The Shattered Crown of Blood and Gold

By Rosie Forest

On the night of her Claiming ceremony, 19 year old Kassya Sylthana is gifted her family's Magyck, and officially named heir to the Aelvalian throne. However, when rebel forces attack, she's forced to flee the castle with a man she only just met, leaving her mother and home behind.

 

Together, the duo navigate the land of Aelvale, and she realises that the world is a very different place from what she had thought.

 

How many truths will she have to uncover, and how far will she have to go to take back her Kingdom? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie Forest
• Release date: Jul 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201433062

Book preview

The Shattered Crown of

Blood and Gold

Rosie Forest

The Shattered Crown of Blood and Gold

Copyright © by Rosie Forest

THE SHATTERED CROWN of Blood and Gold

Copyright © by Rosie Forest

All rights reserved. Printed in the U.K, no part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, and incidents are either product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

Contact: [e-mail]

ISBN: 978-1-5272-9626-8

First Edition: July, 2021.

Content Warnings.

Author’s Note

This book contains scenes depicting violence, blood, gore, torture, and discusses parent death. In chapter one, there is a scene where the main character experiences a form of sexual harassment, and uncomfortable comments are made in chapter three. It also features NSFW (smut) scenes between characters at three distinct points.

I urge you to only read this book if you are comfortable with these themes, and to skip the sexual harassment/ uncomfortable comments if they could be potential triggers. Other than that, happy reading, and thank you so much for your support!!

To you, the reader:

for taking a chance on me.

Prologue

The day had been fast. Too fast. In the blink of an eye, the mid-morning sunlight had turned into the icy darkness of night. The stars flickered in the sky, like jewels encrusted on black velvet, and the world began to lose its shine. To a trained eye, everything was beginning to diminish. The once glorious beauty of Aelvale had been slipping away for weeks, and Freyja was out of time. She placed a manicured hand on her swollen stomach, the dark material soft under her fingertips.

She tried to picture a reality where she didn’t have to do this- where she didn’t have to rip her unborn child’s power away from her. It’s not forever, she reminded herself, as a small bump in the road caused the carriage to jump. All Freyja could think about was how the world was slipping from her grasp, of the life her child may never have, and the slow, repetitive sounds of hooves hitting stone. The tree lines blurred in her vision, like spirits being whisked away by the coming of night.

We’re here, Your Majesty, a gruff voice said from the front, as the driver slowed the horses. The townhouse loomed before them, the candlelight creating a small oasis in the otherwise deafening darkness. The curtained door of the carriage opened, and Freyja inclined her head in gratitude, before stepping out onto the graveled floor, with a protective hand stretched across her stomach, the other pulling the fluttering cape tighter around her.

That’ll be all, Gerald, she said to the driver, whose bearded face was tinged with pink from the cold. As he crawled into the carriage to wait for her return, Freyja took a deep breath and began to walk to the front door.

It was a beautiful house- so full of life and nature that it felt like a cottage from a childlike fairy-tale. Though it didn’t hold a candle to the magnificence of the castle, it was certainly endearing. The door was mahogany, with vines crawling their way up the surface, tentatively reaching out to the stone walls on either side. It looked as though they were trying to escape. The windows were surrounded with swirling panes of the same wood, and Freyja saw the familiar face on the other side of the glass. He watched her walking up to the front door, could probably hear as she crushed gravel with her leather boots. As she raised her hand to the rose-shaped knocker, the door opened.

Your Majesty, he said, bowing low. As he did, the small, black ponytail at the back of his head fell over his shoulder.

Don’t be silly, Jason, Freyja said, pulling him up gently by his shoulders. She drew him into an embrace and held him as tightly as she could. When she finally pulled away, Freyja took a moment to assess his face.

Jason was the most beautiful man she knew- his skin was a light, soft brown. His eyes were like the canopy of a forest- impeccably green, and so clear that one could see their own reflection in them. Along his face ran small dents, the only tell-tale signs of his age.

Are you sure about this, Freyja? Jason asked, stepping to the side to allow her into his home. Crossing the threshold, Freyja took her cape off, shaking the cold out of her. Even from the foyer, she could feel the heat radiating from the fire in the living room. She didn’t answer as she made her way to the sofa, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. The further on she got with the pregnancy, the harder it was to be on her feet. For weeks, Freyja had run the kingdom of Aelvale from her bed, her healer barely allowing her up for this trip.

It’s for the good of the kingdom, she had said to the healer blocking her exit.

But it isn’t good for the baby, he had insisted, trying to usher her back to the silk sheets. Freyja just looked at him, her eyes darkening as she said- this is the best possible thing I could do for my daughter.

Jason stood by the sofa, waiting for a response. Freyja just sat up from her slightly angled position, and simply nodded her head. Jason, hesitation brimming in his eyes, moved to sit next to her. With one hand, he held her stomach, cradling the future Princess of Aelvale. Freyja placed her hand over his. Her answering scream was the only inclination that the spell had begun.

One

It was hard to deny the beauty that Aelvale had. Even without Magyck, the clouds swirled through the air, as if they have been softly stirred into the lapis blue sky. The sun was always shining. Even as the heavens opened up and rain fell in piercing sheets, the sun still shone through the droplets, and they glittered like diamonds; like the gems that were peppered across my chest, clinging to the ruby chiffon that stretched across my skin, and draped around me.

I saw the rain from where I stood on the landing, the stilettoed heels of my shoes digging into the red, velvet carpet that cascaded down the stairs in front of me. Adorned with two strips of gold along either side; the colours reflecting the crimson material that hung off my figure and pooled at the ground.

Though I couldn’t see it, I knew that my back was a work of art. Golden lace carefully woven into an intricate, floral design. It covered my back, ending in a neat point at the base of my spine, the red adjoining and pouring over my hips. A flurry of servants scurried around me, perfecting every little thing about my looks. Hair, makeup, dress- I had to be perfect. Like a doll made for a child, hiding the cruel flaws of this world from their innocent minds.

Despite filling every inch of personal space I had, the maids didn’t seem to notice me. Nor could they recognise the damning feeling that had stayed with me from the moment I had been awoken this morning.

Every fibre of my body had told me to run, as images of disaster filled my mind. I hoped they didn’t notice the way my hands were balled at my sides, manicured nails digging into porcelain skin. Or the clammy feeling on my neck and temple.

Stop, I told myself, you’re being ridiculous. I inhaled deeply, hoping that the feeling would escape with the breath. Unfortunately, I had no such luck. The closest maid noticed the exhale, the rouge brush mid sweep across my cheek.

Are you okay, Your Highness? she asked, leaning in slightly to imply confidentiality. I almost considered spilling my secret fears to her. But- I knew that my mother would never have approved of such a thing. Instead- much to the dismay of the woman curling my hair- I pulled away slightly. I plastered a smile onto my lips, forcing the expression of neutrality that my mother had perfected. She straightened again, concern flickering across her aged face.

Are you cold? she asked, as she began to gesture to a nearby woman, whose only job seemed to be holding a golden shawl that hung from a coat-hanger.

I’m perfectly fine, thank you, I said, in my most convincing voice. The woman didn’t seem to believe me but held up a hand to stop the delivery. She applied the makeup, regardless, a sympathetic nod being the only indication that the exchange had happened.

Until she leaned in once more, the wispy grey hairs surrounding her face tickling my cheek as she murmured to me.

Remember, Your Highness, today is all about you. There’s nothing to worry about. I didn’t answer- instead, I simply fixed my gaze onto a crack in the stone wall.

The jagged line making its way through the impenetrable surface. A flaw in the system. An imperfection. Something I wasn’t allowed to think about. Everything was done correctly, to my mother’s satisfaction- the décor, the dress, my looks. Yet, the minuscule abyss in the wall was something she could never fix, something that would remain there lest the whole wall be taken down and repaired. If only I could pinpoint that feeling- decipher the reason behind the pit in my stomach, the dread that laid there.

I hadn’t noticed the palace guards moving- not until one of them cleared their throat as she stood before me.

Your Highness? she asked, attempting to snap me out of my daze. My unfocused eyes made their way to her- I noticed the impeccable shine of the silver-toned armour, Aelvale’s crest engraved into the centre of the chest plate- displayed oh-so-proudly to anyone who saw her. The uniform was the same for everyone.

I had no doubt that half an armoury was strapped to her within her suit, starting with the sword that hung from her side- always clutched in the calloused, war-torn hands.

Always there, waiting. Daring any danger that might linger to make its way out of the shadows.

The Queen is ready for the ceremony to begin, the guard continued, gesturing one hand to the bottom of the staircase. I nodded.

Thank you, I replied. She walked around the gaggle of maids, positioning herself behind us. Even though the ceremony was starting imminently, the preening and pampering didn’t seem to stop. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I batted a few hands away.

Enough, I said, and they instantly backed off. They moved to the side, creating a single line of aprons. It occurred to me that I didn’t know a single one of their names.

From below, a flourish of baroque trumpets reverberated off of the walls, the echoes faintly reaching my ear. I peered over the railing and watched as my mother made her way down the hallway. She must have been waiting at the end, though I doubted that she had been pampered like I was.

There was only so much you could do to someone who was already perfect. In every way, The Queen was my antonym. Instead of blonde, her hair was a dark auburn colour- it had been pinned into a braided circle upon her head, in which the crown was nestled.

A King’s crown.

Just the sight of it made my throat close up- if only my father could be here today. If only he was here to watch his only heir be claimed.

I had only asked my mother about the crown once. I had been a child- no more than seven- when I had infiltrated her quarters while she was readying for the day. I had been prepared to throw a tantrum about having to attend classes, but the shimmering jewels caught my eye. Red rubies nestled into the band of gold, surrounded by small diamonds.

Why do you wear father’s crown? I’d asked, reaching out to touch the jewels like a curious magpie, seeking to add to my collection of precious objects.

"Because, she had said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, stopping my curious fingers, I need to remind the people in this court that I am a leader." She picked me up, sitting on the end of the bed and placing me on her lap.

Back then, she hadn’t cared about wrinkles in dresses, about whether I was well-mannered. I was too young to know the difference. I looked at her, waiting for her to continue, waiting for her to make sense of what she had said.

The council doesn’t trust a woman to rule the kingdom alone. They wanted a man- someone they saw as strong. I wear your father’s crown to remind them that- regardless of my being a woman- I can rule this land better than anyone. Gender be damned. The words hadn’t made sense until years later. And, since then, I had never forgotten them.

I snapped out of the reminiscing at the sound of my mother’s heels hitting the stone floors. Normally, the parting in the crowd would have been covered with the same carpet that ran down the staircase.

If I knew my mother, she’d had it taken off. Rolled up, placed in a corner.

Freyja Sylthana liked nothing more than a grand entrance- and the commanding sound of her walking towards the throne was something that had every member of the court standing to attention. Regardless of whether they approved of her lack of consort.

It was almost humorous, watching the people who hated my mother dip down, kneeling before her. That was the power she had over them. Just by walking past them, they bowed to her. My mother continued walking down the path, disappearing from sight behind an arched doorway.

The same doorway I would soon be walking through, myself.

Rise, I heard her say, her voice the epitome of strength. I heard the shuffle of bodies as people stood, seeking only to obey.

The guards at the top of the stairs turned to me, then, and I knew it was my turn. I began my descent; the small train of my dress being carried by two of the women who had help me ready.

As a child, I had run down these stairs, squealing with glee. It was my favourite pastime- climbing them like they were a mountain, running with the servant children. They once represented such joy, such fun.

Now, the red resembled nothing more than a waterfall of dripping blood. Fear. The descent into hell. Pull yourself together, I thought, trying to collect myself. Attempting to get a grip on these feelings.

Despite the fear, I did not let my step waver, did not allow myself to falter at the entrance as I walked beneath the towering arch that my mother had walked under just moments ago. I folded my hands under my bosom as she had taught me, raising my chin high.

The neutral, bored look painted over my features again as I looked straight, not deigning to look at my future subjects. Like my mother- my Queen- I was a display of elegance and power.

The maids had done an amazing job of making sure I was pristine. I walked towards the throne that would, one day, be mine. I walked towards the mother who had raised me into a future queen. My mother was the picture of indifference as I made my way towards her.

When I got to the two marble steps leading up to the thrones, I kneeled, my dress flowing around me like a pool of blood.

Stop that.

Nineteen years ago, today, my mother began, addressing the court, I gave birth to a baby girl. A Princess. I have raised her in my image, and I have taught her everything she needs to know to serve you- my subjects- well. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for doubt in any glances towards us. With my back towards the people, I didn’t know whether they approved of me or not.

I somewhat expected someone to stand up and speak out against me, telling everyone I wasn’t good enough. A King-less woman, who could never rule on her own. The usual drivel they spoke about my mother when they thought no one was listening.

Kassya, she said, looking down at my bowed head, do you vow to serve your kingdom with honour and dignity, and to dedicate your life to this privilege every day, for as long as you shall live? The words- spoken like a wedding ceremony. As if I was tying myself to another, like one does when they are married.

A slither of me wanted to say no and run for the hills. Before my mind could even truly consider it, the word came out so naturally that it took me a moment to realise I had said it.

Yes.

Rise, Princess Kassya Sylthana, heir to the Aelvalian kingdom. My mother slid the tiara onto my head, burrowing it in my hair. As delicate as the intricate, gold metal was, it felt like a weight upon my neck.

As I stood, the rippled fabric rising with me, those watching didn’t seem to move a muscle. I walked up the few steps and stood next my mother.

We looked over our people- as mother and daughter, Queen and Princess- our subjects kneeled before us. Something within me began to shine at the image, and it finally felt like things were beginning to fall into place.

THE ROOM WAS UNRECOGNISABLE. When those in the crowd had risen, the remodeling began.

Chairs pushed to the sides of the room into seating areas, a feast big enough to feed the entirety of Aelvale brought out for only a few hundred people.

Wine was flowing freely, and the musicians set an upbeat and lively tune for people to dance to. A few drunken couples occupied the dancing area, but no one worthy of note. At least they knew their role, though. I- on the other hand- didn’t have a clue what I was supposed to do now. My tutors had prepared me for the ceremonies, but not for what happens in between.

I supposed they’d been relying on the social skills that should come naturally to a Princess.

Instead, I had found myself a spot in the corner of the room. Two benches had been pushed together, forming an L shape. I sat straight-backed against one of them, watching people in the distance.

I saw people laughing, smiling, champagne spilling over the edge of their glasses. It was amazing how they didn’t care- the mess, the impropriety, it didn’t bother them in the slightest. I contemplated being like that, carefree and wild, but it wasn’t in my nature. Or my training. In my lap, I fiddled with my hands, not wanting to make accidental eye contact with anyone.

Despite the crowning going well, that feeling hadn’t left. The nihilistic inkling that continuously warned me of danger at every passing moment.

Kassya, said a female voice, and I felt myself jump at it. I realised a tall, slender shadow was looming over my seated figure, and I looked up to see my mother standing before me. She looked displeased, most likely at my lack of socialisation.

Why do you sit alone? she asked, holding out a hand. When she pulled me up, her grip was firm. Though her tone was kind to others, she wanted to make it clear to me that my behaviour had been unacceptable.

I’m not sure, mother, it must be nerves.

Well, she walked me over the edge of the dancing space, stopping before a fairly young gentleman, "this kind man would like to dance with you. And you should say yes." Her tone made it abundantly clear I had no other option but to accept. I scanned his face, trying to place it somewhere, but I knew I had never seen him before.

Must be a visitor from a nearby estate, I thought. The boy extended his hand, and I reached out to place mine in his.

He led me further into the dance space, one hand falling to my hip as he began to lead me in a simple waltz. As the musicians played their slow melody, I could feel the eyes of the court on me.

In a castle, people were always watching. Always listening. And no one would dream of missing the Claimed Princess’ first dance.

It was a zoo- a royal zoo.

I may as well have been in a cage; the viewers having paid to watch the spectacle. As the music sailed through the air around us, I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes burying themselves into my skin, prying faces swimming through my veins like a hostile sickness.

Me and my dance partner watched each other- as we had learned to do- and something in me realised he was suffering as much as I was. At certain moments, he’d grip me slightly tighter as if he were about to fall, or his breathing would hitch ever so slightly as he saw the stares of those around us.

I softened my gaze, squeezing his hand lightly. A tiny smile threatened to expose itself on his lips, and he returned the gesture. Yet, the unsettled feeling remained in his eyes, and etched in the lines on his forehead. I didn’t feel much comforted, either.

We slowed, the room spinning around us, as the music began to ease off. At the end of the song, we parted. The boy bowed to me, and I curtsied to him.

Despite people seeming to go back to their business- the spectacle over- my name was being passed around the room like a love letter.

What is your name? I asked, trying to fit niceties into the break between songs.

Cain, Your Highness, he replied, smiling gently at me. The boy- Cain- was certainly handsome. His skin was an olive tone, his hair a brown so dark that it was almost black. But, when the light caught the strands that floated in the air, the warm tones sang. His eyes were a turquoise green, flecks of blue and brown battling for dominance.

I’m Kassya, I said, then winced. Of course, he knew my name- he had watched me be Claimed, had seen the entire ceremony. He huffed out a laugh, his eyes glancing over to the direction I had come from.

Would you care to sit with me, Your Highness? he asked, holding his arm out. I hesitated, looking at the black blazer, before looping my own arm through his. We began walking, but I placed a hand on his forearm, stopping him.

Please, call me Kassya. He inclined his head once, uncertainty clouding those ocean-like eyes, and we walked over to the chaise I had been sitting on before. Once I was seated, he excused himself and sauntered back into the crowd. I watched him make his way through merry conversationalists and return with two glasses of white wine. I wrapped my fingers around the stem of the crystal, Cain sitting next to me.

Cheers, he said, holding out his glass, to your Claiming. I tapped my drink gently against his and took a sip of the bitter liquid. My face fell slightly as I was reminded of what today really was- not a day to drink and flirt with strangers, but a day to accept my place in society.

What is it? he asked, furrowing his brows.

Nothing, I answered, shaking the thoughts from my head. But his stare was demanding, unrelenting. I knew that, unless I shared some small nugget of truth, he wouldn’t give in. I looked