Page 12 of Beast and Remedy (The Last of the Heirs #2)

The Strain in My Neck

T he carriage ride to Palaena was arduous and unpleasant. Constant jostling made it hard to relax, and it didn’t help that my favorite company, my book, was consistently disrupted by Papa’s loud snoring.

My twin and I exchanged glances, a game of tolerance to see who would crack first and elbow him to save ourselves from the earache of his vibrating vocal cords.

Laughs were stifled each time we would startle Papa awake, him partially forgetting we were still in transit before resuming his sleeping position.

He and Marian would dive into conversations before the sound eventually muted itself as I would be transported deep into my stories.

With a strained neck and sore wrists from holding up my book, I linger before we exit the carriage to the gray stone path guiding us to the heart of Palaena.

The month-long winter is in full swing, the season change visible on the soil and snowdrop flowers landscaping the estate.

Frost-covered vines scale up one side of the broad castle. Pillars hover over the entrance, where more ivy leaves and floral blooms vacate into a slumbering plant cycle, biding their time and strengthening their roots before blossoming again come spring.

King Jerrick, Queen Tove, and Prince Jonas greet us as we pass over the threshold.

My father forgoes the pleasantries he and Mama instilled in us and heads straight for the queen.

The Queen of Palaena breaks into a full grin, her bright ice-blue eyes and porcelain skin complementing the winter season. She tucks a loose strand of her long silver locks behind one ear, releasing her husband’s hand as Papa opens his arms.

“It’s been too long, Bernie,” she sighs when they collide for an embrace, her long gown blurring with my father’s vest as he spins them.

Papa chuckles. “I’ve missed you too, Tove.”

Queen Tove breaks from the hug first, smoothing the wrinkles in her dress as Papa’s large frame towers over her short stature.

The two men approach behind the queen, and I straighten as they bow to us.

Prince Jonas shares a similar height and build with his brother.

The notable difference, his hair, is grown out to his nape and matches his squinting chestnut eyes.

His bright demeanor radiates through his genuine smile, whereas his sibling exudes an aloofness so dark and cold it unsettles my blood.

King Jerrick’s black shoulder-length hair is tied back, framing his face and highlighting the long scar over one of his glacial-blue eyes. A sharp jawline and commanding aura add to his striking features, making my own stare linger.

“King Bernard, Princess Vivienne, and Princess Marian. We are pleased to see you’ve arrived safely,” the King of Palaena greets us, voice refined and respectful.

Marian and I curtsy as my father speaks. “We wouldn’t have missed the celebration. Especially with news of a future heir soon to grace these lands.”

Queen Tove turns bashful, touching her flushed cheeks before King Jerrick takes her hand. She beams at her husband, a silent exchange between them filled with love and adoration.

The king’s gaze never leaves hers, a softness slipping through his features. “Yes, another celebration of many we intend to have.” He pulls his wife close, kissing her forehead.

The raw vulnerability and openness they share stirs a longing in my chest, a craving so desperate—so needy. I want it for myself with my person.

A lump forms in my throat.

Queen Tove’s attention drifts to my sister and me.

I blink rapidly, ignoring the stuttering of my heart, and smile. “We are grateful to visit for a few nights—and thank you for your hospitality for the festival.”

“Yes, I, too, am excited to sit and discuss new trade,” Papa adds.

“Might we discuss these sensitive topics behind closed doors?” King Jerrick suggests.

Queen Tove chimes in. “Yes, we will send for refreshments and can meet before the festivities this evening.”

My father clasps his hands. “Wonderful! We appreciate it, Tove.”

Prince Jonas stops us and holds up a piece of paper. “Before you settle in, I wanted to give you this letter we received to deliver upon your arrival.”

Papa tilts his head before taking the note and opening it. His eyes roam over the words, and he scoffs.

“Is everything alright?” Queen Tove asks as my father scrunches up the message.

He waves off her question. “My advisors wanted to report an animal attack in one of our villages. But rest assured, they are helping the townsfolk while we are away, and we will hold court for the citizens to ensure we resupply anything damaged or lost.”

My eyes widen at Marian, and she shrugs.

It’s not uncommon for animals to linger near villages in the winter month, seeking food and shelter. But I can’t help the unease crawling up my spine.

It couldn’t be related. Could it?

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Queen Tove says. “Should you need anything, don’t hesitate to let Jer and I know.”

“Thank you,” Papa replies.

Prince Jonas clears his throat. “Yes, we have plenty of resources to offer. We can discuss it further in our meeting if you’d like.” He extends his hand down one long hallway toward a set of stairs.

I grimace.

There will be at least three more staircases we will have to climb before we reach the guest wing. I fucking hate it. I’d much rather go up one stairwell versus four . Not to mention I’m already exhausted from sitting up in the carriage for most of our trip.

It’s only for a few days, Vi. You’ll be fine.

I bite back my complaints before anyone can notice.

“Let’s get settled in first before we jump straight into problem-solving. Besides, I’m sure my advisors will have it handled before I even return,” my father says.

The Prince of Palaena nods. “Of course. Let me show you to your rooms and where we can gather within the hour.”

I grind my teeth as Marian and I follow Papa and Prince Jonas, who immediately engage in discussions about the weather and the list of guests attending this evening’s event. I relax a fraction, listening in for one name.

My ribs grow tight as the prince lists off attendants, my breath restricting before even going up the first staircase when I don’t hear his name mentioned.

And when I peer to the King and Queen of Palaena, I can’t help but linger on the note my father received from Jean and Pierre.

My magic heightens, and I rub my arms in earnest, wanting to dismiss it but still putting my faith in the Makers to keep our kingdom safe.

Letum, the Deity of Death, and Yeva, the Deity of Life, are celebrated for the duration of winter in Draymenk with balls, festivals, or other gatherings, depending which kingdom you reside in.

But the most common tradition throughout all five kingdoms is the lantern ceremony during the Celebration of Spirits.

Every person chooses which Maker they wish to honor, dedicating protection toward passed-on loved ones or future loved ones before lighting and lifting a lantern into the sky.

When I was young, Papa and Mama taught us to make a wish. And even now, at my nine-and-twenty age, I still make my own wish. One I’ve repeated for years.

The chance to be with him.

A crisp breeze prickles my exposed flesh as I light my lantern and lift it. My mahogany waves blow in front of my vision, and I tuck them back as the beacon rises, floating to join its companions in the dark-purple-hazed starlight.

Many of the other guests return to the ballroom as I watch, tremors running through me. But I can’t rip my eyes away from my wish-filled lantern swirling and colliding with others.

I gather my thick green cloak, hugging myself as I marvel at the beauty of my world, the beauty of this tradition, and the beauty of love so many extend to loved ones and the Makers.

Footsteps sound to my left, and I am caught off guard by Queen Tove.

She wears a diadem of white gold and cerulean sapphires, carved into circles, and her silver plaited hair cushions the crown. The gems highlight her ice-blue irises and her matching long-sleeved gown.

Even with pregnancy, her curves fill the dress nicely, and the small swell of her belly creates an aura of light around her.

Her dark-pink-stained lips lift into a sincere smile. “Princess Vivienne, I was hoping we might have a moment to talk.”

I glance past her, noting her husband guiding everyone but the two of us inside. Trepidation coils in my chest, and I tighten my grip on my cloak, not wishing to remain outside any longer.

“I never got the chance to thank you for the herbs and medicine you suggested I have made for my cycles,” she adds quickly.

I’m taken aback, much like the first time she approached me a few years ago.

Papa and the queen discussed my studies and interests in healing and medicine during one of their visits, and she had reached out privately, asking if I knew of anything apart from what her healers give her to assist with spasms and painful cycles.

Her experience was heartbreaking, reminding me how drastically a woman’s monthly bleeding could vary. I offered her remedies I curated for myself and Marian and even provided tonics my sister and I have used to avoid pregnancy.

But knowing her role, where she also might be tasked with furthering her family’s legacy, I included ingredients that could increase her chances of having a child should she and her partner ever wish it.

“Oh, there’s no need, Your Majesty. I was happy to help,” I say awkwardly, wanting to escape, fearful she will see right through me as another royal with magic.

I would die of mortification if she ever found out what I saw all those years ago.

She cradles her stomach, looking down as she presses her lips together. “I was wondering if you had any tips that could help with my pregnancy?”

“Oh!” I startle, relief washing over me and my eagerness to help drive forward. “What are your symptoms?”

She caves her shoulders inwardly. “Well, the usual nausea in the mornings, which my healers have medicine for. But I don’t have much for the back pain and the swelling in my legs.

” She lifts her skirts, pointing her foot out.

“And I was also worried about the labor itself. If there might be anything I can do to prepare for it?”

I look over her leg, noting the inflammation with surprise. “I see.”

She seems very early along, her stomach barely showing. Although, given her painful cycles, she is valid in having concerns. Her healers should have some insight.

But what if they don’t?

“I would recommend working close with your healers as they see you and will watch your progress more than I. However, given what you’ve told me about your bleedings, I would exercise caution in regard to stress.

You will want as much rest and care as possible.

Regarding pain and labor, you could try herbs in your foods and in teas, such as raspberry leaves, lemon balm, and rose hips. ”

A grin spreads across her cheeks as she tucks her foot under her gown. “Thank you. Truly.”

“It’s my pleasure.” I incline my head. “It’s funny because I was hoping to mention something in our meeting earlier but missed the opportunity.”

“What can I do to help?”

Her immediate willingness to assist removes the tension and chill from my limbs as I smile with gratitude. “I was hoping I might be able to replenish my personal inventory of honey you gifted me a while back.”

“Of course. Are there any other ingredients you need?”

“Just the honey would be perfect. Thank you, Your Majesty,” I say, lowering into a curtsy.

“Oh, come now,” she chides, stepping forward. “If I can address your father as Bernie, you have no need to curtsy and use pleasantries every time we speak. Please , call me Tove.”

She takes my arm and loops it through hers, and I’m grateful the training royals learn at a young age can be relaxed amongst each other.

“If I have to call you Tove, then you have to call me Vi,” I quip, and she pats my hand.

We enter the ballroom, moving from the crowd as the music swells and bounces off the decorated walls.

From the long rug covering the marbled floor to the table covers and the seating areas on the sidelines, the room is drenched with black to symbolize Letum.

But the light from the glass chandeliers, the staff members adorned in white, and the hundreds of lilies, chrysanthemums, and roses draw in Yeva’s existence.

Oblivion and Salvation.

Life and Death.

The very counterparts of our existence and balanced throughout the room.

My body warms as I scan the crowd, Marian and Papa happily chatting with Prince Jonas and King Jerrick.

My father’s eyes find mine, and he brightens, lifting a glass to Tove and me as we reunite with the group.

King Jerrick moves, nudging his brother to be beside his wife. He whispers in her ear with the same tenderness I saw when we arrived, my uncertainty about him dissolving the more I observe him.

Marian tugs on my cloak. “Everything alright? Did you ask about the honey?”

I hover toward her, whispering, “Yes to both.”

“Good. At least something worthwhile came from this visit. That meeting earlier was a waste. We already were trading metals with them—not sure why Papa wanted to add more items to the list.”

I glance to Papa, who’s sipping his wine and clasping Prince Jonas by the shoulder and laughing.

Leaning toward Marian, I reply, “I think he wanted a reasonable excuse to tell Jean and Pierre so we could visit the queen since her announcement.”

Marian smirks behind her own cup. “Yes, he is going to want to spoil that child rotten as if it is one of his own grandchildren.”

I snort, trying to stifle it. “I bet he’ll try to get her to name the child after him.”

Marian chokes on her drink, snickering and catching Papa’s attention. She coughs, and I mask my laughter and pat her back.

“Are you alright?” Prince Jonas asks.

Marian swallows, waving off his concern and rasping, “All well, Your Highness.”

Her flushed cheeks match my own as Tove and her husband eye us suspiciously. I’m unable to hide my comment.

“We were discussing how we think our father might try to get you to name your heir after him.”

“That’ll be the last name we consider,” her husband deadpans.

Tove covers her mouth, suppressing her own snicker. “Bernie would try for that, wouldn’t he?”

King Jerrick’s jaw tics, and Papa asks, “Try for what?”

“Sweet Makers,” the King of Palaena mutters before he takes a sip of his beverage.

Marian, Tove, and I burst into a fit of laughter.

Tove holds her chest, her teeth gleaming as she dismisses my father with a wave. “Nothing to worry about, Bernie.”

Papa arches a brow but sweeps it off as music breaks into a new song.

The group exchanges glances and shares jokes. And rather than wishing to be secluded in my room with a book, I find myself wishing to know the King and Queen of Palaena better, the night more enjoyable than I expected.