Tied to the Crown Page 5

  He was smiling, but looked really pale. As though the conversation with Wyett had made him worse.

  “Seth, are you alright?” Aaryana found herself grabbing the sides of his arms, panic lacing her words. “You don’t look so good.” She looked him up and down, longed to touch his forehead to check for a fever.

  “I’m fine,” he assured her, chuckling and shaking his head.

  “You look exhausted and… unwell. Should I call for a healer?”

  “Oh, god, no.” Seth laughed, seemingly finding her concern hilarious. “I’d just drifted off when my brother asked me to come with him. I’m still half-asleep, I suppose.” He shrugged.

  Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “Where are your guards?”

  No one had been trailing the two brothers when they’d come down this corridor. She knew Wyett’s night guards were in their positions around the chambers, but Seth’s night guards should have been with him.

  Seth shook his head indulgently, smiling. “They’re outside Wyett’s door.”

  “I’ll take you to them.” She raised her chin, a Princess speaking to an equal.

  “And abandon your position?” Seth raised an eyebrow.

  She still hadn’t taken the crossbow from him, she realised, and worrying that it was burdening him, she snatched it from his hands. “It will be just for a minute,” she reasoned.

  “A minute is all he needs,” the Prince whispered so only she could hear. Wyett would use it against her, if she deserted her post. Get her thrown out of the castle.

  “I’ll still be inside these quarters,” she said equally quietly.

  He whispered back, “It won’t matter.” Then, in a slightly louder voice, “I really am fine. Though, Wyett isn’t. Don’t you want to know why he’s giving the crossbow back?”

  That distracted her. “Why?”

  “Because he didn’t win it back.”

  “He did.” The chin lifted again.

  “You gave him the advantage, the opportunity… He realised it the moment he won, and he was livid.” Yes, she’d seen it in his eyes. “So, he won’t accept it, what he thinks is trickery on your part, letting him win.”

  “I didn’t let him—”

  “I know why you did it,” Seth told her in a soft voice. “You don’t want us to think that you’re dangerous. Don’t want to be seen as a threat. I spoke to the guards that were close to where you were duelling. They heard what you said to my brother. I know what you meant by honour.

  “It’s the same as accepting the fact that someone else will be King instead of you, because they were born first, or because they’d won a competition. That’s how it is in Adgar, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Everyone competing in The Contest believes that the winner, the one named Heir by their father or mother, has won the title fairly, that the King or Queen has made an unbiased choice based on their children’s performances in the tournament over the years. It’s about honouring that choice.”

  The Prince was thoughtful for a few moments. “Has anyone ever challenged the decision, deemed it unfair or biased?”

  Aaryana swallowed. “I think that has happened on occasion.”

  “How did they resolve it?”

  “Provided that the challenger was believed to have a valid argument and had come second in The Contest, they were allowed to take on the newly named Heir for the title.”

  “Like in a duel?”

  She nodded. “In the Stone Ring.”

  “The stadium made out of a mountain,” he mused, a distant look in his green eyes. So, they’d heard of the Ring in Roshdan, then. “And they fought it out for the Throne? Until one of them couldn’t rise inside the count to ten?”

  She shook her head. “It was a fight to death.”

  Seth whistled.

  “Most of my ancestors honoured the decision made by the King or Queen and didn’t challenge the choice in Heir,” she assured him. “And then my father’s great-great-grandfather changed things. He was the one that put a stop to the Heirs duelling each other in The Contest. He also took away the Heirs’ right to challenge their parents’ decision.”

  “I couldn’t imagine anyone other than Wyett becoming the next King,” Seth murmured, still looking thoughtful. “I wouldn’t want to compete against him.”

  Wyett couldn’t remember the last time he’d pressed his ears to a door for the purposes of eavesdropping. And he wished he hadn’t done that while his brother was in conversation with the girl: He didn’t enjoy the fact that she’d detected the unhealthy pallor of Seth’s face. That she’d been able to tell so quickly that Seth was unwell. That she’d probably judged Wyett for dragging his poorly brother from his bed so he could return the crossbow to her.

  In his defence, Wyett was so accustomed to Seth’s bouts of illnesses that he hardly noticed its physical manifestations anymore. Nor did anyone else in the Palace. Seth didn’t want them to, either. He didn’t want people to see his sickness when they saw him. Didn’t want to be treated differently because of it.

  He often said that he didn’t see it in his reflection, didn’t feel it when his condition took those turns for the worse. Seth had trained himself to feel healthy even when he wasn’t. Trained himself to think he was absolutely fine, to not think about his health at all. Only when someone new came along and commented on it did Seth have to acknowledge he was… not like everyone else.

  After Seth left, Wyett opened his bedroom door and walked into the narrow hallway. Closing the door behind him, he turned to the Adgari and cleared his throat to gain her attention. She slid her eyes towards him but held her position, facing forward.

  “You are not to say another word about Seth’s appearance, to him or anyone else,” he told her with all the authority of a Crown Prince.

  She stiffened, her chin lifting, but said nothing.

  “Is that clear?” he demanded.

  She hesitated a few moments, as though she was thinking about the best way to refuse his request.

  Then, “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Nodding imperceptibly, Wyett reached for his doorknob and twisted it.

  Just as he slipped back inside his room, she shuffled around and asked, “Will he be alright?”

  He spun around to remind her that he’d only just told her to refrain from mentioning Seth’s condition. But then he saw the expression on her face. Worry. Concern. Fear. He remembered that she’d sounded just as concerned when she’d asked Seth if he was alright, just as genuine.

  It made him say, “Yes.”

  She closed her eyes, releasing a relieved breath through her nose.

  “As for the long-term… I hope so.”

  Her eyes flew open and she swallowed painfully. It was as if she cared. She couldn’t. Why would she? Seth was nothing to her. The two of them had only just met. And the girl seemed to be only care about herself, her ambitions. Yes, she probably had friends and family back home that she loved, but Seth was neither friend nor family. Wyett didn’t think her capable of developing an attachment to someone outside her inner circle. Not a genuine one, that’s for sure.

  Unless she wanted to use Seth for her own needs…

  “Stay away from Seth,” he warned her. “Or you will have me to deal with.”

  Aaryana fell into a deep sleep following that shift and slept almost all day. It was because she didn’t eat breakfast. She didn’t have the appetite after spending the entire night worrying that Seth might be suffering from a fatal illness. That he might die young. Die soon. Although she hardly knew him, she could see the kindness in him, the goodness. She didn’t want to lose him.

  Jeena woke her at seven o’clock that evening, an apologetic expression on her face. “I’m so sorry, my Lady, but your shift starts in an hour and I thought you’d want to have a bath and have something to eat…”

  Aaryana gave the girl an appreciative smile and went into the bathing chamber, where a steaming hot bath awaited her. “Just the way I like it,” she said, pointing at the bath
tub. “Thank you, Jeena. You’re a star.”

  “I’m glad you finally slept so well,” the girl said, beaming. “I find that I sleep very well on Wednesdays, too. It’s halfway through the week, that’s why.”

  When she walked into the lounge after bathing and dressing for her shift, Aaryana’s tummy growled at the sight of the dinner laid out for her. “Lamb!” she shrieked with delight.

  Dropping to the floor, she dug right in and ate quickly. So quickly that she had fifteen minutes before she needed to make her way to Wyett’s chambers.

  Leaning back on the chaise seat behind her, she asked Jeena, “What’s your favourite food? I think Roshdani lamb is my favourite. No matter how it’s cooked, it tastes better than any lamb dish I’ve had in Adgar.”

  Tonight’s lamb had come in the form of a thick, spicy stew, caramelised onions clinging to the succulent cubes of meat. The rice and flatbread that came with it were more or less untouched; she’d filled up on meat.

  “I like cakes the best, my Lady,” Jeena told her, cheeks colouring. “All kinds of cakes. Every kind there is.”

  “And who’s your favourite member of the Royal Family? I like His Majesty the best. He is a fine King.”

  Jeena’s brows furrowed for a tiny moment before she said, “Most people like Prince Wyett the best, but they think Prince Sethson is the kindest.”

  “Seth is kind,” Aaryana agreed. “He said I could call him Seth, just Seth.” Jeena looked impressed. “But… Wyett told me not to be friends with his brother,” she said softly. “Even though I know Seth wants to be friends…” She sighed.

  “Don’t be so disheartened, my Lady,” Jeena soothed. “The Crown Prince has always been protective of his brother.”

  “I would have thought he’d be protective of Princess Quin; she’s the youngest. And the first Roshdani Princess in generations.”

  “Yes, but Princess Quin hasn’t been poorly since the moment she was born.”

  The girl’s words sent a jolt of pain through Aaryana’s chest. Seth has been ill since birth. She didn’t comment on it; she’d been ordered not to. But Wyett hadn’t ordered her to not talk about being friends with Seth—if that led to people telling her about Seth’s illness, it wasn’t her fault.

  Aaryana waited for Jeena to elaborate on what she’d said, knowing that the girl would. Talking about the rebels might be forbidden in the castle, but it was clear that talking about Seth’s sickness wasn’t. Not officially, anyway.

  “Oh, don’t look so worried, my Lady. Prince Seth isn’t as poorly as his second uncle was.”

  “How many uncles does he have?”

  “None, anymore,” replied Jeena. “But His Majesty was the youngest of three brothers.”

  “So, how did the youngest brother become King?”

  Aaryana sat up straight, leaned her elbows on the table, and nestled her chin in her hands.

  “Well, His Majesty’s eldest brother was King first. But none of his children lived beyond infancy.” Jeena shook her head in sympathy, sadness. “He died before he even turned fifty. Without an Heir.”

  “And the middle brother—Seth’s second uncle—was too ill to take the Throne?”

  “The middle brother was never in line for the Throne, my Lady. He was sick since birth, and deemed too weak to be in the line of succession, too ill to marry and have children—”

  “He wasn’t allowed to get married?” Aaryana was appalled.

  “He wouldn’t have been able to fulfil the responsibilities of a husband, you see. And it would’ve been unfair to the woman he married, a waste of her life. The Prince was bedridden most of the time…”

  A wave of sympathy passed through her. “That makes sense. So, when the first brother died, the third brother took the Crown?”

  Jeena nodded. “At the tender age of thirty-six. Five years ago.”

  Coming from Adgar, Aaryana thought King Keyan had been rather old when he was Crowned. Kings and Queens of Adgar always ascended the Throne at half that age and their reigns were short. Belatedly, she realised that Wyett’s mother had died only four years ago—the Chief Riding Officer had said that she died after a year of becoming Queen. At least her children were more or less grown by then.

  “When did the sick brother pass away?” Aaryana asked, swallowing painfully.

  “Three years ago, my Lady.”

  “How old was he?”

  Aaryana inhaled deeply and held the breath in her lungs.

  Seeing Aaryana’s distress, Jeena didn’t mince words. “Forty-four, my Lady.”

  Forty-four. Seth might live until he was in his mid-forties. It might not be a tender age for ascension, but it was for death. Then again, Jeena had said that Seth’s condition wasn’t as severe as his uncle’s. He might have a longer life than his uncle, too. But he’d still be unwell his entire life.

  “What was his ailment?”

  “It had no name,” Jeena replied. “The healers hadn’t been able to explain it…” The girl’s skin paled.

  Aaryana’s heart throbbed. “But it’s the same sickness that Seth has?” she whispered without meaning to.

  “Everyone believes so, yes.”

  “And there’s no cure?” Aaryana swallowed, already knowing the answer.

  “None that’s been found.”

  “How is that—”

  Aaryana’s words were cut off by the chiming of the clock above the fireplace. It was eight o’clock! Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed her weapons belt from the floor and headed for the door. Just before she opened it, she stopped still.

  “Jeena, who was Micah’s father?”

  “My Lady?” Jeena gasped.

  Aaryana spun around to face the maid. Jeena was wide-eyed, her cheeks red.

  “His Majesty told me that Micah is his nephew,” Aaryana said in a low voice so the guards outside her room wouldn’t hear her. “But if the previous King—the first brother—left no Heirs, and the middle brother didn’t even marry, and they had no sisters, then who fathered the rebel leader?”

  “I’m sorry, my Lady,” Jeena mumbled. “I’m not—we’re not supposed to talk of it. Please forgive me. And please don’t ask me again.”

  Wednesday night’s shift was uneventful. The Crown Prince retired to his rooms later than he had the previous night, so he hadn’t caught her being late for duty. The other guards gave her indulgent smiles as she rushed past them to her position. Something about their expressions assured her that they wouldn’t report her tardiness to Wyett or the Head of the Royal Guards.

  When she returned to her rooms, she decided that a little bit of porridge wouldn’t hurt. Avoiding tea once again, she changed into her nightgown and fell back on her bed, surprisingly sleepy. Even more astonishing was the fact that she fell asleep after just a few minutes of tossing and turning, and slept through the daylight hours.

  Jeena didn’t apologise when she roused Aaryana at seven in the evening, and served her dinner without a word once Aaryana had bathed and dressed. The girl was afraid of what she’d end up saying if she conversed with Aaryana about anything at all. Sighing with disappointment, Aaryana made her way to Wyett’s rooms with a heavy heart. She had lost a potential friend, someone she could talk to...

  She hadn’t missed Myraa so much in her life. She refused to let herself miss her former Combat Master. Or Malin and the boy Princes. So, she took her spot outside Wyett’s bedroom on Thursday night and started counting in her head. She might as well get accustomed to her mental voice, being her only form of company—

  Wait. There was one person she could befriend and Aaryana knew just how to go about it.

  If anyone had told her at start of the week that she’d be waiting to breakfast with Erisa on Friday morning, she wouldn’t have believed it. But she’d wanted to speak with the girl ever since they’d met, and this was the perfect opportunity. That is, if Lady Rozlene’s daughter accepted Aaryana’s invitation.

  She had sent Jeena to Erisa’s room almost twenty minutes ago
and the girl had yet to return. It wouldn’t take Erisa that long to turn her down, would it? Unless, mother and daughter had already left their rooms to go dine with the King in the main hall? No. It was too early for that, Aaryana had timed it as such.

  Aaryana had finished her second cup of tea when the door finally opened, and she eased to her feet when Erisa stepped inside. Giving her a bow, Aaryana thanked Erisa for coming and showed her to the chaise opposite hers.

  “No, thank you, Lady Aaryana, for asking me to join you,” Erisa said in a soft voice as she sat down. “I am delighted to be here.”

  Rozlene definitely ordered her to get close to me. Well, that was exactly what Aaryana wanted. She poured them some tea and said, “Please, just call me Aaryana.”

  “Then you must call me Erisa.”

  Aaryana shook her head. “I don’t have a title, in Roshdan, or anywhere else. But you are a Lady, and I shall call you that.”

  Now, it was Erisa that shook her head. Taking her cup, she insisted, “Title or not, you are the daughter of a King—”

  “He is King no longer,” Aaryana cut in. “My sister has been Crowned, I am sure of it.”

  “Then, it seems we will both call each other Lady…” Erisa smiled, rolled her eyes.

  Aaryana pushed several plates of breakfast items towards the girl, and picked up a piece of grilled bread. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Erisa seemed surprised by the question but answered nonetheless. “Nineteen.”

  “The same age as Prince Wyett!”

  The girl nodded. “I’m a few months younger than Wyett, but yes.”

  Leaning over the table, Aaryana said conspiratorially, “Both Princes look so much older, though. With their broad shoulders and muscles.” Even Seth, sick Seth, was built like a warrior.

  Erisa wrinkled her nose. “I’ve known them since we were infants, so I still see them as little boys.”

  “I suppose it’s like that with everyone you grow up with,” Aaryana mused, sipping her tea.

  “Not everyone, but most people, yes.”