Clash of Crowns: Chronicles of Cassadon, #2

By NK Fuller

Predentia is set to show the realm they are undefeated with the upcoming splendor of the chariot races. A restless King Horton is keen to forge an alliance with the new king of Vallandria by tempting him with the offer of marriage to one of his daughters. Demelda, the youngest princess, nervously awaits her fate. Will she be chosen to marry the mysterious new ruler that may not be all he seems?
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Meanwhile, having been imprisoned for his new found abilities, Kavic desperately tries to break free to rescue the princess from all those who seek to use her. With the help of an unlikely source, he races against time to save her from a lifetime of misery married to a tyrant.
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With the impending prophecies hanging on everyone's lips, the rulers of Cassadon desperately search for the only thing that can keep their iron grip on their thrones: the highly coveted golden trident that possesses the power of the sea.

Can Demelda and Kavic acquire the sacred merfolk sceptre before the human rulers can abuse its power? As the battle reaches the high seas, no one is safe in the scramble for ultimate dominion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nathan Fuller
• Release date: May 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201027018

Book preview

Clash of Crowns

Chronicles of Cassadon Volume 2

By NK Fuller

Copyright 2020 © NK Fuller

Please note that the author is English so spelling is in British English.

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CONTENTS

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Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Author Newsletter

Copyright

Chapter One

Demelda

Release me this instant! Demelda screamed as three guards grappled her to the ground outside Kavic’s cell.

With their overpowering strength, her resistance was futile. The entanglement of limbs scrambled to restrain her. Wincing in pain, she gripped her right arm, which had taken most of the impact. The cold stone floor outside the holding cells was not where she wanted to be right now. 

Over the grunts of the guards, Demelda could hear King Horton’s familiar huffs in the distance. His deep voice echoed down the narrow, dark corridor. What is the meaning of this? Did I not give strict orders to keep her away from that slave? Let me deal with her, you imbeciles!

Forcefully tearing the guards away, the king crouched down and gripped her face between his hands. His lips curled into a snarl as he whispered to her. Be thankful that I’ve been merciful enough to spare your life. Open rebellion against my orders will not be tolerated. The tightness of his grip made Demelda yelp as his thick gold rings dug into her face. Now, you are going to go back to your chambers, peacefully I might add, to ready yourself for tonight’s celebratory feast. You will smile while we enjoy our victory over the Ludovans.

Dusting down his meticulous gold and green robes, the king turned on his pointed black boots and stormed away. In a daze, Demelda watched the hulk of the king's figure leave in the blur of her teary eyed vision. He was about to turn the corner, but he stopped himself, one hand raising by the side of his head, as if he had suddenly remembered something important.

With a flutter, he swung his cape to turn back to a distraught Demelda. I want you to be on your best behaviour in front of the envoy. Do you understand me? With any luck he'll be keen to arrange an allegiance and will go scurrying back to his king with my offer of either you or one of your sisters as a parting gift. Wipe away those tears you shed so easily and arrange your stained face. I want you wearing your finest and looking your best when I present you to him tonight.

Unable to speak, Demelda licked the tears that moistened her lips.  Her shoulders shaking, she hung her head low where she lay, the coldness of the floor pressing through the fabric of her dress.

Before she had time to think, the guards yanked her to her feet and marched her back to her sleeping quarters. Her maid stood hovering by the door of her bed chambers, giving her such a look of disapproval, she didn’t know where to set her face. All she had wanted to do was rescue Kavic, her merman servant, but they had made it impossible.

Pushing her inside, the guards relayed the king’s orders to fix her up and prepare her for the feast.

When the heavy door slammed behind them, Demelda took a sharp intake of breath. Invigorated by the quiet of her room, she retreated to the safety of her bed.

The servant hurriedly moved around, trying to avoid eye contact with the princess.

Deep sobs tore at the lining of Demelda’s lungs as she sat cradling her knees, each fresh thought of marrying a stranger birthing renewed rasps.

Completely oblivious, the servant rifled through the wardrobe. I have a dress in mind for you, Your Highness,  she said, as if the debacle that’d just unfolded had never happened.

For a brief moment, Demelda ignored the servant. Her chest inflated as she sucked in air and held a breath. She had an idea.

Put me in the plainest, ugliest dress from my collection. No man will like me then. I’ll be sure that I am not picked to marry some southern rebel that feigns sudden royalty, when in fact, he’s just a blood thirsty guerrilla.

The duvet creasing with her speed, Demelda leapt off of the bed and over to the servant, who looked bemused.

But that’s not the order I’ve been given, Your Grace! the servant said, her dark expressive eyes threatening to bulge.

With a glare, Demelda tightened her fists by her sides. She knew she’d have to use underhand tactics to ensure that she was not presentable to the envoy. Did you hear the rumours of what the queen did to the clumsy slave in the glass house?

The servant nodded slowly, bowing her head and clasping her hands together. The corner of her lip began to tremble as she replied. She ended up in the infirmary, Your Grace, very seriously injured.

Seizing the opportunity to get her own way, Demelda paced before the wardrobe, occasionally shooting her a look through slanted eyes. Well, all she did was accidentally knock over a bag of soil, and she ended up with a rake in her back. Disobey my order, and I’ll make sure your beautiful eyes become food for the ravens when your body swings in the gallows.

Her hands trembling by her side, the servant agreed, her voice a mere croak., Swiftly turning back to the princess’s wardrobe, she resumed her search for a dress.

An invisible knot of both relief and guilt tugged within Demelda. She didn't want to threaten the servant, but what choice did she have?

She was fully aware that if she didn’t fight against her father’s commands, she could very well be married off to a brutish man in a foreign land.

Wanting to break the rope of guilt that tugged her stomach, Demelda quickly replaced her anger with politeness. The servant nervously fumbled about the vast array of outfits, her breathlessness increasing when she clocked Demelda closing in.

There... Demelda made sure that her tone was soft, ...that one will do.

With a side smile, the servant presented Demelda with an oversized beige dress. It was swamped in unsightly white lace ruffles that stood out like fins running down the middle.

Are you sure this one will suffice, Your Grace?

Running a light finger over the lace as she inspected it, Demelda gently took the dress from her. Perfect, please help me slip it on.

Demelda couldn't help but grin, completely satisfied with her chosen outfit.

Very well. The servant unclasped the back and lowered it for the princess to step into.

Tugging the heavy material up over her shoulders, Demelda smiled as she waltzed over to the mirror, giving herself a nod of approval. After twisting this way and that, she used her fingers to ruffle her hair to make it look unkempt. Laughing at her own antics, she shook her head. Had court life caused her to go insane?

*

A short while later, the shout of guests and clutter of the kitchens signalled to Demelda that it wouldn't be much longer before dinner was ready.

Leaving her sleeping quarters, she trod slowly, her servant accompanying her as they made their way to the great hall. The lengthy hem of the monstrosity of a dress proved difficult to navigate around in, so she had to be careful not to trip on the narrow stairs. The servant let out a few frightful squeals as the sheer length of the dress caused a few stumbles.

A wall of noise greeted Demelda as she joined the flood of people entering the great hall. Instantly, she set her gaze on the king and queen who sat proudly on the dais.

Stifled laughs came from the revellers around her as she walked through, but she didn’t care. She was in a daze, ignoring them as though they were not there. All she could think about was the impending envoy's visit - and its outcome.

The eager, watchful eyes in the room narrowed on her as she quietly pulled up her skirts and slowly took her place next to Queen Qutaris, who moved her goblet from side to side, almost as if she was playing with it.

Leaning towards her daughter as she sat, the queen let out a trill of laughter that sent her shoulders jolting to a rhythm all of their own. Is this one of your schemes so you go unnoticed by the envoy? It won't work, let me assure you. You’ll be the laughing stock of Emerak in that hideous ensemble.

Before she could think of a retort, Demelda smiled and nodded at  her  servant, who waited by the entrance for permission to leave, her escorting duty done.. An odd mixture of relief and defiance suddenly flowed through the princess as she dismissed the servant that she'd earlier threatened and sat next to the woman who would encourage such behaviour.

The strength of resolve to not be like her mother flushed her skin as she sunk into her seat. Still, she couldn't completely erase the feeling of remorse that sat like a heavy stone on her lap. She might have threatened the maid, but at least she never carried such atrocities out, unlike her rotten mother.

Demelda scowled as she watched the queen whisper to the king. Hearing his wife’s words, King Horton pushed his hands against the table to lean back and glare at her. Demelda’s stomach wrenched so tightly, she thought she might vomit right there on the table. Her mother tried to engage eye contact, but she resolved to stare into the seated crowds.

The awkward tension was unbearable.  Just how long would she be able to deflect any more of the queen's vicious barbs?

As luck would have it, one of the ever interfering council members called over to the king, who quickly averted his harmful gaze as they toasted the strategic methods used in the battle.

More and more people filtered in to dine as they spoke between themselves. The heat from the influx of guests forced Demelda to adjust the constricted fabric of her high necked dress. If she didn't get relief soon, it would choke her. Perhaps it wasn’t just the tight neckline. The tension around the dais was more than enough to send heat directly through her chest and into her throat.

The council member finished his babbling and soon took his seat on the end of the left table. Giggles erupted loudly at the end of the dais,  drawing Demelda’s attention to Agnaline and Magel who leant over their father, only to turn back to one another, childishly hiding their faces with their hands as they whispered.

Demelda couldn’t help but glare in their direction. Not surprisingly, they returned several sharp looks of their own. Their laughs caused the tight curls of their half-up hairstyles to bounce around their faces.

Invisibility. That’s what Demelda had wanted, but instead, she’d got just the opposite. Her mother was right; she was a laughing stock.

About to take a sip of wine from her goblet, Demelda paused when the king began clanging his knife against his cup. Three high pitched chimes rang out as he implored the dining guests to give the arriving envoy a warm welcome.

Demelda lifted her eyes as a man flanked by three heavily armed soldiers, holding shields and spears, walked in. His immediate presence undeniable, the man's impressive mass of lengthy black curls fell about his shoulders. The gold belt of his white tunic dazzled brightly, almost making Demelda squint.

King Horton stood up, smiling with merriment as he indicated a seat at the right end of the dais, next to Agnaline and Magel.

Servants soon hurried over, presenting vats of wine to the man, who instantly appeared to be taken by Demelda’s older sisters.

Breathing deeply with a sigh, Demelda prayed it would stay that way, hoping she’d fade into obscurity. The queen urged his flanking soldiers to sit at the table next to the dais, which had been left vacant especially for them.

Smells of salmon and venison filled the air as platters were brought out. Demelda watched the envoy closely as he exchanged pleasantries with her father and sisters. As expected, Agnaline and Magel were overtly obvious when displaying their charms to the mysterious southerner. At one point, Demelda was afraid that their corsets might not contain the strains of their far too tight dresses. They were desperate to make a good impression, and their overly sweet perfume made Demelda feel nauseous every time a waft blew her way.

Over dinner, the plan of invisibility had worked well, but as Demelda set her knife down on her empty platter, the chink caught the charismatic envoy's attention. Leaning back in his chair to look at her, he wiped his mouth with a napkin. She pretended not to see him, fixing her stare on the old council members.

Are you alright, sir? Queen Qutaris asked the envoy in the sweetest, yet falsest, voice Demelda had ever heard. Her mother’s question had brought her abruptly out of her focus.

Her chest inflating, Demelda held her breath as she prayed that the envoy hadn’t noticed her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Demelda saw the envoy looking about the dais as if he'd lost something, perhaps purposefully, to get her attention. I was informed by royal invitation that there would be three daughters ready to greet me. So far, only two present themselves. Charming as they may be, could you be so kind as to tell me where your third daughter might be? With a flick of his gaze, the envoy smiled. King Xerxe wants an in depth report on each one upon my return, so I shall need to speak with her before the night is through.

Looking as though he was going to choke on his salmon, King Horton quickly picked up his knife and jabbed it in the direction of Demelda.

Pulling her stomach in sharply, Demelda sent up a quick, silent prayer. If she could just get the formalities over with, the man would turn his attention back to her heavily made-up sisters. Hopefully.

Getting up from his seat, the envoy walked around to the front of the table to where Demelda sat. All she could do was shoot a desperate glance at her mother. Not that she wanted to turn to her for help, but she knew that the queen would rather he pick Agnaline or Magel. For once, her favouritism might prove useful. Unfortunately, her mother dropped her gaze to her goblet, ignoring Demelda’s imploring stare.

Having never felt so uncomfortable, Demelda shuddered, desperate to get out of the spotlight. As the envoy's gaze glazed over her form, she squirmed in her seat.  Her only distraction was her fumbling hands under the table. For a second, she amused herself at the irony of feeling the same as the queen, for once.

Warmest greetings, Your Grace. My name is Heldvig. The envoy grinned as he introduced himself to her.

Clearing the lump in her throat, Demelda managed to introduce herself.

You are much different from your sisters, Heldvig said, acknowledging her quietness, We can work with that. I shall enthral the king with tales of your mystique!

Spluttering droplets of wine onto the white floral tablecloth, the queen quickly interjected as she held out her goblet. Magel is learning the violin, did she tell you? She has a natural musical ear. If that isn’t interesting enough, our eldest daughter, Agnaline, aspires to become a poet just like her idol, the greatest poet in Predentia, Mivelda Sternard! She could write a few verses for you to give to the new King of Vallandria, how does that sound?

It was working. Much to Demelda's delight, the envoy tore his gaze from her.

Queen Qutaris’ desperation reeked almost as much as Agnaline and Magel’s sickly fragrances, but for once, it was something that Demelda counted on.

A shiver spread over her spine as she watched the queen’s arms danced to the tune of praises for her siblings.

Heldvig mustered up a half smile as he walked back to his seat. Hope was all Demelda could hold on to as she watched him resume his talks with her father.

After a few exchanged pleasantries, King Horton rose from his seat, placing one hand on his stomach to address the crowd. It is my great honour to inform you of our military success. Our retaliatory blow to the Ludovans will shatter the very core of their resolve against us. King Hiruldan lost his life in the conflict, and although Queen Evander and General Gottryte were not found in Deperioss, I am certain that they do not have enough men to muster any further attacks. Once again, my people will be safe from the threat of harm, and will dwell in the safety of the realm’s superior kingdom! As of today, the sanctions on activities outside the citadel are lifted.

War fever had well and truly swept the castle. The diners toasted themselves on their victory, continually in a chorus of clangs. Shouts of glee filled every corner of the room as the guests quickly became inebriated, guzzling from the large vats of wine and ales that were brought out.

Watching her father stand proudly in front of the dais, all Demelda could think about were Kavic and the Predentian soldiers. Memories of them slashing at the innocent women and children of Ludova filled her mind. She had to clench her hands into fists to stop from jumping up. Feelings of hatred, regret and powerlessness washed over her in surfs of emotion. How could the crowd applaud such things?

King Horton glanced back to the queen as he toasted to his success. Agnaline and Magel professed their love and adoration of their father as they looked up at him in complete admiration, and in that very moment, Demelda knew that she was the piece that didn’t fit. She never had. 

A young man shot up from his seat, the interrupting scrape of his chair echoing around the room. He held onto the table as he swayed from the intoxicating drink. Swinging his tankard above his head, he spilt some of the golden ale down his brown and gold tunic. You fail to mention in your fantastic oratories, the great beasts of the sea that attacked Merlov Castle. Will we be safe from them, Your Highness?

Clutching his signet ring as he swivelled it around his fat finger, King Horton paused for a moment.

Demelda hotly anticipated her father’s reaction. Would he punish the outspoken drunkard or use his outburst to his advantage? Usually, if anyone dared to speak uninvited, they'd have been thrown straight to the cells to contemplate what they'd done.

A fiendish smile crept onto King Horton’s face as he acknowledged the daring man. It is true what you have heard from whispering lips and open ears. Ancient beasts of old, that were long thought extinct, have inexplicably sprung to life. The realm is changing, and I intend to embrace that change. As these marvellous creatures have indeed been given the breath of life, we shall find a way to ensure that they fit in with our ambitions. Gulping, Demelda licked her lips as she recognised the haughty glint in the king's eye as his voice rose higher, On this very night, I tell you, we have discovered a way to control the dragons. Despite my unbridled glee upon hearing that a dragon attacked our enemy, we cannot have such incredible beasts altering the balance of power. Man must prevail over monster, and that, I shall. Do not be afraid. I will have them under my dominion, and they will serve the greater purpose of Predentia’s rule!

Shock sealed Demelda to her chair, her arms and legs unable to move. How could he have found a way to control the sea dragons? What had he done to poor Kavic to find out?

All hail the king, all hail the king, all hail the king! the crowds chanted exuberantly, much to her disgust.

Trying to quell the rambunctious citizens, King Horton lifted his arms and fluttered his fingers. The revellers quietened. As if our military power over our enemy wasn’t enough, we have the pleasure of the envoy of the newly appointed King Xerxe of Vallandria dining with us. The king raised his glass to Huldvig in a toast. The rest of the guests