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Story: A War of Crowns

Chapter twenty-eight

Aldric

H is heart pounded as he drew closer to the Queen of Elmoria. She stank of the sea and usuru. Her eyes shone with open disgust.

He wanted nothing more than to throttle her in that moment.

Who did she think he was? Edmund ?

Did she think he had not seen the way she had hurried back to her pavilion and packed her things the very moment the new treaty with his brother had been signed? He had but one eye, it was true.

But it was a perfectly usable eye.

While looking up at her, her face closer to his than he would have reasonably liked, he bit back the urge to suddenly snarl at her in annoyance. To ask her what kind of fool she took him for.

She may have outwitted Edmund twice, but she was playing with the elder Hargrave now .

Her breath ghosted against his face on a murmur of, “Let us not forget that you are in my arena now, Crow. You may have bested Sir Dacre in the tourney. But I have no intentions of dueling you with a dulled blade.”

Calix choked on a laugh from somewhere behind him at that.

He fought the urge to throttle him, too.

“You know, you rather remind me of a kirei ,” Aldric softly informed her. As he had anticipated, that unfamiliar Kunishi word earned naught but confusion from the woman.

“A kirei ?” she repeated.

He feasted on her clear agitation that he knew something she did not.

“A type of weasel found only in Kuni,” he explained, sending the queen's nose wrinkling. “They are exceedingly beautiful creatures, heavily prized for the coloring and softness of their coats—”

“If this is an attempt at flattery ,” his unwilling bride breathlessly scoffed, “then you are doing a horrendous job of it.”

“—but have been nearly hunted to extinction, given the sheer depth of their stupidity,” he finally finished, letting that last word hang in the growing silence between them.

It took a few moments for the full weight of his insult to land, but when it did, he was rewarded by the sight of the queen clenching her jaw as she twitched away from him. No doubt she was eager to restore distance again.

It was a feeling that was wholly and utterly mutual.

“Your Grace,” the queen bid to her Lord Chancellor. She spoke through clenched teeth. “Please ensure our guests are provided with lodgings appropriate to their station.” She arched an eyebrow and suggested, “Perhaps the stables?”

Before any rebuttal could be spoken, the woman turned and huffed her way off. Clearly, she was keen to have the last word.

Aldric narrowed his eye and watched her go.

After a brief pause, the Lord Chancellor of Elmoria rumbled quietly to himself and hobbled off as well, his cane stamping out a discordant rhythm on the marble floor as he went.

The very moment he was alone with his second-in-command, Calix observed with an entirely too jovial tone, “Well, that went well, I think.”

Aldric snarled in reply and set off, making his way back through the busy swirl of Elmorian courtiers to where he had left the rest of his Sons.

He hated the way they all looked at him, those Elmorians, their curiosity palpable and pressing. It had been entirely too long since last he had to endure court life—on display at all hours of the day, a spectacle for any and all.

At least in his exile at Blackrun, he had been free of such nonsense.

“She’s a bit feistier than I was expecting,” Calix continued, gossiping away like a merchant’s wife. As if Aldric cared even in the smallest amount about his bride’s feistiness. “I think I rather like her.”

“Then you marry her,” Aldric snapped .

His words earned a curious glance from his Sons as they finally drew within earshot, though it was Kyn who asked, “Is Mother engaged to a lady of the court already?”

“If only,” Calix sighed while joining the throng of leather-clad men who looked decidedly out of place amongst all the silk and lace of Elmorian high society.

“What’s the news, boss?” Rakon asked, looking particularly forlorn as he did.

Though to the young ones among them, this was no doubt all just another grand adventure, the oldest of his Sons all had that same air about them—the air of men being marched to the gallows.

He could not blame them. Here they were, surrounded by the reminder of all their lives could have been, had they simply been born under slightly different circumstances.

But at least they were here with him. They had followed him into the viper’s nest.

And that meant everything.

“We will be provided with rooms,” Aldric informed his men as he led the way toward the exit to the gallery. The stench of so much perfume was already smothering him, and he needed some fresh air.

His Sons hurried to follow.

Leif was the only one to fish for further details with a question of, “Will we be staying for long?”

Aldric uttered a simple, “No.”

Thankfully, no one pressed for more information after that .

Still, he had yet to fully inform his men beyond Calix of just what the plan was. He was certain at least a good handful of them had already riddled it out, though. It was an easy enough plan to guess: wed the queen, and then find some way to kill her without it being too painfully obvious it had been him.

And then leave.

Edmund intended for him to sit there and rule Elmoria in his stead, like a puppet plopped upon the throne? Aldric had no such intentions.

But he would kill the kirei queen for his brother so he could return home to Blackrun, to holding the Drakmori border, and to discovering the secrets behind the newest threat in the east—the strange warlord who styled himself the Bonesinger.

Which all sounded a good deal more interesting than playing usurper to a people who were not even his own.

Edmund could simply make a play for the Elmorian throne along with the rest of the world in the chaos which would follow the fall of House de la Croix.

“When do you think they serve dinner here, Father?” Sven abruptly asked him. That question earned a laugh from the other Sons.

It was Tayn, though, who drawled, “How’s he supposed to know, you dolt? He’s been here just as long as you have.”

“I’m more wondering what we’re supposed to be doing until they get rooms ready for us,” Eisway admitted aloud, sounding uncertain. The man had made a full recovery from his unseating at the joust, and he had only a fresh scar cutting across his eyebrow to show for it.

And though Aldric had no intention of voicing such a thing aloud himself, he wondered, too. “Well, whatever we decide to do,” he dryly rumbled as they finally made it out into the open air of the palace courtyard, “Her Majesty has instructed that we are to behave .”

Summer was just around the corner, and the warmth of the day was still a welcome reprieve after the hot press of so many bodies back in the gallery. At least in the courtyard, there was a breeze.

Aldric had only a few seconds at most to enjoy the moment, though, before laughter rang out through the courtyard, followed by a call of, “And here comes your replacement now, Crestley!”

Aldric swiveled a hard glance to his right until his left eye could take in the pack of noblemen loitering off that way. There were four of them.

“Who are they?” he asked Calix sidelong, though he kept his attention fixed on the four men. The prettiest of them glared back, though the other three were all smiles. Clearly, they found something amusing about the situation.

Him. He was what was amusing about the situation.

Calix muttered beneath his breath, “The pretty one is Tiberius Beaumont, the Baron of Crestley. The sickly looking one is Bennett Threston, son of the Duke of Coreto. I don’t know the other two.”

One of those names, Aldric knew. One of those names, the entire world knew .

Tiberius Beaumont, the Baron of Crestley.

The queen’s lover.

Crestley was tall, golden, and oozed with excess. The man wore more jewelry than even Edmund, and he dressed with all the flamboyance of a bard.

He now saw that the Queen of Elmoria had a type .

And it was the exact opposite of him.

“He is hardly a replacement,” Crestley snarled to his peers, disdain dripping from his every word. “Do not dare stand there and compare me to a dwarf .”

Rakon grunted at the nobleman’s words. But Calix did far more than that.

Before Aldric could stop him, his second-in-command stalked off in that direction and announced, “You will refer to the Prince of Drakmor as His Highness, or you will not refer to him at all.”

Aldric took swift stock of the noble quartet. Only two of them were clearly armed, with rapiers belted at their hips—the peacock and the one with the sickly cast to his features.

In contrast, all of his men had live steel hidden somewhere on their persons. The palace guards had already confiscated their visible weapons aside from Aldric’s own. But a member of the Twelve Sons was never unarmed.

He liked their odds, should it come to blows.

But he was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. He was supposed to be behaving , after all .

When Crestley sneered down at Calix and proclaimed, to the amused chuckles of his companions, “No one asked for your opinion, you Kunishi savage, ” that hope was promptly dashed.

That was absolutely the worst possible thing anyone could have ever said to Calix Fitzjesmaine, the bastard son of a Drakmori border lord and the Kunishi shieldmaiden his father had once seduced .

At his side, Leif let loose with a low whistle, while Aldric shifted his weight to his right foot and reached back to grasp the glaive harnessed over his shoulder.

Calix’s response to the nobleman was immediate. Visceral. His anger roared to life with all the abruptness of a wildfire as he launched himself at Crestley with one of his many daggers suddenly within his hand. “I am not Kunishi,” he hotly denied with all his usual self-loathing.

Rakon sighed, “Thought we were supposed to be behaving, boss,” when Aldric unsheathed his glaive and turned it about so its sharp point was angled downward and behind him.

Without answering, he launched himself toward the growing madness.

“Calix!” Aldric called as he whipped the length of his polearm between the two men and swept his second-in-command backward from the queen’s favorite. “Calix, stop .”

But it was too late.

Blood had already been drawn.

“He cut me,” Crestley screamed, blood oozing down his cheek. “ He cut me.”

Setting his jaw, Aldric stepped between the nobleman and Calix and took up a defensive stance, his glaive held in a guard position.

But the baron ignored him. He had eyes only for Calix over Aldric’s shoulder when he snarled, “You’re going to hang for this, savage. You’re going to hang. Guards! Guards!”

As it always did when Aldric was in the very heat of battle, everything seemed to slow. Every single one of his senses shifted into crystalline focus to make up for his half-blind state.

He was aware of the pounding of boots on the cobblestones. The shifting of armored bodies behind him as his men readied themselves to fight. He smelled the tang of the baron’s blood on the wind.

More blood would soon be spilled if he didn’t do something to stop it.

“Duel me,” Aldric growled to his bride’s lover, earning a bewildered glance from Crestley at last.

“What?” the other man asked.

Aldric twisted his lips and stepped forward, driving the baron backward by a single step. He was aware of the Elmorian guards lingering on the edges of the altercation. Their uncertainty was nearly as palpable as the warm breeze flirting all around.

He roared up to the nobleman, “I said duel me. If I win, my man is absolved of any crime or insult.”

The baron huffed out a breath and glanced aside, eyeing his fellow Elmorians. “And what if I win?”

“You won’t,” Aldric promised on another low snarl .

A small smile pulled at the corner of Crestley’s mouth as he unbuttoned his doublet to reveal the pristine undershirt beneath. “How about this, then: if I win, you will turn right around and sail back home.”

Aldric frowned and pointed out to the man, “You do not have the authority to dismiss me from Her Majesty’s court.”

“Very well,” Crestley sighed. “You’re right.” The baron tossed his doublet to the sickly man, the one named Threston. “If I win, your Kunishi hangs.”

“Fine,” Aldric agreed after giving the peacock another once-over. The man wore lace.

It would be easy enough to best such a fop.

Crestley’s smile deepened. “Shall we duel to first blood, then?”

“If it was to first blood,” Calix taunted, “you’d have already lost.”

“Shut up, Calix,” Aldric snapped. But his second-in-command was right. The baron was already bleeding. “To a yield?”

“To a yield,” Crestley agreed at once.

In the very next moment, the queen’s peacock had his rapier in his hand. Aldric had barely seen him draw it.

Crestley lunged straight for Aldric without pause. The sheer speed of the other man caught him off guard. He didn’t block the incoming blade swiftly enough, and the sharp tip of the rapier slipped like a knife through butter in the scant space at his right shoulder, where the sleeve of his brigandine armor laced into his jerkin.

Aldric bit back a growl as pain flared around the pierced skin .

The baron smiled. “If it was to first blood, you’d have already lost,” he purred, all taunting sweetness.

Aldric answered by thrusting the butt of his glaive into Crestley’s stomach, hard enough to steal the breath from the larger man. He smiled in kind.

What he had originally thought would be an easy victory was anything but. The Baron of Crestley was quick, with all the reflexes of a Drakmori alley cat.

Aldric fought hard to keep his opponent on the defensive. He rained blow after blow toward the baron’s legs, still using only his glaive’s pole rather than the blade.

But the baron easily kept pace, side-stepping and riposting his way toward what was shaping up to be a draw.

Aldric’s upper arms and shoulders burned with the evidence of each and every prick from his opponent’s rapier. But he was sure he had left his fair share of bruises on the baron in return.

On more than one occasion, he considered twirling his glaive the right way about and striking the man with the sharpened end of his own blade. But he just wanted to win. He didn’t want to kill the peacock.

Spearing the Baron of Crestley like a pig fit for a roast would not win him a wedding with the queen any sooner, he was certain.

“Have you had enough?” Crestley purred, driving Aldric on the defensive now. A dark amusement shone in the baron’s eyes, as if he was quite certain of just who would yield in the end.

But this was no game. This was not simply a meeting of egos.

Calix’s life hung in the balance .

Aldric set his jaw and lunged forward. He feinted to the left before shifting his focus toward the baron’s right, seeking to sweep the other man’s leg out from under him.

But before he could finish the move, Crestley shot his arm out and wrapped his still gloved fingers about the midsection of Aldric’s glaive. The peacock’s eyebrow arched as he braced them both with a strength Aldric never would have guessed was hidden beneath all that silk and lace.

“Stop!” shouted a woman from the edges of their duel.

The queen.

“Stop at once, the both of you!”

While Crestley turned his head to glance at the woman hurrying toward them both, Aldric let go of his glaive with his right hand and punched the other man as hard as he could, directly in the groin.

“I said stop!” the queen shouted again, close enough now that Aldric could nearly feel the anger crackling off of her.

But it didn’t matter. He had won.

“You…cheated…” Crestley croaked as he crumpled to the ground at Aldric’s feet.

Aldric simply smirked at that, though. No one had said he had to fight fair.

“Yield,” he commanded while lifting his polearm and holding it threateningly right alongside the side of the baron’s head. “Or I’ll crack your skull like an egg.”

“You most certainly will not,” his bride hissed from her place now looming over him. “Stop this nonsense at once. ”

“Or what?” Aldric softly asked her, though his one-eyed gaze remained on Crestley. He still waited for the man to yield. “What shall my punishment be, wife? The dungeons?” He shot her a quick, sidelong glance. “A flogging?”

The queen’s jaw flexed. Her nostrils flared.

Aldric looked back down at the man kneeling in front of him just in time to see the full heat of the baron’s hatred burning in his eyes when he whispered, “You are going to regret this, dwarf .”

Taking his gaze off the queen was a mistake, though.

He didn’t see it coming when the woman suddenly gripped him by the shoulder and forcefully shoved him away from the bested peacock.

The pain of his armor pressing into all the many wounds peppering his skin saw him gritting his teeth to keep from crying out.

She stepped between the two of them. “I told you to stop and you will stop,” she softly commanded, her eyes only for Aldric. “I leave you alone for five minutes— five minutes —and this is what you do?”

He frowned at her.

But she kept going.

“I gave you one command, Crow. To behave. And instead of doing that, I find you…” Her mouth worked a moment before she concluded, “ Brawling .”

Aldric barked out a laugh, earning a deep frown from the queen. But he didn’t care. He waved Kyn over and growled, “Your peacock threatened one of my men—”

“Then you come to me if there is a problem,” the queen insisted without pause. “This is Elmoria, not Drakmor. Justice is delivered from my lips, not at the end of a blade.”

He turned his head and lifted his gaze to meet the burn of her own. Before he could answer her, though, his men were upon them.

Calix reached him first. “You had me worried there for a moment, Your Highness.”

Aldric snapped a glare Calix’s way. The other man had the good sense to take a step back at that look, giving Kyn the space to step in and unbuckle the leather brigandine from Aldric’s chest.

“Never again, Calix,” Aldric snarled while letting Kyn do what he must. “And that goes for the lot of you,” he added for the rest of his Sons. “I want no more complications.” Silence was all that greeted him, though, until he snapped a question of, “Am I understood?”

A chorus of, “Yes, Father,” and, “Aye, boss,” along with a few, “Yes, Your Highness,” rang out from the twelve of them, though still Aldric wasn’t placated. His mood remained dark even as Kyn finished unbuckling his jerkin, leaving him free to tug off his own ruined undershirt so his medic could get a better view of the latest damage to his torso.

“What are you doing?” the queen whispered, clearly scandalized.

She was not the only one. A series of gasps escaped from some onlookers at the sight of him baring himself from the waist up right there in the courtyard. He ignored them all.

All save for one.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he snapped to the queen without bothering to look her way.

It didn’t take long for Kyn to complete his initial inspection. “None are too deep, Your Highness, but we need to get them cleaned and bandaged.”

Aldric grunted. “Well, we wouldn’t have to do this in the open if we had rooms prepared,” he taunted his bride in an aside. But when he next looked her way, it was to find she had already fled. He watched her hurry to the Baron of Crestley’s side, where she offered some quiet words to the man.

From his place at his shoulder, Rakon rumbled, “We’re not doing a great job so far of making friends, boss.”

A soft usuru cry was all the warning Aldric received before Soot was suddenly upon him as well. The sinuous beast wound its way up his right arm in a glide of dark scales and a flutter of wings.

Aldric breathed out a sigh through his nose and stroked a finger against the back of Soot’s head. “We’re not here to make friends, Rakon,” he warned his Son. His gaze remained fixed on the queen as he spoke, though. He watched her as she moved off again until the moment she disappeared back into her marble palace.

In her absence, his gaze wandered back toward where the Baron of Crestley now stood again with his peers. Hatred openly boiled on the other man’s face when their eyes briefly met.

Aldric’s jaw hardened at the sight. “In fact, I wager we’ll make many more enemies here before we’re through.”