War's Crown: Crownkeeper, #2

By Anne Wheeler

A kingdom on the verge of conflict.

A sovereign desperate to prove his worth.

A crownkeeper pledged to protect them all.

The end was just the beginning.

 

To protect her kingdom, Riette has married King Laurent, the tyrant she doesn't love and never will. As a crownkeeper, her foremost purpose now is to shield Meirdre from both natural disasters and outside forces—mortal ones—who would love to see it fall. Ignoring Laurent's existence? That's a not-so-distant second.

 

But life at the Meirdrean court isn't all beautiful gowns and an enchanted map. When Laurent is struck ill, Riette stumbles across yet another one of his secrets—one which may render her power as a crownkeeper more necessary than ever. Perhaps worse, when Laurent's true feelings come to light, she finds herself wondering if she can preserve her vow to keep him at arm's length.

 

Yet it turns out that not falling in love with her own husband is the last thing Riette can bring herself to worry about—because war is coming to Meirdre.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anne Wheeler
• Release date: Dec 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781951910099

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Today, the map was quiet.

I circled the ballroom once more, my feet trampling the map inlaid on the floor, pretending to practice a waltz with a non-existent partner. In truth, I was eyeing the mahogany borders and oak cities and pine mountains beneath my silk shoes, searching for any indication my kingdom was in trouble. I’d been born one of those exceptional children, gifted with the connection to the kingdom, and the map—it spoke to me and had since I’d put that cursed crown on my head during my betrothal period. It showed me Meirdre’s misfortunes, as it showed every crownkeeper.

But married now, if not Queen of Meirdre, I’d quickly grown used to the strangeness of my power since arriving at Lochfeld Castle. I joked to myself that my ability to see the map’s sparkles and shimmers that warned of danger was bizarre enough to make my other situation—that of a peasant girl yanked from her home and brought to a castle to marry a king she’d never before seen—not quite so odd. Not that I’d forgotten Mama and Papa in the least, but the much-needed comfort secured for them by my marriage had a way of softening homesickness. They had coin and several healthy head of cattle, and I had . . . well, warmth and fine dresses, if not love.

My gaze swept from the far western border, out past the Tourmel Mountains, then all the way back to Lochfeld where I stood, and then, finally, to my erstwhile hometown of Elternow. I’d worried about Elternow incessantly when I’d first arrived, even more than the sovereign’s castle. But the wood throughout the kingdom remained glossy and dark, not sparkling and glowing, so I lowered my arms and settled into a chair by the window for a short break. Anyone who looked inside would see me a fool, constantly dancing with myself, and I needed to be seen as anything but a fool here, in King Laurent’s court.

Though to tell the truth, I felt a bit like one today, even as I rested and my breathing became regular. Not much sun shone through the thick, impenetrable glass today, and no one danced in a dark ballroom, especially without a partner. The spring rains of central Meirdre hadn’t quite moved on, and heavy clouds hung above the castle towers. The dreary weather wouldn’t normally affect my mood—a farmer’s daughter never cursed the arrival of the light showers that followed our harsh winters, naturally—but here in the castle, it was another story. I needed the happiness of the sun. Silk gowns and sufficient food or not, the sunlight was my only happiness some days. With a sigh, I tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear and searched for the very slightest hint of a sunbeam that might lift my mood.

There was none, so I looked back at the map. From my position at the window I could see the entirety of the kingdom—no waltz about the expansive space required—but the king had been the one to place the chair here, so I objected to using it more than necessary. It turned out that being married to a man who didn’t love you made having certain principles easy. Besides, my dancing skills were much improved after practicing hour after hour.

It wasn’t as though the king helped with my waltz skills, either—not that I especially wanted him to. I’d have to dance with him eventually, I knew, and the idea made my hands clench into fists. Thank the heavens Lochfeld wasn’t known for its social engagements and galas. At least, not anymore. The castle was almost empty except for the king, myself, his sister and her husband, and the bare minimum of servants. Courtiers and advisors were rare, unless they had a reason to be here.

As the memory of dancing with the king at our betrothal ball floated into my mind, the faintest glimmer of light caught my eye, and I leaned forward, trying to shove the memory aside. He’d almost kissed me that night—had touched my hand, anyway—and I’d take any distraction to dispel the heat that suddenly flashed in my cheeks. King Laurent could not be allowed to affect me like that. Not after what he’d done to me.

I blinked away his memory. Once more, it was Harnow that had caught my attention, sparkling like a diamond. They’d had an outbreak of measles months before—in fact, the very same outbreak that had proven my map reading ability to the king, the crisis that had confirmed me a crownkeeper. After the way the king had treated me then, I didn’t like to think of either the measles or Harnow. I was certain that for the rest of my life I would connect the small town with my wedding night. Not the wedding night of most queens of Meirdre, I’d spent it lying awake next to my bridegroom, tears in my eyes as the wounds from the whip had pulled at the skin on my back. The only thing that brought me some relief was the remembrance that the king hadn’t slept well, either.

But I had a job to do, as distasteful as it sometimes—most of the time—could be. With a short glance at the door for any witnesses, I crept up to the miniature house inlaid on the floor, the mark that symbolized Harnow. Still cautious of the power I’d been granted, I knelt to look closer. Yes, Harnow, shimmering like a rainbow washed in rose, was definitely in trouble.

But what kind of trouble, I had no way of knowing.

There had to be some kind of pattern to the flashes and colors the map in the floor radiated, but so far, I hadn’t figured it out. The last time Harnow had made its problem known, it had been white, like diamonds. Today it was still white, but there was something odd about it—small rosy flashes in the glittering map symbol. I mentally marked the image to add to my journal later, then shrugged it off. Likely colors meant nothing. Just one more oddity the Creator had bestowed on the map. But with time, and luck, and meticulous recordkeeping, I’d be able to determine if there was a pattern. It wasn’t as though I had much else to do. No baking, no escorting the cow to the pasture, no climbing trees. No acting as a lookout for rebels who turned out to be anything but.

Regardless, the king would need to be informed.

Standing, I ran my hands over my gown and checked my image in the mirror. Sara, becoming a friend more than a servant, had chosen something a little more velvet than the balmy yet dreary weather had called for, but King Laurent would appreciate that I looked like I’d made an effort, and one of the things I did focus on these days was avoiding his cutting comments about my looks. My hair wasn’t quite as elegant as the dress, but perhaps he wouldn’t notice. I prayed he wouldn’t notice.

That risky decision made, I headed to the king’s private office. The ability to see him there instead of the throne room was a benefit of my marriage that I hadn’t expected, but quite appreciated. His Majesty in the throne room was the tyrant who’d sentenced me to death; King Laurent in his office was the civil administrator who dealt in paperwork and coinage. Bothersome, yes, but not a threat. At least, that was what I had convinced myself.

A sentry nodded at my approach and reached for the door. I steeled my back, preparing for yet another disagreeable conversation once he opened it. Conversations with the king, if not always brief like I preferred, were always unpleasant. Had been ever since our wedding in Lochfeld’s dungeon.

Her Grace, sire.

I tiptoed inside at the introduction and curtsied in front of the king’s antique desk before meeting his gaze. At first, he was barely visible behind the stacks of parchment and other books, though it wasn’t quite as disorganized as my imagination wanted, and he shoved a few aside, clearing my view completely as I straightened. Dark circles surrounded azure eyes in his face, and I looked away for an instant, toward the window that overlooked what had once been the bailey. He had no right to be exhausted. If anyone slept well at night, it was the imperturbable King Laurent of Meirdre, who never deigned to trouble himself with the plights of his subjects.

Yes, my dear? he asked, evening the stack of paper to his right without giving it so much as a glance. Something is happening?

Of course something was happening. We didn’t speak otherwise. Yes, sometimes we ate together, but we never conversed, sometimes we even shared a bed to fool the servants into thinking our marriage was solid, though we never touched or even spoke when that happened. Our sole verbal interaction—truly our sole interaction beyond painstakingly avoiding and ignoring each other—was when I informed him of trouble. Sometimes I wondered if he’d rather not speak to me even then. What would he do if I sent a written message with a servant or one of the royal guards?

I decided I’d find out next time.

Maybe.

It’s Harnow, sire, I said, clasping my hands in front of me and giving him an even, small smile. Not a happy one, because I didn’t want to encourage him or seem foolish, but a frown implied . . . the wrong things. What wrong things, I wasn’t exactly sure. It’s glowing again.

The word again was a mistake, but it came without warning from my subconscious. Perhaps his affectionate form of address had rankled me more than I’d appreciated. The use of Her Grace certainly had, and it wasn’t because I had any desire to be queen.