But could he put that burden on them?
He had to decide now.
No. He would tell only one. He would pass it on to the boy most like himself—the one who could handle the knowledge, the one destined to rule.
The King turned to one of his sons and said, “I need to speak with your brother alone for a moment.”
His eyebrows knit together as hurt and confusion clouded his features. “But, Father—”
“Go,” King Maltrier commanded.
He clenched his jaw, stood, and left without another word.
It was the last time the King would ever see his son.
The door closed roughly behind him.
King Maltrier turned to his other son. “You know the story of our ancestor Viktor Dremylon.”
He nodded, but the King continued anyway.
“Viktor struck down the evil Doma court that subjugated our people. Then he claimed the throne for himself with the sole purpose of ruling in a fair and just system.”
“Yes, Father.”
“History is told by the winners.”
“What do you mean?” He tilted his head and looked concerned.
Perhaps he thought the King had already lost his mind.
“Viktor did destroy the Doma court, and he ushered in a new era of Dremylon rule that has persisted two thousand years up until you today. But what is not in the stories is that the Doma court had ruled because they had powerful…abilities.”
His son laughed like his father was telling a fairy tale.
“Listen!” the King snapped. That sent him into another fit, and his son helped him sit up, so he could cough into his handkerchief.
When King Maltrier leaned back again, the King saw blood had coated the white silk.
“Father, you should rest.”
“I need to tell you—” He was interrupted by another cough. “—the truth. Viktor beat the Doma court and the most powerful leader they had ever known, Domina Serafina, by stealing magic—dark magic, a magic that cursed Viktor and all his ancestors. It cursed me…and you…the entire Dremylon line.”
His son remained silent and still. The King had gained his attention.
“Now, I must leave you with this, Son.” The King retrieved a heavy gold key from around his neck and placed it in his son’s hands. “A lockbox in the wall in my closet contains Viktor Dremylon’s writings. Collect it, and tell no one. You must continue our legacy. Anyone who has Doma blood and discovers their magic must be eliminated. They threaten our power, your power. They threaten the very world we live in.”
Chapter One
“A storm is brewing.” Cyrene pushed open the textured glass windowpane to better assess the ever-darkening sky.
“It looks dreadful out there,” her sister, Elea said.
Cyrene could smell the dankness of the damp air and feel the pressing humidity against her pores. She brushed her long dark brown hair off her shoulders and stepped away from the window.
“Of course it would rain on the day of my Presenting. It hasn’t rained in a month.”
“It will hold off.”
“I hope so.” Today was her Presenting ceremony, and it would be the biggest day of her entire life. She swallowed hard, but her mouth felt as if she had gone without water for days in the middle of the Fallen Desert.
“Oh, Cyrene, you’ll do fine today.” Elea grabbed Cyrene’s hand, lacing their fingers. “Aralyn was selected as an Affiliate, and I’m sure you will be, too.”
Cyrene refocused her thoughts, channeling the self-assurance that so often came to her, and she put on a brave face for Elea. “Of course I will. I hope Rhea is feeling as confident.”
“Don’t worry about Rhea. She will be fine.” Elea retrieved a neat ribbon of pearls from the dresser and strung them around Cyrene’s neck. “There. All done.”
“Thank you, Elea,” Cyrene said. She pulled her sister into a fierce hug. “I’ll miss you when I become an Affiliate.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” Elea said, laughing. “You don’t even know if you’ll be selected into the First Class, but you practically believe you will be the next consort by nightfall.”
“I will be, right?” Cyrene asked sarcastically.
One of the most revered positions in all of Byern, the consort was personally chosen by the king and acted as his right hand in all matters of the state.
Elea snorted. “Don’t count your chickens before they have hatched.”
“Now, you sound like Mother!”
“Someone has to,” Elea said, shaking her head at Cyrene. “Come on. We can’t keep everyone waiting.” She ushered Cyrene out of the bedchamber.
Cyrene and Elea descended the spiral staircase to the large open foyer where their mother, Herlana, awaited them. Her daughters were mirror images of her, but Herlana had poise and grace that could only have been acquired through age and from serving as the previous queen’s Affiliate.
“Girls, you both look stunning. Though, I do say, Elea, I’m glad you still have another year. You need to get over that gawky awkwardness you still possess to have a chance at the First Class. Luckily, Cyrene never underwent that, or else I would have been more nervous for her,” Herlana muttered unabashedly.
Elea’s cheeks colored in embarrassment. She had grown to a surprising height in the past couple of years and was having trouble adjusting to the changes that had accompanied such a growth spurt.
“Thank you, Mother,” Cyrene said, redirecting the full weight of their mother’s attention.
“Well, you’re not out of it yet.” She eyed her daughter up and down. “Why your father ever approved of that harlot-red color on you, I have no idea. You’ll be the only one wearing something so tawdry.”
“I’ll stand out then.”
“As if you wouldn’t already at your own Presenting,” Herlana huffed.
“I think she is a vision in red,” Elea said, defending her sister.
“Thank you, Elea.”
“Yes, well…she would do better in your green,” Herlana said. “Do you remember everything required?”
Cyrene gulped back her moment of fear. “Yes, Mother. The very words I must speak have been etched into my brain since infancy.”
“You’ll need to watch that mouth of yours. The King doesn’t take kindly to insolent subjects. Now, where is that husband of mine?”
“I’m right here, Herlana,” Hamidon called. Entering the foyer, he thumbed through a small stack of letters in his hand.
He was a bulky man of medium height with a stern, self-important air about him. Despite his aristocratic appearance, he dearly loved his four children and doted on them even when his wife would scold him about it.
“Good morning, my beautiful children.” Hamidon kissed Elea and then Cyrene. “The Royal Guard have arrived,” he said, turning to his wife. “Are the Gramms here yet?”
“Yes. They’ve arrived just now,” Herlana said. She gestured out the door where a pair of carriages pulled into the circle drive.
“Perfect,” he said, wearing a pompous smile. “Shall we depart?”
Cyrene’s mother and father paraded out of their house, and as she was about to follow them, Elea threw her arms around her older sister.