Chapter 9

9

Britta

It hasn’t hit me until just now that I am the queen.

Yes, I knew the title was mine. But I am an eighteen-year-old girl with a broken heart, my parents are dead, my kingdom is under attack and there are dozens of men looking to me for orders that simply will not arrive on my tongue.

Richard has been apoplectic since I informed him of the attempt on my life at the hands of Corwin—if that was even his real name. “Your Majesty, I assure you, Prince Corwin is royalty. He comes from the finest lineage. His titles are many! He must have been replaced by a spy. That is the only explanation.”

“A spy from Northstream, no doubt,” I say, finding my voice. “They wanted to remove the queen before attacking. And they would have succeeded, if it wasn’t for…”

I can’t bring myself to say his name.

All of those things, Your Majesty…you ordered me to do them.

If I do not die today, I think those words will echo in my ears for the rest of my life. Because Rex is right. I did order him to touch me, kiss me, make love to me. I was just so sure he would have done those things anyway. That he needed my affections as much as I needed his. How could I have been so wrong? One day as a queen and already abusing my power. I ought to be sent to the gallows.

“I demand to be hidden!”

In a daze, I turn my head to the bald prince with bushy eyebrows. Is he still here? Why?

“Is there not a safe room for royalty?” The prince blusters, scurrying around the great hall. “I demand to be taken there at once. This is outrageous!”

“Perhaps we should bring both the queen and Prince Egregious to the safe hold below floors,” suggests Richard to the court, visibly grasping at straws. “There, they can marry. With a king on the throne, perhaps Northstream will retreat, fearing retaliation from two kingdoms.”

Behind me, there is a loud crash, as if a door has been kicked open.

I assume it’s the enemy and fear strikes my chest, but when I turn, it’s Rex.

He’s striding into the great hall with hell in his eyes.

But it hurts to look at him and remember what he said, so I turn away quickly. “No,” I say to Richard. Then louder, “No. Hear me now, all who listen. I will marry no man. Today alone, one has tried to kill me, another is displaying his cowardice and another still has cut the heart straight from my body. I will not marry. Not now. Not ever. Do not ask me again!”

Richard bows his head. “Yes, my queen.”

“Go hide the prince, as he wishes,” I order one of the guards.

“You need to be hidden, too, Britta,” Rex says, sounding hoarse. “You need to go somewhere safe. Immediately. Please.”

“No. I won’t.” Talking hurts. Standing upright hurts. Everything hurts. “And you’ve been relieved of your duties as my guard. Please go.”

“No.”

Fire presses in behind my eyes. “No?”

“No. I am not leaving you.” Rex shakes his head, takes a step in my direction. “I will protect my queen. Always.”

I shake my head. “No. You’ll protect the people.” That’s what I want, I realize. That is the order I need to give. A queen’s top priority is her people. However, I’m inexperienced and I don’t know how to command the men. One day I will. But for now, I am tongue tied.

It’s amazing what happens next.

I look at Rex and he seems to read my mind perfectly. He sees my desires and conflicts and exhaustion and he steps to my side, facing the audience of commanders and members of the court with an air of authority I have not witnessed in him before. “You. Take a dozen solders and warn Downsriver’s subjects. Tell them to move quickly to the east field, women and children first.” He moves his attention to a different commander. “You. The men in the towers need reinforcements immediately. Bring them more weapons from the stronghold. Keep them back from the palace at all costs. No one breaches its walls and gets near the queen—is that understood?”

“Yes,” they say in unison, beginning to look hopeful.

“Has the spy awoken?” I say, some of my composure returning. “Interrogate him. If he was sent to spy for Northstream, he might know their battle plan.”

Rex nods. “They have the element of surprise, but we know the land. We need to use that. Lure them in the direction of the inlet where the boats are moored. Have our soldiers cross the river in the boats and circle back around on foot. The Northstream soldiers will be left on the water’s edge with no way to cross.”

“They killed my parents,” I say, voice thick with emotion. “They tried to kill me, too. Drown them like rats.”

“Savage, my queen,” Rex says, giving me a seeking look. “I like it.”

The corner of my mouth tugs, but I beat back the smile. “And what will you do?”

Rex’s brows draw together and he looks out across the men taking up arms. The men who are complying with his orders, as well as mine. And he seems at a loss, which serves to frustrate me further. Doesn’t he see that they snapped into action as soon as he opened his mouth. Doesn’t he see how it might have been if we ruled side by side? I have the urge to show him now. To let him witness what he’s lost.

Or maybe I just love him beyond reason and want to show him his potential.

“You will lead, Rexington,” I say quietly. “You will lead.”

Uncertainty flickers in his eyes, but it’s in his nature to obey me, so he swallows once and nods. Gives me a long, final, memorizing look and strides off down the center of the men, soldiers hastening to create a path for their new leader.

An image of my giant lying in a pile of bloodied corpses freezes my blood. As if I needed any further proof that my love for him is still alive and well, perhaps even growing by the second. “And you will not die!” I cry out, before Rex can reach the doors of the great hall.

Rex stops, pausing with his hand on the frame, then continues on into the fray, dragging my heart along behind him.

* * *

Rex

Our plan—mineand Britta’s—works.

We push the Northstream soldiers to the edge of the inlet, circle around and come at them from the other direction, sending them swimming for their lives. Halfway through the battle, I receive word at the frontlines that Britta’s would-be assassin has given information about a second wave of soldiers, prompting me to lead dozens of men in a surprise attack at the kingdom’s perimeter.

The sun is beginning to dip on the horizon when the tide turns and Northstream retreats. With the threat of violence under control and the queen safe, I order the injured men to be taken to the east field where they can be attended to immediately. And with my adrenaline waning, I start to replay the last bloody hours of battle in my mind. I hear my voice shouting over the din of horse hooves and clashing of swords. I was asked to lead and I did so, because the queen asked it of me.

I never expected it to feel so natural.

Or for everyone to listen.

A man takes off his helmet now and regards me with respect as I move quickly back toward the palace, eager to see with my own eyes that Britta is unharmed.

Another solider performs the same gesture. And then another. And another.

A seed of pride is planted in my chest and begins to grow, nurtured by humility and a fair amount of shock. “Thank you,” I mutter, passing them.

“No, Downsriver thanks you, Rexington Monroe,” one of them calls at my back. “We’d have been flying the Northstream flag without you.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I nod and keep walking. But the closer I get to the palace, the more pressure invades my chest. Earlier today, the love of my life asked me to be her king and I turned her down, so certain I didn’t have what it took.

Is it possible…I do?

Jesus Christ, I almost hope not, because the timing of this realization could not be worse. I heard her vow never to marry. I heard the conviction in her tone. Any chance I had is gone. I’ve lost Britta…and I’m beginning to think I could have kept her.

No. Hear me now, all who listen. I will marry no man. Today alone, one has tried to kill me, another is displaying his cowardice and another still has cut the heart straight from my body. I will not marry. Not now. Not ever. Do not ask me again!

With those words banging around in my skull, I stop at the doors to the palace, rubbing at the center of my chest with the heel of my hand. My heart feels like it’s being choked by a garrote. I could have been her king, couldn’t I? More importantly, her husband. Her lover and friend. The father of her children. Who would have thought it possible? I am a leader after all. I’m not the butt of my sisters’ jokes or the pudgy, overlarge blacksmith. I’m a soldier. I’m a man that was wanted by the most incredible, fiercely beautiful girl on this earth.

Apparently I’m also a squandering fool.

Swallowing hard, I pull open the doors of the palace, clanking through the vestibule and into the great hall. Britta looks up sharply at my entrance and shoots to her feet, a hand flying to the arm of her throne, as if to steady herself.

Her lower lip trembles, her eyes growing luminous.

Love is like two hands squeezing me around the throat.

And I know in that moment there is no giving up.

My life will be a shambles without her.

I rip off my helmet and throw it aside, followed by my breastplate. The armor on my legs comes off next, which is imperative, so I can kneel in front of her. And I do that now. I kneel in front of my queen and beg for my life. “Ask me again,” I rasp loudly. Loud enough for the gathered soldiers and members of the court to hear. “Please, Britta. Ask me again to be your king.”

Her silence is like a knife slash.

Ah God, I hurt her so badly. It is agony knowing this.

But giving up is not an option.

I’ll never give up. On her. On us.

“Ask me to be your king again, so I can tell you I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you—every moment of it my own free will—since the day you rode in a procession past my home. I left my job to be near you, to guard you day and night, my love, because there is no one more precious in any kingdom. Worshipping a girl as thoroughly as I worship you, my queen, it was hard to imagine myself belonging at your side, but I would stand there a proud and fortunate man, if you will have me. I’m sorry I was a fool before. Please ask me again,” I finish brokenly.

I look up to find tears coursing down her cheeks.

For a long moment, however, she says nothing.

Until, miracle of miracles, she reaches down and brushes her fingertips down my face, bringing them away wet, studying them. “Will you be my king, Rexington Monroe?”

Joy and relief and love explode within me. She has taken me back. She has taken me back against all odds and I can barely breathe. “It would be an honor.”

I lunge to my feet and after what seems like a lifetime, Britta is back in my arms, and I carry my future wife out of the great hall to the tune of soldiers bashing their metal helmets on stone and shouting their approval. Shorty after, the members of the court add their voice to the chorus.

Then there is nothing but her. And the years unfolding in front of us like a shimmering path.