Page 7 of Poisoned Kingdom (Secrets of Dagome #1)

Reynard

I sat on a tree stump, closing my eyes while my men busied themselves setting up the camp in a forest clearing.

‘Careful with that!’ someone shouted, followed by a loud snap. When I glanced over, I saw a soldier unfolding my private coat of arms. It was like the idiot wanted everyone to know that ‘Reynard Erenhart, War King of Dagome,’ was travelling with a small troop through a foreign kingdom.

I sighed. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, why not add “shoot here?”’ I mumbled to myself.

The soldiers saluted the moment they saw me stalk towards them.

‘Take that down. Unless there’s a reason you’re announcing to everyone who we are?

’ I asked with a tight smile, not wishing to face another assassination attempt.

My captain rushed in, dressing them down without mercy, and I walked off to find a quiet spot to think.

M?ot’s letter was burning a hole in my pocket.

It wasn’t even an official request, just a simple note bearing his private seal, now broken, the paper worn soft from being clenched in my fist too many times.

When I first read it, I was sure it was a forgery; there was no sane reason behind such an outrageous command otherwise.

Why would he have ordered me to shut down the University of Magic and dissolve both the Court of Aether and the Council of Mages? And his final words . . .

‘They are dangerous to us all. Follow my advice, or I’ll be forced to take action.’

‘What bloody action? What’s gotten into him?’

I wasn’t sure if travelling to M?ot’s kingdom was the smartest idea, but he wouldn’t come to Dagome, and after his men had turned away my ambassadors, I didn’t have a choice.

One thing was certain: being outside felt good.

Far from the palace, without the endless yapping of the Royal Council snapping their requests at me, the constant buzz in my head had quietened to a manageable level.

Not that I had any trouble controlling my temper, but it was .

. . tiring. We’d been travelling for two days already, but I felt more rested than I had in months.

‘Where are you going?’ Riordan asked when I approached my horse.

‘To the river. I’ll wash Kary down and enjoy some peace. I have to plan how to deal with M?ot.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Then at least take a bloody squire and your sword. Don’t go too far, either. We still haven’t traced the fae who tried to shoot you last week.’

His concerned outrage made me chuckle, but I dutifully took my sword from a squire’s hands and, for good measure, added a dagger to my belt.

‘Yes, mother. What else do you want me to take, a crossbow? Or maybe a mage who keeps forgetting his place and ordering me around? You know, I think your worry would ease if you did some manual labour,’ I said, chuckling as I gestured to the pile of logs my men had started chopping in preparation for the evening.

‘No, thank you, Your Majesty. I have plenty of work already, but have you spared a thought for the people who might see a king washing his horse like an ordinary warrior? What would they think?’

‘That I look good in a wet shirt? I don’t know, Ri, you tell me—but first, could you point those people out?

Because we haven’t seen a single traveller the entire day,’ I said with a grin.

I turned to a young man, still in training, who was serving us during our journey.

‘Come on, boy, you’ve been volunteered. Protect your king before our soon-to-be royal mage pops a vein scolding us both. ’

‘I’m not . . .’ Riordan sighed, approaching me.

‘I’m serious, Rey. You’re not invincible, no matter what you may believe, and if you want time to think, then think about Duke Tivala’s proposal.

His representative consistently opposes you at every council meeting, and the southern province is barely contributing any taxes or resources. We both know what that means.’

‘That they’re hoarding them, likely planning to rebel. I know, but it’s not that simple. Having a queen from the south would only strengthen Tivala’s position, but I promise I’ll give it some thought,’ I said, jumping on Kary and waving for the squire to follow.

The river was close by. It wound between hills, sometimes spreading out into occasional floodplains to create slower, shallower waters.

We stopped by a bend where the water swirled and slowed, giving the sun time to take the harsh mountain chill away.

My stallion rushed into the river as soon as his saddle and tackle hit the ground, and I soon followed, much to the horror of my squire.

‘Sir, maybe I should do that?’ he asked, standing on the riverbank, watching as we enjoyed the currents.

‘And take away my pleasure? No, thank you. It’ll be our little secret. Go take a nap while I work,’ I said, grinning at the blush that crawled up his cheek.

‘I would never . . .’ he started, but I waved him off.

‘Yes, you would. I was a squire once, and I still remember how to sleep with eyes open while at attention.’

He blushed harder, fumbling with the collar of his shirt, but I’d already turned to my horse. I scrubbed his dark coat until it shone in the soft summer light. The freedom of the simple task was invigorating, but it soon became chilly as clouds covered the sun.

I led my mount out of the water and dressed hastily.

‘I’m going for a walk. Stay here and guard the horses,’ I said, walking towards a small hill nearby. The boy’s eyes widened.

‘You mustn’t go alone, sire . . . the mage will be furious if I don’t go along.’

‘And how do you intend to stop your king?’ I asked with amusement, taking pity on him and patting his shoulder. ‘We won’t tell Riordan but mind your words and never presume to give me commands.’

The sounds of the river faded away, replaced by those of birds and other wildlife the farther I walked. The hill was small but quite steep, distracting me enough to forget Riordan’s request.

Despite my friend’s concerns, I’d already considered the marriage contract Tivala had proposed.

I had a duty to Dagome, and a queen from the south would be best suited for the role.

In fact, I had signed the document Tivala sent, thinking it would be easier to accept a loveless marriage once the ink had sunk into the vellum .

. . But looking at the Erenhart name on the page, I hadn’t been able to put the royal seal on it, let alone send it.

So, I hid it, stalling for time, keeping my decision secret even from my friend.

Marriage contracts, once made public, were almost unbreakable, and I didn’t want to marry a woman I hadn’t even seen yet.

My objections were based almost entirely on my dislike of Duke Tivala and his scheming.

I doubted it would improve if his daughter became my queen.

‘I don’t want an enemy in my bed,’ I muttered, stroking a bear’s claw marks gouged deeply into the rough bark of an old oak tree.

Soon, I stopped at the brow of the hill, where a small copse of young trees provided convenient shade and a panorama of Wiosna. A few wisps of smoke caught my attention, and I looked down at a small clearing where some hunters had set up camp.

Maybe Riordan was right in warning me about travellers , I mused, assessing the men below. They didn’t look like typical hunters, and the camp appeared freshly made.

A flash of gold caught my attention.

It was hard to make out many details, but a woman was standing just at the edge of the clearing, as still as a statue.

She raised her head, looking up in my direction, and it felt like our gazes met, though I was sure she couldn’t see me in the shadows.

She took a step back then, disappearing into the forest like a vila 1 , a nature spirit as beautiful and capricious as life itself. I held my breath, unable to look away.

Suddenly, male voices cut through the sounds of nature, shouting angrily, followed by her scream. Before I knew it, I had my sword in hand, charging in their direction. I strained my ears, trying to identify the sounds I was hearing, hoping they weren’t what they seemed to be.

Deadwood and tree branches snapped and fell as I leapt into the clearing, changing direction when I heard the woman shouting curses. My heart was in my throat as I sprinted, but the moment I saw the hunters, the world slowed.

Four men had her pinned to the ground. One was sitting on top of her, hand on her throat. Two others were tearing at her shirt, while the last man kept hitting her head, shouting for his turn. My vision turned red.

‘You’ll take your turn in death.’

My voice carried, but they didn’t pay attention. One woman against four men—yet she fought like a mountain lion, thrashing and cursing her attackers until one last strike ended her struggles, her head lolling to the side.

Rage surged through my veins, white hot and blinding. My battle cry drowned out the men’s shouts as my first swing cut the nearest attacker nearly in half. He stumbled, his legs failing, hands clutching futilely at his sword as he collapsed.

The next cur put up more of a fight. He was good, but I was better.

Years of training and fighting had honed my body, making the parry child’s play.

However, his style gave me a pause; the way he twisted, moving instantly from defence to attack, reminded me of the Dark Brotherhood.

I didn’t have time to think about it as the third man joined in, and after a brief exchange, I cleaved the head from his shoulders and maimed the other, sinking the blade in his chest as he scrambled away, whimpering in defeat.

I turned, catching sight of the final hunter running away. My instincts screamed at me to chase him, but one look at the female’s greying skin and I was kneeling, gently lifting her from the forest floor.

‘I’m sorry, I should have arrived earlier,’ I whispered, propping her up as I searched for signs of life. She sucked in a breath, and my racing heart calmed a little.

She’s alive, thank the gods. Riordan will know what to do.

Still holding her limp body, I unhooked my cloak and wrapped it around her, covering everything those bastards had exposed.

A number of cuts and bruises marred her skin, yet she was still so breathtaking.

Strands of honey-gold hair had slipped free from her braid, loosened during the struggle.

My fingers traced the soft curve of her cheek, following the delicate slope of her small, pointed nose.

Long lashes cast gossamer shadows against her pale skin, and for a moment, I simply marvelled.

My hands seemed so large against her body, the blood on them smearing as I kept her warm.

‘I would kill them again for you, and I would make sure they suffered,’ I said, realising that the ripped rags still hanging on her were a healer’s kirtle.

‘What were you doing alone in the forest? How long were you lost, little healer?’ I muttered, frowning at her injuries.

Some marks were fresh, others days old, their deep purple hues fading into a sickly green.

She stirred in my arms but didn’t open her eyes.

‘Never mind, Riordan will find out.’ I stood, holding her carefully as I walked towards the top of the hill to get to where I’d left my horse near the river.

I felt centred, helping this woman. The southern uprising, the stress of marriage and politics—it could all vanish up Veles’ arse and stay there for all I cared.

Meeting her, fighting for her, had stirred something in me I thought I’d lost. It reminded me of who I used to be—a man with purpose, with a clear path and a single goal: to protect those who relied on my strength.

It wasn’t long before I spotted the squire resting under the tree, my horse nodding off beside him.

‘We’re almost there,’ I whispered to her, batting away the insects attracted to her blood-matted hair when something caught my eye. I brushed the strands aside, hoping I was mistaken, but the truth was before me, tattooed just beneath her hairline.

A rune—scarcely visible; small, but unmistakable. My breath hitched.

The mark of the Dark Brotherhood.

She wasn’t a lost wanderer, a healer missing in the woods—but one of them. A dark sister.

‘No, there must be another explanation for this.’ I rubbed the rune, but it was firmly etched into her skin, only reddening under my rough handling.

Her body jerked in my hold, and I bent over to put her down, hoping to prevent further injury. She swore, twisting and fighting. I instinctively put my hand on her chest, pressing her down. ‘Stop fighting,’

Her eyes snapped open—glassy, unfocused, yet arresting in their hazel brilliance.

She was conscious, but not fully there .

Still, I couldn’t look away. My body stilled, caught by the luminous fire flickering in those depths.

Hazel deepened into a verdant green, alive with lightning that seemed to crackle from within, and something inside me shifted.

A low growl rumbled in my throat, my heart pounding in time with the strange pull of her presence, of the intoxicating scent—all lilac and honey—overwhelming my senses.

Unable to resist, I reached out to stroke her cheek as the sensation in my core expanded, stretching like an awakened giant. But as I moved, a twig snapped under my shifting weight, and she screamed, lashing out at my questing hands.

Confusion, shock, and pain flooded back into her eyes, utter panic fuelling her strength. I raised my palms to calm her when the flash of metal caught my attention. My instincts screamed for me to move, but my body failed me. I reared back too late, and a sharp blade sliced through my cheek.

Agony exploded in my face. I fell back, ripping the blade away, clutching at my burning flesh while she bolted without a second look, leaving me roaring in the mud.

The wound burned like aethereal fire, but worse was the creeping weakness that drained my limbs. I could barely stay upright, staggering towards my horse—only to collapse after two steps as my stomach rebelled and I fell helplessly to the ground.

Whether it was magic or poison, it didn’t matter. I’d been tricked. My enemies had finally found a way to kill me.

But as my strength bled away, the power that had awakened when I had drowned in my assassin’s gaze surged in defiance. The legacy of the Erenhart line—the berserker’s rage—filled my blood, refusing to let me die, forcing me to live so that I could take my vengeance.

1. Vila /vi-wa/— a beautiful female nature spirit who dwells in pristine corners of the natural world, from forests and meadows to rivers and lakes.

They possess supernatural healing abilities and the power of shapeshifting.

Their eyes and dance can bewitch men who often perish from unrequited love.