty—for the moment—Delucia trailed after Jeera as she led the way down the path, crossed the babbling brook, and followed the growing stream along the edge of the forest. Only when the trees opened up to a cove offering a private stretch of beach protected within the palace’s wards did they come to a halt.

William slid from Admiral’s back, groaning quietly when his feet settled on the sand. He grimaced as he rubbed his backside, muttering under his breath about how it was a good thing he didn’t intend on having any more children, since he feared that option was now lost to him.

Delucia had to hold her breath to keep from laughing, and when she caught Jeera’s gaze, she saw the same amusement in the other girl’s bright blue eyes.

“Are—um—are you all right, Warden William?” Delucia managed to ask around her bubbling humour.

“Nothing copious amounts of ice won’t fix,” he replied, his strained tone still jovial despite his clear discomfort.

Admiral butted him on the shoulder again, and William attempted a stern glare at his mount, but he couldn’t hold the expression, giving in and petting him on the nose instead.

“The beach may be private, but warded or not, I want the two of you to stay in sight at all times,” William told them. “Agreed?”

Both Delucia and Jeera nodded before they left him at the tree line and headed down to the shore, wading into the water and allowing their horses to stomp through the shallows.

Alone now, Delucia finally had the chance to ask the questions that had been burning within her during their ride.

“What happened back there with Maxton?” she asked, stopping Dancer from venturing too deep into the water. The cove offered protection from the powerful waves found at some of the other Tryllin beaches, but the calmer water of the royal bay still held a strong undercurrent that she was always careful to be wary of.

“The little turd needed to be put in his place.”

Delucia blinked, surprised by Jeera’s candour. Normally the other girl wasn’t so outspoken—at least not in Delucia’s presence.

“What he said to William—you were right to chew him out like that,” Delucia said, meaning it wholeheartedly.

Jeera snorted. “Warden William can handle himself, Princess.”

Delucia’s brow furrowed. If Jeera’s verbal attack hadn’t been in defence of William, then…

“What did you mean at the end, when you spoke about Maxton’s last visit?” Delucia asked. “When you both kept looking at me?”

Jeera didn’t respond.

Throat tightening, Delucia fidgeted with the leather of her reins and said, “You mentioned Kaiden and Declan, and something about a warning Maxton had ignored. Jeera—” Delucia swallowed. “Jeera, what was that about?”

Again, Jeera didn’t say anything. All she did was rub a soothing hand down Onyx’s neck as the horse pawed the water with his hooves.

“Please, Jeera,” Delucia whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the wind and the lapping waves. “I need to know.”

Sighing, Jeera finally looked across at her and admitted, “You weren’t the only one who overheard Maxton talking about you that day in the stables, Your Highness.”

Delucia felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. Embarrassment prompted blood to pool in her cheeks, and through stiff lips she asked, “How many others?”

“Just the three of us,” Jeera said. “Kaiden, Declan and me.”

Her voice held no pity, and for that Delucia was grateful. But she was also mortified, having thought the situation had been contained to Maxton and the small group of older children who she now rarely, if ever, saw around the palace, most of whom were too ashamed to show their faces again. But learning that Commander Nisha’s niece and nephew, and Advisor Jaxon’s grandson, had all witnessed the single most humiliating moment of her life… Delucia wanted to curl up in a ball and hide from the world. Preferably forever.

“Everything he said about you, Princess—you have to know none of it was true.”

Delucia barely heard Jeera’s words, with nothing penetrating the walls she’d built around her heart. Instead, she whispered, “You said something about a warning?”

A beat of silence met her question, until Jeera sighed again and admitted, “We may have… confronted Maxton afterwards. Making sure he knew never to speak about you like that ever again.”

Delucia closed her eyes, unable to reconcile all that she was feeling. Part of her wondered if Jeera, Kaiden and Declan had only come to her defence because they’d felt sorry for her. But another part was touched that they’d done so, since they’d had nothing to gain from it. Only a chance meeting today had led to her ever learning about what they’d done on her behalf.

Like Jeera, Delucia had known Kaiden and Declan for most of her life, with them having visited the palace numerous times over the years. The two boys had always been kind to her—but like everyone else, they had also been careful to treat her like a princess. Had Maxton not taken away all desire for friendships, Delucia wondered if she would have grown closer to the two boys as they all grew older. Now, however, she wondered if she would ever be able to look them in the eye again.

“We never wanted you to know,” Jeera said quietly, reading the emotions she saw playing out over Delucia’s face. “We only wanted to make sure that if he ever returned, he knew not to mess with you again.”

At that, Delucia managed to shake off her embarrassment enough to say, “So much for that happening.”

Jeera made an aggravated sound, but before she could say anything, Delucia quickly assured her, “It’s not that bad this time, Jeera. I’m just aiming to get through the next seven days by avoiding him as much as possible. Then he’ll be gone.”

“And good riddance,” Jeera said. “Hopefully it’ll be another five years before he returns again.”

“Or longer,” Delucia said.

“Or longer,” Jeera agreed.

Exhaling loudly, Delucia looked out to the horizon and managed to say, “Thank you, Jeera. You and your brother and Declan—you guys didn’t have to stand up for me.”

“We didn’t have to,” Jeera agreed. “But we wanted to.”

This time Delucia felt no trace of embarrassment, only gratitude. She wished she could bottle her emotions, since she was certain what she was experiencing had to be similar to what friendship felt like. But she knew it wasn’t to last—not for her.

“I’m looking forward to the day you take up your Warden uniform, Jeera James,” Delucia said softly, her eyes moving from the ocean back to the other girl. “With you as a protector, our kingdom is going to be stronger than ever—especially if you continue to stand up for those who are unable to stand up for themselves.”

Jeera held her eyes as she said, just as softly, “I fear, Princess, that you mistake being unable with being unwilling.”

Delucia jolted in the saddle, feeling Jeera’s words as if they had physically struck her.

“I know you wish you were normal, or just like everyone else,” Jeera continued. “But you’re not—you’re the heir to the throne. And while your crown might make certain things more complicated than you would like, your position is not without its own benefits. The power you hold—the authority you command—never forget that, Princess. Never forget that you are a princess. Because that’s who you are, and that’s who you’ll always be.”

Jeera let that sink in for a moment before adding, “You were never unable to stand up for yourself—you were just unwilling. Because you forgot what being a princess means.” Quietly, she finished, “Don’t forget again, Princess. Because the kingdom will be stronger with you protecting it, too. But you can only do that if you are true to yourself. To all of yourself.”

Seconds turned to minutes as Delucia processed all that the other girl had said, letting it settle deep within her. Finally, she couldn’t help asking, “Are you sure you’re only eighteen?”

Jeera let out a surprised laugh, the heavy mood between them shattering when she replied, “You’re one to talk.”

Smiling slightly, Delucia admitted, “Mother says I’m thirteen going on thirty. But Mistress Alma says I’m thirteen going on three. They can’t both be right.”

Jeera snorted. “I’m with the queen on this one. You’re definitely pushing thirty, if not more. It must be all those fancy lessons they force you to take.”

“Or maybe I’m just intellectually superior,” Delucia returned, her smile growing. “As you’ve just sought to remind me, I am a princess. Perhaps it’s just part of the package that is me.”

Jeera didn’t try to hide her eye roll as she gathered her reins. “Intelligence, perhaps. But what about athleticism? Care for a little race to see?”

Delucia caught the challenging look Jeera sent her and returned it with her own. Guiding Dancer out of the water and onto the firmer sand, she cast her gaze towards the far end of the cove before grinning at Jeera and saying, “Last one there has to help get William back up onto Admiral.”

Jeera laughed. “You’re on, Princess.”

And with that, Jeera and Onyx shot forward, with Delucia and Dancer taking off right on their heels, the horses flying over the sand and the two girls revelling in every second.

Three

Hours passed before Delucia and Jeera were ready to leave the beach, the time allowing William to rally some dignity, which meant that despite their race ending in a tie, neither girl had to help push him into his saddle.

Their ride back through the forest and grounds was much more pleasant for Delucia, with her no longer being plagued by questions and suspicions. She still felt a flicker of embarrassment knowing that Jeera, Kaiden and Declan had all overheard Maxton’s slander, but she couldn’t change the past. And when it came to the future, she was determined to heed Jeera’s words. Because the other girl was right—Delucia was a princess, and she shouldn’t forget what that meant. All that it meant.

After returning to the stables and brushing Dancer down, Delucia thanked William for his company and made Jeera promise to go riding with her again soon, before she left them and headed into the palace.

Once she’d changed back into her earlier clothes and enjoyed a late lunch in the kitchens—a place her parents frowned upon her visiting, but she saw little point in having a meal delivered to her room when it was just as easy for her to go to her meal—she wandered the corridors until she came to the royal library.

Summertime was the best time, in Delucia’s opinion. Endless mornings spent riding until the sun turned too hot to stay out without burning to a crisp, followed by lazy afternoons doing whatever she wished. The library was a sanctuary for her, a place where she could while away her hours, losing herself in stories, real and fictional.

Delucia’s studies with Mistress Alma and Master Ying required her to focus more on scholarly texts, but in her free time, she always gravitated towards the back of the library where there were shelves rising to the heavens, all filled with fictional tales of adventure. The books she read took her to places she would never visit, gave her friends she would never have, and offered her a life she would never live. They were her escape from the world—they provided therapy for her mind, for her heart. They were her most trusted companions. Because unlike people, books didn’t care if their reader was a princess or a pauper. Their content didn’t change depending on whose eyes travelled over their pages. Books just were.

So far that summer, Delucia had explored the mythical Goldenwood alongside a fictional race of warrior women, she’d attended a Freyan school where the students lived in a castle and studied magic, she’d been stranded on the jungle island of Maroo and survived its famed cannibals, she’d searched for treasure amongst the shipwrecks surrounding the Undersea Islands, and she’d been swept into a land of faerie courts only to fall in love with a high lord to whom no real man could compare. All of that she’d experienced from the comfort of her favourite armchair, perfectly situated to face the windows overlooking the palace gardens.

Today she planned on visiting that same armchair, but unlike the rest of her summer so far, she wouldn’t be venturing into a fictional story. Instead, given her growing concerns about her sleeping premonitions, Delucia wandered the aisles of the grand library until she found the Psychological Sciences section, grabbing a handful of books and taking them back to her window seat.

Sunlight travelled across the horizon as she skimmed the heavy tomes, finding references in each about altered states of consciousness, but no indication of whether it was possible for dreams to offer visions of the future. The content she read focused on the cognitive processes behind subconscious imaginings rather than anything more… theoretical.

When hours passed without any insight, Delucia slammed her latest book shut and sighed loudly, rubbing her eyes.

“This is getting me nowhere,” she murmured to herself, scowling at the scientific tomes, many of which were beyond her level of understanding. She was smart for her age, but she had her limits—especially when she’d never encountered some of the words used in the texts.

With the sun now setting outside, Delucia decided to try one last book before giving up for the day. Having been through everything in her current pile, she carried them back to their shelves—the royal librarian was pedantic when it came to returning items just so—and she stood in the centre of the library, her hands on her hips as she considered her options.

‘I haven’t seen you so dedicated to your research since the time when we were hypothesising whether or not Meya still exists.’

Delucia jumped, spinning around to find Master Ying had snuck up behind her.

“Of course it still exists,” she replied, full of confidence. “It’s just… missing.”

Ying’s mouth curled up at the corners, his lips otherwise unmoving as his answer was sent directly into her mind. ‘Missing? Or perhaps lost?’