The Forsaken King

Farther we went, and just when the sun started to set, the trees began to thin and the glow of torches came into view. They were placed along a fence, a perimeter that blocked the settlement from view.

The journey was finally over.

I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or terrified.

Guards covered in fur coats lined the top of the walls, armed with crossbows. Then the weapons were lowered to their sides because they obviously recognized Mastodon and the others. They gestured to the men below, and slowly, the doors started to creak open.

My deep breaths escaped as vapor and rose up my face, my heart beating so hard it hurt. This place was nothing like home, the beautiful castle that looked down the cobblestone pathways, the olive tree right outside my window.

When I lingered behind, Mastodon gave me a shove.

I responded on instinct and shoved him back. “Stop pushing me, jackass.”

He didn’t move because he possessed the weight of a boulder, and he stared down at me like he didn’t quite know what to make of me.

We passed through the doors, and slowly, they started to creak closed behind us.

I heard them shut—and lock into place.

I was never going home, was I?

I could tell Mastodon was an important guy because the guards immediately greeted him with fist-bumps and one-armed hugs. Others acknowledged his presence with a respectful dip of their heads.

Maybe he was their king.

But would a king leave his throne? Wouldn’t he send someone else to do his dirty work? This was the man who took the rear instead of the lead…so maybe that assumption was wrong.

I watched his face change once he was home, the way his eyes lit up when he greeted his people, the way he would smile as he clapped them on the shoulder. One of his men came up with a cape lined with fur and sharp teeth and hooked it onto his shoulders, the beautiful and warm material trailing down his back. I could see people’s reaction to him, awe mixed with affection, like he was unanimously loved by everyone there.

That affection was misplaced, in my opinion.

When his eyes were back on me, he was back to his old self.

An asshole.

“Come.” He took the lead this time, his brother at his side. The other three men dispersed elsewhere, their jobs complete.

I felt all eyes on me—along with their animosity.

I met their looks with my own, furious that I was judged for something I didn’t do, for something my father didn’t do. It was a mistake, and I knew that in my heart. But Mastodon was so focused on his revenge that he couldn’t see straight.

I followed behind him, a bit warmer under the passing torches and within the enclosed area. The wind didn’t make it past the walls, so it halted outside the perimeter. We passed through a sea of cabins that looked like shops and continued forward, approaching a stone mountain. There was an enormous door in the way, and as Mastodon approached, it swung open.

We seemed to be going underground…again.

When we stepped inside, I realized there was no ceiling. It was open to the elements, just warmer because of the solid rock that comprised the walls. The area was small, only big enough for a couple of buildings, and the rear had a dais with a throne made of stone.

On that throne sat a woman. With long dark hair, feathers in the strands, and bright blue eyes, she stared at Mastodon as he approached her. She wore a black fur coat with dark leggings and knee-high boots. She wasn’t in a gown like Queen Rutherford, but her presence was undeniably regal.

At once, both Mastodon and Ian lowered to the ground—and kneeled.

Mastodon didn’t look like a man who kneeled for anybody, so that was quite the surprise.

Both men rose and stepped away to regard me.

I slowly came forward, examining the woman who watched me with her shrewd stare. She was decades older than me, could easily be my mother, but her beauty was undeniable. Even when she looked at me like I was nothing but an insect to her, she possessed an unattainable grace while doing it.

The stare seemed to last an eternity. Unblinking. Chilling. Aggressive. It slowly started to harden, to turn angry the way Mastodon’s did. “I am Queen Rolfe.” She made a slight gesture with her head, her eyes moving to the ground directly before me. “Kneel.”

I probably would have given a bow in respect automatically, but once it was a command, I became defiant. I could feel the animosity flow from her in waves, like the rising tide at the shore. She shared Mastodon’s prejudice, clearly.

Her eyes narrowed before she raised her voice. “I told you to kneel.”

I stayed on my two feet. “I’ve been kidnapped from my home and thrown around like a rag doll. I’m not exactly in the mood to kneel.”