Fractured Crowns: The Reign of Peace, #4

By Jenna Powers

Leila continues the search for the missing Princess Meriel, spreading out further and further, closing in on areas where the Empire has laid claim.  Her sister, Aewyn, grows cautious and concerned of her habits, the two seemingly growing further apart.  As they traverse the lands, they quickly find a horrifying sight...

 

Across the seas, to the west, Crown Prince Mutid Kerim al Aziz, of Harub, begrudgingly listens to Prince Loren of the Empire, knowing that he has put himself in this position.  The Harubian Army marches south to put the Josin Dynasty on edge, based on false pretenses.  While his soldiers have been repositioned, Mutid heads down a secret dungeon to save his long imprisoned mother.

 

And within the Kingdom of Gild, fear grips the Church and the Crown.  King Yahob and Prince Udyr cannot believe that Frier and the Empire have joined forces.  Yet, Commander Toran says that he saw their banners flying hand in hand.  The Great Shepherd, Bertrold, protects the Commander and argues that it is time that Gild insulate itself.  Unbeknownst to him, Udyr requests to head north and see for himself, alongside his secret lover, Cristan.

 

When the two learn of the devestation that occurred between the army of Frier and the Tudorian Empire, all manners of peace begin to break...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jenna Powers
• Release date: Mar 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223357384

Jenna Powers

Jenna Powers is a sultry executive assistant by day who lets her fantasies come true through erotica writing by night.

Book preview

CHAPTER 46

MUTID

Moonlight spilled through the intricate latticework, bathing the opulent chamber in a cool, silvery glow. Crown Prince Mutid, a tapestry of worry woven into his regal attire, leaned against the balcony, gaze fixed on the twinkling expanse of his capital. Farouq, his Chairman of the Armies, stood beside him, a weathered warrior whose expression mirrored the unease of the night.

Farouq, Mutid's voice rasped, heavy with the weight of his unspoken burden, prepare the army for a southern deployment.

Farouq's eyebrows shot up in surprise. The Josin Kingdom, Your Highness?

Mutid offered a taut nod, his fingers clenching around the hilt of his scimitar. Indeed. The people demand justice, Farouq. They demand a response to the heinous act perpetrated upon their King, my father.

Farouq's weathered face creased with concern. The whispers of a Josin attack are...unsubstantiated, Your Highness. Marching our army south on mere suspicion...

Suspicion?  Did you not see his injuries?  They are clearly from the blades of the Josin.  No other Kingdom would have such precise cuts.  Did you not see the remnants of their little throwing blades?  The evidence is irrefutable.  The people know the truth, and their thirst for vengeance burns hot. Mutid responded.

A flicker of doubt crossed Farouq's brow. The evidence he'd seen was conclusive, in the fact that they did appear to be from the Josin.  But he knew how the Josin operated, such a clandestine attack would’ve meant that stealth would have been key to their success, and it made no sense for them to leave such a trail back to them.  But the fire in Mutid's eyes, the conviction in his voice, spoke of a deeper knowledge.

Your Highness, Farouq started, his voice low, we cannot rush into war based on...emotion. Consider the Human Alliance, the fragile peace we've maintained for decades. A rash move could shatter it all.

Mutid scoffed. Peace built on sand, Farouq, crumbles when the wind of truth blows. The Josin have breached the trust, ignited the flames of war. We merely respond, a beacon of justice for our fallen King and a shield against further aggression.  As for Frier and Gild to the East, it appears they have some troubles as well between them.

From what my men have told me, it’s not conflict between those two, but rather the Tudorians that have entered into the neutral zone.  The same Tudorians that we have opened talks with for trade and a potential alliance, Farouq responded, a slight edge to his voice.

Mutid shot him a cold glare, making the older commander straighten his body.  I respect your words Farouq.  You have served my family well, and from my discussions with my father, you are one of the most loyal people in this Kingdom.  I understand your concerns, but you must understand, I have more information than you.  While the Tudorians have indeed stepped between the two Kingdoms to the East, from my candid talks with Prince Loren, it’s by request from the Gildeans.

Farouq’s eyebrows furrowed as he tilted his head, the... Gildeans?  They requested this?

Do not be concerned Farouq.  The level of politics you’re concerned about is for me to burden.  You need to concern yourself with what I requested, just like you had when my King gave the orders.  The people will grow uneasy, maybe even riot, if we do not do anything, Mutid responded.

With a low bow, Farouq accepted his duty. As you command, Your Highness. The army will be prepared.

A ghost of a smile played on Mutid's lips. Excellent, Farouq. Remember, the people watch. Let our march be a testament to our strength, a thunderous cry for justice that echoes across the land. Let the Josin see our resolve, and let the doubters within our own ranks fall silent.

The silence returned, heavier now, laced with the weight of secrets and unspoken truths. Farouq, ever the loyal soldier, wouldn't pry. But the unease lingered, a shadow cast by the prince's hidden motivations.

Gazing out at the moonlit city, Mutid felt the familiar knot of tension tighten in his gut. The gears of his plan were set in motion, fueled by a concoction of ambition, political maneuvering, and the simmering rage of a grieving populace. But beneath the facade of righteous anger, a darker agenda pulsed, a slight miscalculation on his part with Prince Loren ordering what his expectations were.

The moonlight, cool and accusatory, seemed to sharpen the unease in the air. As Farouq bowed, about to retreat with the weight of the impending deployment upon his shoulders, Mutid stopped him with a gesture.

Farouq, his voice held a tremor that surprised even him, before you go, there's another matter.

Farouq straightened, his weathered face etched with concern. Your Highness?

Mutid hesitated, then met the old warrior's gaze with a pleading intensity. My mother, Queen Consort Farah... do you still remember...?

Farouq's eyes flickered, betraying a flicker of fear before they shuttered closed. Silence stretched, heavy with unspoken memories. The Queen's imprisonment, a public spectacle of shame for her attempted poisoning of the King's concubines, was etched in the collective memory. But the location of her incarceration was a closely guarded secret, known only to a select few, Farouq being one of them.

Your Highness, Farouq began, his voice low and cautious, it is not my place to—

Please, Farouq, Mutid pressed, his voice barely a whisper. My father... before the attack, he... confided in me. He said he missed her, regretted his decision. He even mentioned wanting to bring her back, but... well, you know his stubbornness.

Mutid's voice cracked, and with a desperate sincerity, he continued, Now, he is... not himself. Blind, mute, paralyzed. I... I need her by his side, Farouq. As Queen Consort, her presence might bring him some solace.

Farouq studied the prince, his gaze searching for any hint of deceit. The anguish in Mutid's eyes seemed genuine, yet the Queen's return... it went against everything the King had stood for. And revealing the location, a betrayal of his sworn oath.

Your Highness, he finally said, his voice heavy, the King made his decision. It was... for the good of the realm.

Mutid leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rasp. But what if the realm has changed, Farouq? What if his absence, her absence... is creating a void that others are eager to fill? Her return could solidify my position, show the people their Queen still stands beside their King, even after what he did to her... even in his... diminished state.

The lie sat heavy on Mutid's tongue, an ugly concoction of ambition and opportunism. He knew full well his father would never have wanted Farah back, not after her betrayal. But the potential gains, to see his mother once more, to feel her warm, loving touch.  As well as the anger that would probably overtake his father when he heard his mother’s voice once more.

Farouq remained silent, the weight of the prince's words and the King's past decree warring within him. He saw the desperation in Mutid's eyes, the ambition masked by feigned concern. The choice before him was stark: loyalty to the, now invalid, King's will, or succumbing to the rightful Crown Prince of Harub who’d ascended recently.

Farouq stood bathed in the stark moonlight, the weight of the prince's words and the King's unwavering decree threatening to crush him. He closed his eyes, the image of the King's stoic face flashing across his mind, the Queen Consort's tearful pleas a hollow echo in his memory. His loyalty had always been absolute, a shield forged in years of service and unwavering respect. But the realm was in turmoil, the King incapacitated, and Mutid, his heir, stood before him, desperation etched on his face.

With a shuddering breath, Farouq opened his eyes, meeting the prince's gaze with a grim resolve. Your Highness, he rasped, his voice heavy with the burden of his decision, deep beneath the unforgiving sands, forgotten by the sun and moon, lies a hidden prison. Built under the King's orders, its purpose was to hold those deemed a threat to the throne, forever cloaked in the silence of the earth.

Mutid's features sharpened with anticipation. My mother... she is there?

Farouq nodded, his throat constricting with guilt. Guarded by a handful of shadows, sworn to silence and tasked only with her... confinement. They never speak, never touch, merely ensure she draws breath and serves her sentence.

Mutid's face hardened. A tomb for the living. Where is this... prison?

The revelation hung heavy in the air. Farouq had crossed a line, breaching the sacred trust placed in him. Yet, looking at the Crown Prince, a flicker of hope, perhaps even desperation, ignited within him. Perhaps the Queen's return, however unorthodox, could serve a greater purpose, mend a fracture he feared was widening.

With a low murmur, Farouq revealed the location, a part of the Terzhan Citadel that he rarely visited, guarded by an unmarked entrance leading to a chilling abyss. His words were like pebbles dropped into a still pond, sending ripples of consequences outwards, their destination yet unknown.

Mutid listened intently, his face unreadable. A dangerous glint flickered in his eyes, one that spoke not of filial piety, but of a calculated move in a far greater game. He thanked Farouq, his voice devoid of warmth, and the old warrior retreated, the weight of his betrayal a heavy stone in his gut.

I need you to tell the guards to let me in and once I do, they must leave.  Is she held behind bars?  A cage?  Mutid inquired further.

Yes, Farouq responded as he dug into his clothes, knowing full well what Mutid’s next request would be.

Then that means you-

Hold the key, Farouq replied as he fished out a golden key and handed it to the Crown Prince.