The King's Mother, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
More by Val Saintcrowe
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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
THE KING’S MOTHER
Fear, Fae, and Foes, Book Three
Val Saintcrowe
THE KING’S MOTHER
© copyright 2023 by Val Saintcrowe
http://vjchambers.com
Punk Rawk Books
More romantic fantasy by Val Saintcrowe
The Realm of the Living Flame
The Clash and the Heat trilogy
The Beast of the Barrens
The Ryzmn Job duology
The Nightmare Court trilogy
The Red Echoes Duet
Rise of the Death Fae series
Gaslamp Monster Romances
Fireseed
Hoofbeats
—
Villains burn everything down for love.
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CHAPTER ONE
ELSKE STOOD UP from where he was sitting on the bed next to Jannica Barnacus, who was engaged to marry Leon, the crown prince. Someone had just opened the door to Jannica’s bedchamber.
Jannica was wincing currently, hand against her abdomen, feeling a series of cramps that Elske knew were only going to become worse. There was little he could do for her at this point, but it felt wrong to leave her alone, even though his presence there was doing her no favors.
Anyone who came across the future queen in the company of the fae, having what amounted to a miscarriage, would know what had happened here. And the person at the door was doing exactly that, so he regretted that he was still here.
Elske had death magic. He was a death fae. He could wither things that grew, could call in storms, could extinguish flame. He could kill things.
Jannica had been impregnated by the king, Leon’s father Herrick, who had taken the girl’s maidenhead as some kind of twisted revenge considering Jannica’s brother had deflowered Ella, the princess. Herrick’s daughter.
Well, not Herrick’s daughter by blood, admittedly. Ella had been fathered by an ancient stag god named Fadh. Herrick had claimed the girl, however, and she was legitimized by that fact. Herrick treated her like a daughter.
But for that matter, so did Elske.
Catriona, the queen, had three children, each with a different father, but Elske and Herrick were both fathers to them all.
It was perhaps a complicated arrangement, but it was odd how natural it all seemed.
“Chief advisor, you must come at once,” said the person at the door, a servant, face a mask of worry and fear.
“What’s wrong?” said Elske.
“It’s the king,” said the servant. “He’s dead.”
Elske’s heart stopped. He couldn’t breathe.
“Now,” said the servant. “With me.”
“Yes,” said Elske in a strangled, high-pitched voice, and went along with the servant.
Once, when Elske had been only seventeen years old and Herrick had been a young king, the two of them had once descended into the kitchens of the castle demanding a snack worthy of the royal appetite.
The kitchens had been dark and empty except for one scullery maid there, who had winked at the king and told him she couldn’t make anything at all, but that she could slice him some bread and put honey and butter on it, that it was what she had when she had a hunger in the midst of the night, only that she couldn’t do it in the castle, of course, because it would have been considered stealing to eat more than what she was served as part of her wages, which included room and board. When she lived at home, however, she would often get up in the middle of the night and eat half a loaf of bread, which was likely why her mother had kicked her out and sent her off to make her way in the world. Too many mouths, you know, said the scullery maid with a little smile.
And Herrick had changed the rules after that, and said that servants sneaking food must not be punished, and had insisted that there was food rationed out for snacking and eating between meals. (And the scullery maid had ended up in Herrick’s bed, of course.)
Elske had watched the way the king looked at that maid and wondered at it, never allowing himself to be attracted to women, scolding himself out of it, until he laid eyes on Catriona of the Lach and everything inside him fell to pieces.
When he rounded the corner and took her in now, standing over Herrick’s bloodied body, two blood-smeared swords in her hands, her hands red, her forehead smeared here and there with blood from where she’d brushed her hair away from her sweaty brow, he thought she looked like some kind of goddess of death, like some harbinger of the end of days.
She was beautiful.
It was funny he thought of that first and not the shock of Herrick’s mangled body.
No, he’d been told Herrick was dead. He’d been expecting it. And he was devastated, because no matter what had passed between him and the king, how many years had passed and how often they’d hurt each other, no matter what, he loved the king.
And…
Elske was not the only person there. The hallway was full of members of the council and the high-ranking nobility of the realm who were in attendance at court currently. Catriona was standing there, shaking, looking about.
Oh, gods, there was Leon, and he had a fine spray of blood all over his face.
No one was talking. Everyone was gaping down at Herrick’s body. He was face down. There was a bloody wound at his neck. The blood… there was so much blood. It was smeared, tracked through. It was everywhere. It was on the ceiling, the walls, little droplets of it. The floor was a sea of blood, though, a lake of it.
Fuck.
Catriona cleared her throat. “Silence, if you don’t mind.”
No one had been talking.
She licked her lips. “I, um, didn’t want to move him. I simply called for everyone. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to do.” She was acting. If she’d been serious, she would have sought out Elske’s gaze across the hallway and her eyes would have pleaded him for help.
Gods, had Catriona killed Herrick?
He never thought she’d do that.
Catriona, she… well, there were animosities there, between the husband and wife, years of them heaped on each other, but she loved him. Elske knew that she adored Herrick and that she always would, and he could hardly imagine what would have prompted such a thing.
“The king… his head jerked.” She jerked her own head backwards. “The sword was there. It just… happened.” She let out a horrified sob, and she made to bring her hands up to cover her open mouth, but they were full. She was holding the hilts of two swords, one in each hand. She looked down at them, seemingly remembering she had them. “I had the swords. I took them. It was… they were fighting. Not like that, though. I took the swords. They would never have actually have used them on each other. Herrick wouldn’t have… not his son.” She gaped at the swords in her hands.
This was good, Elske thought. She was very believable. Telling the story out of order, not making any sense, seemingly shaken. She was brilliant, his Catriona.
He stepped forward, pushing through the crowd. “Your Majesty,” he said in a stiff and formal voice.
She turned to look at him. “Elske.” She shook herself. “Apologies. Sirra, Chief Advisor to His Majesty, you must be… you must be devastated. I know how you loved him. I can’t even believe…” She looked down at Herrick’s body and tears streamed down her face.
“Who was fighting?” said Elske, playing the part she needed played. It was better if he did it. More controlled that way.
“Well, it wasn’t really a fight,” said Catriona. “They were yelling at each other. Fathers and sons, especially when sons are the age of the prince…” She let out another sob. “The new king. The king is dead, long live the king. Gods smite us.” She cried openly, brokenly, her entire body shaking.
“Catriona,” said Elske, pretending he was losing his own composure. Or perhaps it wasn’t pretend. He wanted to cry too.
Herrick.
No.
“Excuse me, Your Majesty, look at me,” Elske barked.
Catriona did.
“His Majesty Herrick and His Majesty Leon were fighting?”
“Arguing.”
“I see,” said Elske.
“Swords came out,” said Catriona. “But not with any intention to use them. I know my husband, and he would never raise a weapon aga
Elske cleared his throat. “Perhaps the content of the argument isn’t important?”
“No,” said Catriona. “I took the swords, that’s all. I said to him, I said, ‘You do not want to injure our son,’ and he agreed, and he handed it over, and I took Leon’s, and then, I was holding them, and Herrick’s head—he moved his head onto the tip of the—I pulled it back. But… blood…” She looked around, all around at the floor at the blood spattering everything. “I just… I just…”
“It sounds like an accident, Your Majesty,” said Elske softly.
“Yes, sirra,” she said, turning to him, her voice stronger. “It was an accident. A terrible, awful accident, and it couldn’t have been prevented. It just happened.”
“I hardly think we should dwell on that, then,” said Elske.
“I was holding the sword,” she wailed. “If I hadn’t… if it hadn’t been there—”
“An accident, Your Majesty.” Elske went to her and wrenched the swords from her hands. He held them out to the nearest person, who shied away from them, but Elske insisted, thrusting them against the vikee’s hands. “Someone get rid of these. Melt them down. Bury them. I don’t care. Gone.”
“Yes,” spoke up a council member. “Indeed, that’s the thing to do.”
Elske put his arm around Catriona. “With me. And the new king.” He nodded at Leon, who was dull, looking at his shoes. At Elske’s pronouncement, he started, letting out a sound like a whimper. “With me, Leon,” whispered Elske.
Leon shuffled closer.
Elske pushed Catriona at him. “See to your mother.”
Leon blinked, confused, and then woodenly draped an arm over his mother’s shoulder, his face settling back into the dull expression from before.
Oh, gods. It hadn’t been Catriona at all, had it?
Fuck.
Elske turned to the gathered assembly. “We need the body taken, cleaned, prepared for a pyre. We need this hallway scrubbed, every inch of it, immediately. I must see to the queen and the new king. I must see to the prince and princess. And there must be someone who can inform the king’s mistresses and children.” He looked through the crowd. “Sansford.”
“Me?” said the Brith of Sansford. “I mean, of course. I will see to that immediately.”
“We are in mourning,” said Elske. “The entire palace. All formal dinners, all assemblies in the throne room are hereby suspended. Everyone in blacks until the funeral.” Then he turned back to Catriona and Leon and propelled them up the hallway, away from the gathered throng, who had the decency not to break into frantic conversation until after they had rounded a corner.
He escorted them to the part of the castle where the royal chambers were kept and Catriona went to her rooms on her own. She put a hand on Elske’s chest. “Go with him? See that he gets cleaned up? Help him, Elske?”
Elske felt his throat tighten. He wanted to cry. He needed to cry. He was falling apart here.
Herrick.
“Yes, of course,” he whispered. He leaned close, and he did something he hadn’t done in a long time, because it had been expressly forbidden by Herrick. He spoke to her in her own language, the language of Gaen, which no one else spoke in the castle. “He killed him over Jannica?”
She licked her lips, looking at her son, who was so dull he hadn’t recognized the other language, or hadn’t reacted anyway. “I don’t know if he knows why he did it. He said ‘rape’ a lot, Elske, and I fear you have put that in his head. You haven’t discouraged his fantasies about justice and Fadh, since you share them—”
“Fadh deserves—”
“Oh, never mind it. Anyway, he is at that age in which everything is either black or white, and he put his own father into the black category, and I… It was so fast. I don’t know if he even thought before he moved.”
“I see.”
“I love you. Please, help him.”
“I love you, too. I love Leon. He is like my own. You know that.”
She nodded.
He dragged a hand over his face and then turned to Leon. He switched back to speaking in Emmessian. “Come, Your Majesty. Let’s wash the blood from your skin.”
Leon looked up at him then. He nodded once.
They left Catriona to get herself cleaned up and went on to Leon’s quarters.
Leon stood in the midst of the room, unmoving.
Elske called for a bath to be drawn and helped Leon’s manservant undress the young king. He started to shiver as his clothes were removed, so they ushered him into the hot bath, but it didn’t help.
Leon lay back, eyes closed, head resting on the lip of the tub, his teeth chattering.
Elske had them scrub him, and then he called for a new tub, clean, full of hot water, and he had Leon moved in there, to the hot, clean water.
Then he dismissed everyone and sat down next to the tub.
“Look at me, Leon.”
Leon kept his eyes closed.
A long space of silence passed.
Finally, Elske spoke again. “Do you understand what your mother said out there? You will need to be able to verify her version of events. Do you know what that version is?”
“Were you and my father lovers?” Leon’s voice was gravelly.
Elske winced, jerking to his feet.
Leon opened his eyes, looking up at him, blinking.
“Not in a long time,” Elske found himself saying, instead of a patent denial. What was wrong with him?
Leon shut his eyes again. Now, his voice cracked. “Do you hate me?”
Elske sat back down and seized one of Leon’s hands in both of his hands. He gripped the young king’s wet and wrinkly skin tightly and spoke in a low and urgent voice. “I could never hate you. Never. I love you, Leon, more than life. I love you as a son. There’s nothing you could do—”
“I didn’t mean to do it.” Leon sounded small and frightened, like a little boy.
“It was an accident?”
“No, I suppose I…” Leon sniffed. He tugged his hand out of Elske’s and then sat up in the tub, letting out one last shiver and then going still. “I intended to challenge him to a duel, but he refused, and then… it came over me, all at once, like a curtain of rage, and I stabbed him. But then…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Then I wished I hadn’t done it.”
Elske was quiet. He knew this feeling, knew it from the mangled body of Gisila. Except that had been an accident. Well… he’d been terrified. The magic he’d poured into her…
It wasn’t exactly the same thing, however.
He regarded Leon. “I forgive you. Is that what you’d like to hear?”
Leon pointedly looked away.
It was quiet.
Leon cleared his throat, voice stronger. “She said that His Majesty did it to himself,” he said. “That’s what my mother said. That it was an accident and that he accidentally drove the sword into his own neck.”
“Yes,” said Elske.
“I won’t contradict it,” said Leon.
“Good,” said Elske.
More silence.
“You can go,” said Leon.
“No, I don’t need to,” said Elske. “You shouldn’t be alone right now—”
“I just want to go to sleep,” said Leon. “You can tell the servants to come back to collect this tub on your way out?”
“Perhaps we should talk more about—”
“I’m the king now, aren’t I? Don’t you have to do what I say?”
Elske pressed his lips together. “I don’t think you’ll find it works quite like that.”
Leon laughed softly. “No, I suppose not. You never did what His Majesty asked you to do either. What Herrick asked you to do.” The use of the dead king’s first name was deliberate. Leon didn’t want to acknowledge the familial connection between them. “But truly, Elske, I am tired.” He pushed himself up out of the bath.
Elske averted his eyes from the water dripping off of Leon’s naked body.
“You don’t… are you attracted to men? To me?”
“I’m attracted to your mother,” Elske muttered. “And you’re a child.”
