Page 5 of Crown of Iron (The Crown Trilogy #1)

Three

H ours tick by as I listen for everyone in my house to settle and morning to creep closer.

I lie in bed staring at the wooden beams that cross the ceiling.

My sisters’ conversation with my mother is filled with tears and an onslaught of questions about our father.

Through the wall I share with my brother’s room, I hear his boots tapping on the floor as he paces.

My family is just as shocked and heartbroken as I am.

It's one thing for my father to disappear without a word. We could make up our own stories, soothe our worries with optimistic possibilities. But to see him and watch him walk away, the choice seems so clear. Or is it? I know what I saw him sign, and I also know that the reason he is with Esmeray is because Micah has something she wants. I can’t remain silent when my father doesn’t truly want to be in Stigian.

Once everything in the house goes silent and dawn is a couple of hours away, I ease out of bed and pull on leather breeches, tucking my tunic inside the waist. There is no need for makeup to mask the freckles that pepper my cheeks and the bridge of my nose.

With steady hands, I slick my brown hair back and secure it at my nape in a ponytail that runs halfway down my back.

Lastly, I slip into a sensible set of riding boots and grab my packed satchel before tiptoeing into the hallway.

A single lantern burns on a decorative table, lighting the way for my little sister if she wakes up in the middle of the night.

When I reach the end of the corridor, I take a deep breath.

I haven’t entered my father’s study since he went missing.

This was the one area of the house that was just his space.

I never had a reason to enter unless he was here. That is until tonight.

The door creaks when I ease it open. Seconds pass as I remain still and wait to see if anyone heard it.

When no one comes, I step inside. It’s exactly the way it was the last time I was here.

Bookshelves line the walls, and two chairs sit in the middle of the room.

I walk around the cherry wood desk and remove my crown and an envelope addressed to my mother from my satchel.

I set them on the tidy surface of the desk.

It would be easier just to slip out of the house without a trace, but it would also leave my mother to wonder if I left my family and my duty to run away to Stigian.

After everything she’s gone through, I can't do that to her, but I can tell a lie that sends her down the wrong path looking for me. I hope it’s enough to buy me some time to do what needs to be done.

My fingers glide along the arm of my father's high-back chair and I ease into it. Over the years, the black leather has molded to his stocky frame. I lean into the indentations and close my eyes, imagining being a little girl and sitting on his lap while he worked. He would let me “help him” stamp the wax seals on his correspondence to the king or one of the many military camps scattered throughout Lucent. The job was simple, but I felt like I was doing something great when I was with him. That’s the way he made all his children feel.

It couldn't have been easy to juggle four kids and his duties to the king, but he did.

In the middle of the day, he would join us outside.

We learned to wield weapons, how to make the most of nature, and at night, he would tell us the most?spectacular stories.

He never turned me or my siblings away when he was home, saying he served the crown but belonged to his family.

My chest tightens at the thought. He doesn't just belong to us; he belongs? with ?us.

I carefully open the bottom drawer of the desk and reach to the very back until I find a small compartment with a key inside.

I move to the cabinet across the room, my boots feeling like iron as they thump against the wooden floor.

It takes my trembling hands several tries to slide the key into the lock, and I cringe as the door squeaks open.

Lined inside are different weapons—axes, bows and arrows, spears, and swords.

I remove a black sheath engraved with daisies, fasten it to my waist, and search for a particular sword.

The pommel is a silver flower and the blade narrow and light.

My father had the weapon crafted just for me after I showed aptitude for wielding a sword.

I take the beloved gift and secure it to my side.

After relocking the cabinet and placing the key into its hiding spot, I take the atlas from its place on the shelf.

My studies have included extensive lessons about our land and that of our enemy, but I’ve never traveled outside of Lucent’s walls by myself.

I open the book to the detailed map of our kingdom and run my finger along the road that leads north of the city.

After noting the turnoff to the east that will take me to Basecamp, I return everything to how it was.

With a deep breath, I step back into the middle of the office and soak it in one last time.

It’s a perfect representation of my father.

The old map of one kingdom before it split in two, the medals representing the battles he fought in, and the gorgeous painting of my mother hanging over the hearth, each item is so him.

It makes me long to smell wood burning as it warms the room, and I miss how the scent of the cinnamon sweets he kept on his desk lingered on his clothes.

Our home is a shell of what it once was without him in it.

Brushing the backs of my hands over my eyes, I slip through the door.

“And just where do you think you're going?”

I stifle a yelp as my brother steps out of his room and crosses his arms over his naked chest. “Statera curse you, Rowan,” I hiss, placing my hand over my heart.

He cocks a dark eyebrow and looks down at me like his height gives him some unearned authority.

He outgrew me two years ago and soon after gained a muscular frame like our father's.

The obnoxious giant forgets he is not the highest-ranking person in our home.

Mother can put us both to shame with a simple glare.

“So, where are you off to before sunup with a sword?” he asks.

I shift side to side and purse my lips. It was foolish of me to think I could sneak away with no one catching me.

Like me, my siblings have become light sleepers, hoping every click and snap in the night is our father walking through the door.

As time has passed, our hope has become nothing more than coals smoldering deep inside us.

I'm happy to add kindle to the flame and renew the possibility of Papa returning to us .

“I’m going to the Sibyl Temple to seek some clarity,” I lie, repeating the story I wrote to my mother in the letter.

Rowan tilts his head to the side and studies me. I can practically see him weeding through my lie to find the truth. “No you’re not. Why wouldn’t you wait until morning and take an escort? Where are you really going?”

“Please don’t make me tell you. I know how much you hate to lie. I just need you to believe what I’m telling you. Please.”

His blue eyes light up and his freckled cheeks ball with a knowing smile. “You’re going to try to rescue Papa. I’m coming with you.”

“No!” I grab his arm before he can rush into his room. “You have to stay and take care of Mama and the girls. You promised Papa you would always look after us when he was gone.”

“I can help you, Elle.”

He can’t. Rowan is only seventeen and not old enough to enlist as a soldier. As soon as he shows up at Basecamp, they will send him home. Besides, I need to steer everyone in the wrong direction when they set out to find me.

“I know you can, but I need you here to buy me some time. Tell everyone I went to the temple. It will give me three, maybe four days, before they come looking for me. Please, Rowan.”

He pulls on his dark hair and puffs out his cheeks, my request not sitting well with him.

In so many ways, he would make a better sovereign than me.

He's blessed with the same physical strength as our father and easily sees the right and wrong in all situations. He never lets anyone down. It’s that loyalty I’m counting on to give me enough time to round up my father’s soldiers.

“Do you really think you can find Papa and bring him home, Elle?”

The question from a small voice across the hall has me and Rowan frozen in place. We hold each other’s stare in a wordless exchange. Our littlest sister now knows we are up to something.

I force my lips into a smile before facing her.

Ansley looks even younger than her seven years. The nightgown she undoubtedly stole from Salone's dresser pools around her small body, and her wavy hair is a golden-orange halo around her head.

I take a knee before her and meet her big brown eyes. “I promise to try my best.”

“You'll be queen, and it's your job to help people. I believe you can do it,” she says with a weak smile.

I pull Ansley into my arms and squeeze. We all miss Papa, but no one in this house needs him as much as her. He should be teaching her to hunt and ride and telling her silly stories about his youth. She's missing out on so much precious time with him, and it’s up to me to remedy that.

I push past the tight knot in my chest and say, “I hope you're right.”

“I am,” she whispers, brushing her small, soft fingers over my cheek.

“Then I will need you to keep this a secret between me, you, and Rowan. You can’t tell Mama where I’ve gone. Can you do that for me?”

Her shoulders stiffen under my hold, and she nods. “I can do that.”

With one last hug, I stand and find Salone next to Rowan. She holds out a long-hooded coat and says, “It will be cold, Your Grace.”