Page 5 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Sadira

J asmine vines twisted around Sadira’s wrists as she absent-mindedly re-arranged the flowers while her thoughts ran away from her just as wildly.

Humming, she replaced the white roses with petunias.

She missed her garden. Not the endless castle gardens, with their manicured lawns and rows of pristine flower bushes, but her real garden, where the plants reached for her touch, where no bare patch of soil or rock existed.

A garden that was free to explore and grow of its own accord.

The garden that lived and breathed with the freedom she had lost.

Once Sadira’s name was no longer Mordane but Balfour, and this garden became hers, she would make Antor’s manicured lawns and stone flowerbeds her own.

She pictured scattering wildflower seeds throughout the lawns and turning the stone walls into a mosaic path weaving amongst the paradise, with the plants twisting in any direction they pleased.

Sadira hoped then she might feel at home and accepted by these lands.

She turned the opulent vase and analysed every inch of the bouquet to ensure it was devoid of imperfection, readjusting the leaves with dainty fingers.

Clouds floated in the early morning sky as sunlight streamed through the large, greenhouse-styled wing of Antor Castle.

As Sadira straightened from her analysing stance, a single white butterfly drifted through the sunlit dust, dancing in the rays of light.

She extended her hand to the creature and grinned when it eagerly landed on her finger.

Sadira was enamoured by the creatures her nature called to.

Sitting on the worn sage chaise by the glass wall, Sadira sighed and imagined the butterfly did, too.

“Do you think my grandmother knows I am here?” she asked the butterfly.

It fluttered its wings. “She told me about this wing. This is where she and my grandfather hosted their balls.” Sadira glanced around the large glass hall, which would soon be the venue of her engagement ball later that week.

She pictured her grandparents dancing beneath the sun.

Caellum had not questioned Sadira when she asked to see it upon returning from Nerida.

He had also not questioned the tears stinging her eyes when she asked to be wed there, too.

“Do you think they are proud of me?” Sadira fidgeted with her hands in her lap and smoothed down the fabric of her dress.

As if in agreement, the butterfly fluttered from her finger and onto the shoulder of her pearl-threaded dress. She chuckled. “If you say so.”

No longer wishing to think of home, Sadira resorted to her usual method of distraction: growing.

Beneath a banquet chair, a small green shoot appeared in the minuscule crack between the two flagstones until vines twisted around the wooden legs and coated the back of the chair; tiny white flowers dotted among it.

With a flourish of her hand, the same artistry blossomed on every banquet chair until the hall was a field of beauty and light perfume.

It wasn’t long before a flight of multicoloured butterflies breezed in through the open doors, and she beamed as the white butterfly on her shoulder remained in place.

“You cannot stay with me forever, little creature.” Sadira moved her finger, lifting the butterfly as green vines formed beneath her feet.

“Beautiful things near me tend to decay,” she murmured, placing the creature on the nearest stem.

As if the gods wished to prove her statement correct, the plant wilted and browned, drying until it crumpled to the floor.

Sadira closed her eyes and sighed as the butterflies in her vicinity fled.

Soren entered through the large archway on the opposite side of the hall.

The scowl on her sister’s face deepened as her deep green eyes glowed and scanned Sadira’s creations.

Soren’s silver breastplate clinked against the metal cuffs on her forearms as she cracked her knuckles, both sounds echoing throughout the glass room.

She proudly wore the Garridon sigil—three trees and a soaring hawk—on her chest. She had worn the same thing upon their return from Nerida, though that was unsurprising.

After all, the attire was an obvious declaration of Soren’s rightful place as heir.

“Please don’t do it to all of them, Soren.

” Sadira tried to remain civil and glanced briefly at the crumpled plant at her feet with a wince.

Sadira did not know why she even bothered.

Soren’s heavy footfall sounded on the flagstone as she circled the room, trailing her finger along the vines and flowers as a crisp brown tinge appeared in her wake.

“What is the point of doing all of this now?” asked Soren, rounding the head table until reaching Sadira. “There is still a week until your engagement ball.”

Sadira had wished to start on the florals as soon as possible to ensure they were nurtured and fragrant for the ball.

“There is no harm in being prepared.” Sadira flashed a tight smile, and her sister scoffed before whistling low.

Her wolves prowled into the hall. “Must you take them everywhere with you?” Sadira glanced sideways at the large creatures stalking the room, searching for any smaller creature that may have ventured in to admire Sadira’s work.

Sadira wondered what the citizens of Garridon would think about the beasts prowling so freely around the castle.

The public had only seen them once upon arriving in Garridon, yet they had been surprisingly tame.

Sadira imagined that would change as Soren ventured deeper into the realm, using her wolves as a sign of power and a connection to nature’s creatures—an ability Caellum did not possess.

“They assert dominance.” Soren pulled one of the banquet chairs from the table and turned it to face Sadira, snapping vines as she did.

Perching on the chair, she widened her legs and leaned onto her arms, glaring at her sister.

Sadira shrank away at Soren’s all-consuming presence and adjusted the weeds that formed in the cracks by her feet.

“I do not wish to argue again,” said Sadira, remembering Soren’s foul words upon returning from Nerida.

Soren had cornered her in the gardens, where Sadira had planted a rose for Rodik, the love she had abandoned on Doltas Island.

Soren had implied harm would come to him should Sadira continue to disobey her.

“Then I suppose you should have considered your words before belittling me in front of the rulers,” Soren spat, glancing over her shoulder at the guard stationed by the archway, far enough away not to hear their conversation.

“They need to know that I am the rightful heir to the throne, so there are no protests when I take it.”

Sadira instantly looked up at her. Soren had never announced her plan outright.

Their parents had instructed both girls to return to Garridon and offer hope to the people, nurturing their lands and inviting prosperity.

Though Sadira guessed there were ulterior motives, she had yet to be filled in. How na?ve she had been.

“And how do you intend to do that?” asked Sadira, calming herself with the growth of the small plant in her palms. “When Caellum and I marry, the crown will default to me if anything were to ever happen to him.” Her heart skipped, fearing for a man she barely knew yet deserved better.

“Do not worry. Killing the king is the last option.” Sadira lowered her head at Soren’s words, wishing to hide the shock in her eyes that murdering Caellum was an option at all.

“The aim is to cast doubt about his reign and create an uprising, forcing him to relinquish the crown to the true Garridon heir. Me.”

Soren picked dead leaves from the vines on her chair while Sadira kept her mouth shut. While she had never wanted to be Queen, it was presumptuous of her sister to assume the people and lords would choose Soren over the king’s wife, who also had Garridon blood running through her veins.

“Need I remind you again that I can easily have someone visit Rodik?” Soren sneered.

Sadira whipped around to face her sister with fury and pain in her gaze.

Soren smirked and ripped the plant from Sadira’s hand.

“This is taking too long, sister. We should have been able to take the throne immediately.” Soren’s tirade of hatred against Caellum and relentless desire to take the crown was tiring for a woman who simply wished for a simple life with her plants.

“Perhaps it was presumptuous of you to assume everyone would kiss the ground you walk on simply because of the blood in your veins,” Sadira said, her bright green eyes locking with her sister’s.

Sadira did not anticipate her sister’s reaction, who swung her hand and slapped her across the face.

The sound echoed throughout the glass chamber.

Neither said anything as Sadira clutched her cheek, blinking back tears.

“Look what you made me do,” Soren snarled.

“Now everyone will wonder who hit you!” She leaned back in her chair, a triumphant smirk forming as she smoothed her hands over her braids.

The guard stationed by the archway with his back to them turned and surveyed the hallway.

He must have heard . “How unfortunate,” Soren drawled with hardly concealed sarcasm.

Sadira could barely comprehend what had happened.

“Now everyone will wonder if Caellum is just like his father, hitting you for disobeying him.” Soren looked like a giddy child, and disgust filled Sadira as she realised Soren had planned the hit all along to further her twisted narrative.

“I am not telling people my betrothed hit me,” said Sadira firmly, and Soren leaned in.

“I’m sorry, but that sounds as if you are disobeying me?

” Before Sadira could retort, Soren’s gaze caught on something behind her.

With a false smile, she stood, straightened the clothing under her armour and called her wolves to heel.

Yet Varna, the largest of the pack who reached Soren’s waist, stepped toward Sadira, assessing her with its pale blue eyes.

It lingered there until her sister was a comfortable distance away.

“I don’t want to have this conversation again,” Soren shouted over her shoulder.

She did not look back as she left through the archway.

Finally, Varna turned with a low growl and padded after her master.

The guard by the door flinched as the white wolf loitered past. He stepped into the hallway and watched the wolf join Soren and the others.

Only when they were gone did he return to his station and clear his throat with his back to Sadira.

“Are you okay, your Highness?” he called.

She opened and closed her mouth, unsure about what to say or how much he had heard.

She sprang from her seat, struggling for words.

He had protected the hall and kept Sadira company over the last few days while she worked on the room’s décor.

Taryn , Sadira remembered. Taryn had insisted on carrying every chair for her; this hall was his stationed post and, thus, his responsibility.

“I’m—” The guard turned, concern replacing his warm smile. His hazel eyes widened as he assessed Sadira, who instinctively moved her head, trying to shield the redness of her cheek with her long blonde curls.

“I’m fine.” She examined the brown tinge, scarring her delicate white flowers. The guard cleared his throat, peering through the glass. Sadira turned to see if what had caught the guard’s attention was the same thing that prompted Soren’s exit.

Through the clear glass in the distance was the entrance to the walled garden, where Caellum, the King of Garridon, stood—her betrothed. Sadira’s heartbeat spiked, and sweat formed on her palms as she twisted them in the skirts of her dress.

She wondered if Soren had left to avoid or confront him. But when her brash sister did not approach Caellum, who now strode alongside the wall with Sir Cain, her rush of anxiety mellowed.

Caellum was different from Rodik—opposites, even.

Whereas Rodik was broad and dense, Caellum was muscular and lean.

Rodik often wore his hair in the staple braids of the island, while Caellum’s faded brown was short yet occasionally long enough to hide his eyeline.

They had one similarity, though: the gentle way they cared for Sadira.

She did not know if she was foolish to assume Caellum cared for her, but she hoped his words were true.

Hugging herself as she watched him through the glass, Sadira calmed her quiet sobs, conflicted by the feelings of homesickness and the calmness only Caellum brought her.

He laughed at something Sir Cain said, and Sadira smiled at how his face came to life.

She often watched him when he thought no one paid attention, noticing the pain only she could recognise—grief, heartbreak, loss, and the agony of deeming yourself so worthless it leaves you wondering if anyone believes in you.