Page 3 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Larelle

T he revelations weighed heavily on Larelle’s mind, as deep and dark as the waves holding her below the surface.

She arched her back, allowing the inkiness to cocoon her, keeping her mind grounded.

Opening her luminous, deep blue eyes, she breathed in; despite how at one she was with water, it always took Larelle a moment to adjust to the feeling of breathing in the sea.

Upon bidding the Historian farewell outside Mera castle, Larelle immediately sought the comfort of the ocean, her feet guiding her to the spot where she was crowned.

Perhaps she needed a reminder that she was indeed the Queen of Nerida and being queen entailed carrying the weight of secrets that could forever alter the path of her people.

Larelle floated effortlessly beneath the waves, maneuvering the water to hug her body and keep her in place as she gazed into its depths and saw only darkness.

It served as a reminder of what the Historian had said.

Watch for the dark one that will bring suffering to all: the rise of old power, the Kingdom will fall.

The Historian had simply told Larelle to do with the information as she wished before requesting she escort him out.

But the passing time had done little to advance her muddled thoughts.

She imagined Kazaar floating opposite and furrowed her brow, struggling to summon a clear image.

Larelle had never been concerned enough to pay significant attention to the details of Vala’s commander, but she would have noticed if there was a darkness about him.

Surly, yes. The scowl on his face and the clench of his jaw were commonplace.

Powerful, of course. Flames licked up his inked arms as she pictured him.

But dark? Capable of causing a Kingdom to fall?

She did not know. Larelle wondered what Elisara’s judgement would be, who had spent much time with her new commander.

When Larelle had last seen them before the pair left for Keres, they were on good terms, even friends.

She could not imagine the Queen of Vala was someone who would allow darkness to seep into her mind and sway her thinking.

Something brushed Larelle’s hand, tugging her from her thoughts. A blur of faint light washed away Kazaar’s image. She glanced at her extended fingertips but saw nothing. When she turned back, only darkness remained.

Sighing, Larelle released the water’s hold on her body and kicked her feet until breaking the surface, the air cool as it kissed her skin.

Blinking the water from her now grey eyes, the setting sun greeted her as light danced across the rippling ocean.

It appeared she had been below the surface for several hours, confirmed by the rough texture of her fingertips.

Larelle leaned back, her hair splaying around her.

Dusty-pink tendrils of clouds floated across her vision as she sensed another presence approach the stone steps behind her. If it had been anyone else, Larelle would have immediately shielded herself with the water before addressing the visitor. Instead, a wave of calm washed over her.

“Either the meeting has just finished, and you are coming to drag me to say farewell, or it finished hours ago, and you have been kind enough to give me some peace.” Larelle smiled at the deep chuckle following her words.

“Would you like to bet on which?”

“If it is the latter, I assume I must deal with the Lords, who are outraged by the rudeness of my absence.” Dragging her hands through the ocean, Larelle propelled herself backward toward the steps and tilted her head back to meet Lord Alvan’s warm hazel eyes. The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Would you rather them believe you are rude or bid them farewell in water-soaked undergarments?”

A blush crept across her face, and Larelle sunk her body further below the surface before she turned to find a silk Neridian-blue robe open for her, hiding the view of her discarded gown inches from Alvan’s feet.

While his playful smile remained, he respectfully looked away as Larelle pushed aside her embarrassment and rose from the waters.

She trusted his gaze remained on the Garridon horizon as she turned her back to him and slipped her arms into the sleeves.

Larelle froze as his calloused hands briefly caught her shoulders, gently wrapping the fabric around her body as she turned.

Although he stood a mere step above her, she suddenly felt twice as small beneath his gaze.

Noticing her discomfort, Alvan stepped aside to allow Larelle to climb the steps, who collected her gown as she passed and tucked it beneath her arm.

“I thought you could use some time,” Alvan said as he followed her up the steps and into the castle hallways.

She did not answer; instead, she wrung the water from her curls and waved it over the sandstone balconies overlooking the Novisian sea.

“You did not return after leaving.” He appeared to hesitate when she did not immediately answer.

“Was everything okay?” An odd feeling washed over Larelle at someone other than Olden or Zarya expressing concern for her.

Although Larelle had befriended Lillian and Alvan upon returning to royal life, the friendships felt unusual, as though her cracked heart could not accept others trying to mend the pieces.

Larelle nodded silently with a smile, uncertain whether she should tell anyone what the Historian relayed to her.

She had not even told those closest to her what she and the other rulers had learned—nothing of the creatures that threatened them or their lack of plans to protect the kingdom.

Alvan’s thick brows pinched together; clearly, he did not believe her feigned attempts at reassurance.

“Mumma!” a tiny voice shouted as Alvan opened the door to Larelle’s chambers.

Zarya bounded off her stool and knocked the table with her elbow, sending books thudding to the floor as she collided with her mother’s legs.

Larelle’s hands twisted in Zarya’s dark curls, her worries melting away as Zarya peered up at her with a grin, oblivious to the world’s worries.

“Oh, please, Alvan. Do not worry,” Larelle called, inclining her head toward the Lord as he crouched to pick up the books from where they lay scattered across the rug in front of the unlit fireplace.

Larelle patted Zarya’s back, who spun and skipped to Alvan, pulling some books close to her chest just as Lillian entered from the adjoining room.

Her blonde hair was scraped back into a bun, several pieces beginning to fall free after the long day.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the Lord tidying the mess.

“Please, allow me. It is not your job,” Lillian extended her hand for the books, but Alvan shook his head as he rose, placing them on the table.

“You have been caring for Zarya all day, Lillian. It is your turn to rest now.” Larelle reached for her friend’s hand as Lillian crossed the room and squeezed it with gratitude.

“I would be happy to look after both Zarya and your son, Zion, for a day so you may have a break.” Larelle smiled at Alvan’s kind offer, though she wondered if he knew how much of a handful a five and six-year-old would be.

“I–” A knock at the door interrupted Lillian’s reply, signalling the arrival of dinner. Zarya frowned; she did not yet understand the need to eat and sleep earlier than her mother. As the servants entered, Larelle’s stomach rumbled at the smell of fresh pasta. Alvan chuckled.

“Mr Alvaaan…” Zarya dragged out his name in a way Larelle knew meant a request was coming.

“Princess Zaryaaa,” mimicked the Lord, crouching to her level as she dangled her legs off the stool.

“Will you read me a story?” she asked, still clutching a book.

Alvan’s eyes widened as he drew back to glance at Larelle, whose raised eyebrows mirrored his surprise.

Bedtime stories were the one request Zarya reserved only for Larelle, especially when returning home late.

Yet her surprise was squashed at the hopeful look in Zarya’s eyes as she played with the frayed leather corner of the book, waiting for an answer.

Larelle nodded, offering Alvan a genuine smile.

“I would be honoured to.” Alvan placed a hand on his heart, and Zarya squealed, sprinting for Larelle’s bed.

“You have to help me up; I’m too small!” she demanded, and Larelle covered her mouth as Alvan stared at her, unsure what to do.

“Quickly, or we won’t get through the story!

” Zarya said, attempting to climb onto the bed.

It seemed Alvan would soon be as wrapped around Zarya’s finger as Larelle was.

He wasted no time striding to the bed and paused before lifting her under her arms and tucking a blanket over her.

He glanced around several times before finally deciding to sit on the edge of the bed.

He inclined his head towards the terrace, signalling Larelle to eat.

She paused, conscious of the lost time with her daughter, but witnessing the grin on Zarya’s face when she opened her book, Larelle knew she was unfazed.

Knowing the dinner would comprise her usual company, she did not bother to change from her silk robe.

Olden rose from his chair on the terrace and closed his book with one hand, smiling at Larelle.

The terrace had become Olden’s favourite place since moving into the castle.

All three of their rooms—Larelle’s, Zarya’s, and Olden’s—had access to it, a reminder that one thing had remained amid the chaos of royal life. She still had her family.

“How was your day?” Olden asked. The scent of trailing clematis drifted to her on the evening breeze as he leaned in to kiss her cheek before returning to his chair.

“Fine.” She smiled and reached to gather olives and bread onto her plate. Lillian filled her goblet with wine, tilting her head at the shortness of Larelle’s answer. Larelle avoided her gaze and began pulling the bread apart in her hands .

“Well,” Alvan began, gently clicking the glass doors of the terrace shut as he joined the group.

“It is safe to say she was tired; we barely got through three pages.” His chair scraped against the stone as he sat beside Larelle, who winced at the sound.

The exhaustion of the day grated on her mind, and the group fell silent, except for their clinking cutlery against china plates and goblets hitting the table. Larelle awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Are we going to address the fact that something is wrong?” Lillian glanced around the table as Olden sat back in his chair, catching Larelle’s eye. He raised his eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” she asked, flicking the curls from her vision and pouring herself more wine.

Alvan matched Olden’s look, a playfulness sparkling in his almond-shaped eyes.

Larelle was uncertain if she could cope in the presence of two men who knew her mind so well.

She compiled a mental list of everything that could go wrong by telling her confidants all she had learned since her reign began.

If the lords found out Larelle told them first, it could cause an uprising and risked the rulers losing faith in her just when they needed to trust one another.

Endless thoughts and possibilities crossed her mind, branching from reasonable to outrageous, yet one stood out from the rest. She could put her family at risk.

Larelle glanced at their concerned expressions, all attention to their usual evening meal discarded.

Larelle sighed and picked at the skin around her nails.

“What I say cannot go any further.” She looked intently around the table. “Because there is a risk that darkness could befall us all.”