Stolen (Royally Hot 1)

“She was found in the woods, near the old palace,” I tell her.

“The ruins?”

“Yes.”

“And she was found in this state?”

“Completely unresponsive, yes.”

“Hmmm.”

I watch as Angelica grasps Gwen’s hand, squeezing it, then pulls up her sleeve to reveal some red patches. She presses her palm to Gwen’s chest after that and looks up at the ceiling as if counting in her head.

“Do you know what it is?” I ask softly when she pulls her hand away.

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” She looks over to Seamus, her husband. “Where exactly was she found?”

“Near to the ruins of the palace, in a dip between the trees. It was lucky she was wearing her red cloak, or we might have missed her.”

“Were there white flowers nearby?”

He nods. “What is it, Angelica?”

“St. Leonard’s Lily, I think.” She shakes her head. “No, I’m certain. It all fits. She must have eaten some to cause this reaction.”

“Can it be cured?” Angie looks desperate, her eyes wet with unshed tears. My heart shoots into my throat in the mere moments it takes Angelica to nod.

“Yes. I think we’ve caught it in time.” She turns to me. “Sara, have the kitchens send us plenty of water and vinegar, please. We’ll also need a bucket for vomit and some clean towels.”

“Is there no antidote?” Bors asks, his face dark with concern.

Angelica nods. “That’s where you come in. I need someone to go up to the old palace and search the ruins for a very specific plant. You’re looking for yellow flowers growing down from branches like grapes on a vine. You’ll find it in the darkest of places. Berberis tenebris. Dark Berry.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” I say absently.

Angelica shakes her head. “It’s rare, but it’s said to grow near to where you’ll find St. Leonard’s Lily. It prefers shelter and quiet, where the sunlight never reaches, so old ruins would be perfect.”

“And this… Dark Berry,” Angie says, her eyes hopeful. “It will cure her?”

“It will set her heart rate back to normal and help her to awaken. After that, we need to make her sick.”

“I’ll find it. I’ll bring it back to you.” Bors turns towards the door, stomping from the room. When he passes through the doorway, I hear Seamus’s voice.

“I’ll come with you, your grace.”

Bors

After half an hour we’re both breathing heavy. The ruins of the old palace are in a bad state. It’s not unusual for the townspeople and nearby villagers to come up here to raid the place for building materials, and I’ve always turned a blind eye to such activities. Some of the people are poor enough already, despite the changes I’ve made to how taxes are taken and used, and so I hardly care if they borrow old stones that are no longer needed.

Even so, it’s left the ruins precarious in places, and Seamus and I have been forced to scale crumbling walls, jump from one wall to another and now to pick a path across a very rotten floor in order to reach the next room. The scent of mold and mildew lingers heavy on the air here, and I’m sure the damp is going to get into both our lungs.

Some would say I’m getting too old for such things, and it’s true I’ll feel it in the morning, but right now I don’t give a shit if it kills me, so long as I find those flowers for Angelica and save Gwen’s life.

“Your grace, please let me go first. If I make it across, we’ll know it’s safe for you.”

I turn and glare at Seamus, who’s holding a burning torch to give me light to see by. “How long have we known each other?”

“Well…”

“How long, Seamus?”

A floorboard creaks beneath me and I move my foot quickly away from it, planting it on another that looks stronger.

“Forty years, or there abouts.”

“Don’t you think after forty years, you have earned the right to call me Bors? I seem to remember at the battle of the Firth, you were the commander and I was nothing but a lowly soldier.” I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t recall you calling me your grace back then, though perhaps it’s best not to try to remember too hard, eh? And how, after forty years, do you still think I’d let you go first when it’s my granddaughter’s life at stake?”

“It’s disrespectful not to use your title.”

“No, it fucking isn’t. You don’t hear Angelica standing on ceremony with me, do you?”

“No, but—”

“If you call me your grace one more time, I swear to every god I believe in, I’ll lay a fist under your jaw. I fucking order you to call me Bors from now on, you hear?”

I meet his eyes, and I hope for his sake he can see how serious I am about this. I’ve never been happy with titles and ceremony and bowing and scraping, it embarrassed me when I was a knight in the court of King Rowan, and it’s fucking torture now that I’m king myself after Sara’s father passed away three years ago. I count few people as my friends, but Seamus is one of them.