Traitor's Crown (Stones of Terrene Book 3) Read online

  Brandon had done little else on the ride to Lucrum than think of what he would say or do to the Aerugan ruler, but thus far, he’d waited, trying to decide what would be best for Jade both in terms of physical safety and trying to heal their non-existent relationship. He didn’t know his own daughter, aside from the fact that she hated him. And that she was in love with Zane’s little brother.

  And if looks were to be believed, Zak returned her feelings. What did Jade see in him? What plan for her future did he have? If he was like the little boy Brandon barely remembered from so many years ago, then he was earnest, cheerful, and eager to please. Had he retained that? Or had the years broken him like they had Brandon?

  Zak and Jade were almost always in the same vicinity, making it difficult to talk to one without the other within eavesdropping distance. He’d have to catch Zak alone.

  Which was why Brandon was standing outside Zak’s door before the sun was even up, keeping an eye on his pocket watch. He knew Jade wasn’t planning to be at the delegates’ breakfast this morning, so she wouldn’t have to witness him announcing himself to the leaders. But that also meant that there was a chance that Zak would let Zaborah be with Jade this morning, and Zak would run around the perimeter of Francene’s villa as he was wont to do for part of his morning routine.

  Brandon glanced at his watch again. The breakfast was due to start in two hours, and it would take about twenty minutes to get from Francene’s to the palace. As long as he talked to Zak soon, he could easily accomplish both goals this morning.

  The door opened, and the black-clad shadow of Zane stepped out, his movement just barely hitching in surprise. Brandon nodded peaceably even as his heart stuttered. “Zak.”

  “Brandon.” Zak turned, closing the door behind him, his hands resting at his sides, just a simple twitch away from his weapons. “Your Highness,” he corrected belatedly. He didn’t move, though his gaze roamed over Brandon, snagging on Brandon’s dressier clothes and the sheathed sword on his hip. “What can I do for you?”

  Brandon made a point to relax his posture, show he wasn’t there as a threat. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “About?”

  “My daughter.”

  Zak’s eye twitched. “I’m listening.”

  Brandon tamped down on the amusement at Zak’s guarded tone. “What is your plan for her future?”

  Zak’s forehead creased. “I don’t make plans for her future. Her future is up to her.”

  “And if it were up to you?”

  Zak crossed his arms and squinted at Brandon. “I would let her choose what she wanted. Her safety, her happiness, is my priority. What are you trying to get at?”

  Brandon hardened his expression, his voice stern. “And if her safety and happiness involves you and not unbreakable ties to Aerugo?”

  “All the better, in my book.” A flash of anger sparkled in Zak’s eyes, eerily similar to when Zane’s ire was growing. “And what are your thoughts on the looming ties between her and Aerugo?”

  “I’m going to break them.”

  Zak’s jaw dropped and satisfaction bloomed in Brandon’s chest.

  Brandon let his words sink in before continuing. “I’m not letting my daughter marry Everett’s spawn—even if he is Violet’s son. I’m going to break that engagement, and do right by my daughter.” He stepped forward, unperturbed that he had to look up to maintain eye contact with the younger man. “And after I do that, I expect you to do right by my daughter, too.”

  Brandon started walking down the hall, waving his hand without glancing back. “I’ll be at the palace, announcing myself. I’ll likely be there all afternoon, should she want to talk to me before the Summit starts tomorrow. I expect life will get interesting for all of us here soon, so you may want to warn her.”

  He bit back a chuckle at the sound of the Monomi stuttering behind him.

  * * *

  Brandon hadn’t been able to find a seamstress that could, or would, sew him an outfit worthy of a Doldran king in the two days he’d been Lucrum, but he hadn’t done too badly for himself, either. The crimson silk of the coat-tailed jacket was the wrong shade, but it was close enough, and he’d swapped out the brass buttons for gold last night.

  That was one good thing about being Jaxton’s slave for so many years. He’d picked up on numerous life skills that he’d never have learned in the palace—even with Sapphire’s constant urging for him to pick up “quirks” such as mending.

  Sapphire.

  His heart panged with the distant ache that time occasionally blessed his ever-present grief. Another day may give sharp sorrow, but today it merely squeezed his heart, like a gentle pressure that wouldn’t ease for him to breathe fully. He’d never wanted to be king. Even when his family was whole, he was content to just be a prince, a diplomat, nothing that involved ruling or leading his country.

  In that regard, being under Jaxton’s control was almost a relief.

  But now he was free, all his family but his daughter was long dead, and his kingdom needed protection and a ruler who cared for it. Twenty years of traveling the world. Twenty years of seeing, feeling, experiencing the highs and lows of what the people went through. Twenty years of working for Jaxton, and none of those were for the good of the people—how many had he killed, had he robbed, had he hurt because of that control circlet?

  He was free to make his own choices now. And he was going to put his daughter and his country first. He had too many wrongs to right.

  Brandon ran a hand over his hair, confirming it was still smoothed down. He turned the corner and strode toward the dining hall doors, holding his head with the remembered impervious tilt of a royal who expected the doors to open of their own accord. A king did no such menial thing such as attend to doors. That’s what the guards were for.

  He fixed a glare on the nearest doorman and raised his eyebrows. “You may announce me. Brandon Doldras, King of High Doldra.”

  The guard jerked and looked across at the other man in Aerugan livery. “Um, I don’t know—”

  The smooth, polished royal was long gone, leaving a brazen mercenary in its place. This was going to be a harder re-learning curve than he’d expected. Brandon let the fire in his veins add heat to his words. “I assume Zebediah Monomi is here as the proxy representative for Doldra. Or were you told to expect my daughter, Adeline Grace?” Brandon interrupted. “I am here instead.”

  “I—” The guard grimaced, flustered.

  “I can announce myself—this time. Learn it for tomorrow.” Brandon pushed against the heavy doors with a burst of energy, and they swung open, one of them banging into the wall as he strode in. He swept his gaze over the room. One large table took up the room, with a seat for each leader and their secondary aide or assistant. Bodyguards, warriors, and guardians mingled on the edges of the room, along with a scattering of lesser dignitaries and nobles.

  The breakfast here was to be an informal breaking of the ice before the official Summit that started tomorrow. This was the time to feel out new leaders, solidify old pacts, and theoretically prepare as a whole for the week-long time of discussions, negotiations, and politics. Whatever ease they thought they had was about to be shattered.

  But it had to be now, before the official start. They needed to recognize him as king before he could make his next move.

  He picked out Zebediah easily from the group, his hair more silvered than black, and his burly form easily dwarfing the chair he perched in. Lady Catherine sat to Zebediah’s right, her mouth open in a little “o” as she stared at Brandon, and her fascinator hat, which resembled a moldy bird’s nest in her curled hair, tilted dangerously close to falling. Zebediah blinked in astonishment at him, then he dipped his head in a nod before standing and sweeping his arm out at Brandon. Catherine scurried out of her seat to curtsy.

  Zebediah intoned deeply, interrupting the few conversations that had continued despite Brandon’s entrance, “May I present the vanished prince, Brandon Doldras, rightful
King of High Doldra.” He stepped back from the table and bowed deeply to Brandon, fist against his heart. “My liege.”

  Brandon locked eyes with Everett and smiled at the anger in the man’s expression, letting his own rage rise to the surface, just enough to be seen. He wasn’t a puppet any longer, and he wouldn’t come when beckoned. No, for what Brandon had in mind, it had to be clear to everyone that he and Everett were not on friendly terms.

  But he also couldn’t let out the rage that bubbled in his blood, laying waste to Everett as Brandon had once to Jaxton. Both men deserved such a fitting death, even if for different reasons. Andre deserved to be avenged. Brandon’s back muscles tensed. He needed to think of the mass of his people over just one life. He’d get his vengeance later. For now, he had to practice patience. Pace himself for the long hunt.

  “My apologies for arriving late.” Brandon poured as much sincerity as possible into his words. “I was delayed in my arrival and then caught up with some family business.” He settled his hands on the back of the chair that Zebediah had vacated and made purposeful eye contact with each leader. He recognized his brother-in-law from Richard’s marriage to Violet—Rowan from Perennia, who stared at him with the look of a man who was trying to make sense of what he saw. Brandon nodded to Emperor Ezran of Antius and felt grim satisfaction at the confused nod of acknowledgment from the man who’d not so long ago held Brandon and his team captive. “I hope I didn’t miss too much.”

  Everett’s expression soured. “Sit and be welcome.”

  “How do we know this is truly the Brandon of Doldras?” President Guth of Lasim exclaimed as Brandon sat in Zebediah’s vacated seat. Guth settled a liver-spotted hand in one of three pockets on his vest and pressed it against his chest, his eyes widening behind his wide-rimmed glasses. “Anyone could just walk in and make that claim. We haven’t seen Brandon of Doldra for twenty years! Why show up now?”

  Zebediah claimed Catherine’s chair, his lips pressed together as he silently shook his head. “I can vouch for him. We interviewed him extensively in Doldra at the same time that his daughter, Adeline Grace, was first publicly known to be alive.”

  Queen Violet raised her hand. “I, too, can and will vouch for him. He was my brother-in-law. I recognize the Doldras line.”

  Violet’s brother, Rowan, now King of Perennia, studied Brandon. He ran his finger along the embroidered flowers on the collar of his jacket. “What flowers are these, and what do they mean?”

  “Peonies.” Brandon didn’t even hesitate. “Honor and love.”

  President Guth snorted. “So he knows flowers. Big deal.”

  “Queen Victoria knew the language of flowers well, and she insisted that her two sons knew the language as well as any Perennian or self-respecting diplomat.” Violet’s voice rang harsh as a slap. “I don’t know what you want to hear to prove that this man is who he says he is.”

  Rowan’s dark eyes bored into Brandon. “You walked my sister down the aisle at Violet’s wedding. What had she been afraid of?”

  Brandon blinked as he thought, trying to remember that day so many years ago. What was it that Dahlia had said? “She was afraid of tripping,” Brandon said slowly, the memory of her fingers gripping his arm solidifying his confidence. “She was terrified of ruining the wedding by falling.”

  Rowan’s hard expression slackened. “Welcome back, Brandon of Doldra. I look forward to hearing your story sometime later.”

  A slight wisp of a woman gestured at Emperor Ezran, and toned lines of muscle showed through her gauzy blouse. Her loose pants and soft sleeveless vest rang reminiscent to Piovantian fashion. She tilted her chin at the Emperor. “You have known the entire Doldras line. What do you say about this?”

  Brandon turned his attention to Ezran, feeling the nervousness settle in him again. If Ezran confirmed him, then the matter would be settled, and his primary goal of coming in like this would be accomplished. If Ezran denied him, then it would reflect poorly on Violet and on Perennia, possibly costing them as allies in the upcoming war. Brandon slipped his hands under the table and clenched them on his knees, digging his fingers in.

  Ezran stared at him, his jaw twitching as his gaze swept Brandon over once, then twice, and once more again. “He is who he says he is,” he said finally, his voice tight. His eyes narrowed. “And he was with the crew that took down the barrier.”

  A babble of exclamations broke out, and Brandon fought to keep what calm he had. “That is not true, and you know it.” He blew a breath out, mentally shelving the tirade he had saved with its choice words for Ezran for later. “The crew I was riding with was there to protect the barrier, but you took the lodestone”—he held up his hand to prevent Ezran from interrupting”—for safe keeping, and for good reason. Why trust a bunch of shady-looking humans with such an important artifact?”

  The room was silent, as if everyone was waiting to hear Brandon’s every word, every possible explanation or excuse he would give.

  Brandon gave a seated bow to the emperor. “You did what you saw was best, though it cost us all the barrier going down, as we couldn’t prevent the fall when desperately trying to catch up to the evil that was Lucio.”

  “Lucio?” Vodan’s chief echoed. It had been nearly twenty-four years since Brandon had seen any delegates from the eastern-most nation, but Brandon was fairly confident it was still Chief Sichi. Just … older. “Same name as one of the Seven Sages?”

  “Indeed.” Brandon tilted his head. “With what I know of him, he could even be one and the same.”

  Sichi’s dark eyebrows shot straight up. “That would be … quite the coincidence if that were the case.” Sichi gestured to Violet. “She came to us about a year ago, as her agent, Ezekial,was investigating a ‘Lucio.’”

  Brandon’s memory flashed to Ezekial and his mention of Lucio. “Oh?”

  “He’d requested asylum to live out his years in our nation, and my father had granted the request. When we sent our sage to check on him, Lucio had disappeared. There were clues left behind as to his ties to a ‘Jax,’ who had led a notorious bandit group in our region years prior.”

  Brandon suppressed a shiver of hatred at the name that Jaxton used to go by. “He’s likely the same man, then.” He straightened his spine and gave Ezran a levelled look. “I had only recently regained my freedom from a certain demented doctor’s control circlet that mirrored the blood-bond. I hadn’t yet announced myself in Doldra, as I needed time to heal before taking over my country.” Brandon fixed his gaze on Everett. “And then I learned of my daughter’s engagement, and I had to leave to come here right away.”

  “It sounds implausible,” the Chancellor from Piovant stated. She shook her head. “Which is why I’m almost tempted to believe it, because who would concoct such a story?”

  President Guth rubbed his smooth jaw. “You say you were under a control circlet? I want to see proof.”

  Brandon frowned. “Why would I have kept something that made me as useful as a loyal dog with a sword? The moment Jaxton’s control on me was broken, I got rid of that hated thing.” He pointed at Sichi. “Same Jaxton he just mentioned.”

  “Jaxton?” Guth’s expression changed into something almost resigned. He exchanged glances with his second-in-command, trading whispers. Guth leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand against his bald head. “I’m willing to give the benefit of a doubt.”

  “Thank you.” Brandon pressed his palms into the table and briefly wished he were a manipulator or one who could pull calm from inanimate objects. “I have been a slave, and I have seen the world. I have seen how my own people need help and leadership. How many of our kingdoms could do things a little bit better for the common citizen. And I know how unprepared our civilians are for when the Elph in the north take their forces to our lands. We need to work together to prevent a massacre.”

  “I agree, we need to prevent a massacre,” Sichi set his elbow on the table. “But as to us working together, trust doesn’t come that easil
y for sharing military might.” His glance darted toward Everett then back to Brandon. “I don’t know what it would take, but it would be something more than a pretty speech from a long-lost king.”

  “What more do you ask for as a reason to unify?” Brandon exclaimed. “The barrier is down, and we have death marching toward us. What more do you need?”

  “Fine.” If the chief was Sichi, then odds were good it was still his wife, Muku, who spoke now. She moved her arm, and her bracelets tinkled merrily in the tense air. “Who would we unify under? You?” She laughed lightly, age adding some gravel to her voice. “Even if you are the King of Doldra, we need more answers before we can trust you.” She lifted her hand to Ezran. “No offense, but we have no interest in making this an Elph versus Elph war with humans as pawns.” She shook her head and touched her hand against the bangles around her throat. “No, we need much more time to think about such a thing as unification.”

  Brandon stiffened and forcibly relaxed his jaw. Well, he’d accomplished what he’d specifically come here for: now the leaders knew he lived, even if they didn’t fully trust him yet. He couldn’t blame them for their skepticism. But at least he knew what their thoughts were on the incoming threat. He had his work lying out in front of him, and he didn’t relish the thought of the effort it was going to take to complete.

  * * *

  Brandon didn’t wait for Everett to start the rant that was clearly brewing as he paced in the almost-empty dining hall. The other leaders and delegates had finally cleared out, and Brandon lingered along with Zebediah, Lady Catherine, and the Doldran guards that mingled with Everett’s various military men. Violet shot Brandon an exasperated look from behind Everett’s back, and her expression smoothed as Everett turned to face her.