Page 3 of Legacy of the Heirs
“Would you like to bet on which?”
“If it is the latter, I assume I must deal with the Lords, who are outraged by the rudeness of my absence.” Dragging her hands through the ocean, Larelle propelled herself backward toward the steps and tilted her head back to meet Lord Alvan’s warm hazel eyes. The corner of his mouth lifted.
“Would you rather them believe you are rude or bid themfarewell in water-soaked undergarments?”
A blush crept across her face, and Larelle sunk her body further below the surface before she turned to find a silk Neridian-blue robe open for her, hiding the view of her discarded gown inches from Alvan’s feet. While his playful smile remained, he respectfully looked away as Larelle pushed aside her embarrassment and rose from the waters. She trusted his gaze remained on the Garridon horizon as she turned her back to him and slipped her arms into the sleeves.
Larelle froze as his calloused hands briefly caught her shoulders, gently wrapping the fabric around her body as she turned. Although he stood a mere step above her, she suddenly felt twice as small beneath his gaze. Noticing her discomfort, Alvan stepped aside to allow Larelle to climb the steps, who collected her gown as she passed and tucked it beneath her arm.
“I thought you could use some time,” Alvan said as he followed her up the steps and into the castle hallways. She did not answer; instead, she wrung the water from her curls and waved it over the sandstone balconies overlooking the Novisian sea. “You did not return after leaving.” He appeared to hesitate when she did not immediately answer. “Was everything okay?” An odd feeling washed over Larelle at someone other than Olden or Zarya expressing concern for her. Although Larelle had befriended Lillian and Alvan upon returning to royal life, the friendships felt unusual, as though her cracked heart could not accept others trying to mend the pieces.
Larelle nodded silently with a smile, uncertain whether she should tell anyone what the Historian relayed to her. She had not even told those closest to her what she and the other rulers had learned—nothing of the creatures that threatened them or their lack of plans to protect the kingdom. Alvan’s thick brows pinched together; clearly, he did not believe her feigned attempts at reassurance.
“Mumma!” a tiny voice shouted as Alvan opened the door toLarelle’s chambers. Zarya bounded off her stool and knocked the table with her elbow, sending books thudding to the floor as she collided with her mother’s legs. Larelle’s hands twisted in Zarya’s dark curls, her worries melting away as Zarya peered up at her with a grin, oblivious to the world’s worries.
“Oh, please, Alvan. Do not worry,” Larelle called, inclining her head toward the Lord as he crouched to pick up the books from where they lay scattered across the rug in front of the unlit fireplace. Larelle patted Zarya’s back, who spun and skipped to Alvan, pulling some books close to her chest just as Lillian entered from the adjoining room. Her blonde hair was scraped back into a bun, several pieces beginning to fall free after the long day. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Lord tidying the mess.
“Please, allow me. It is not your job,” Lillian extended her hand for the books, but Alvan shook his head as he rose, placing them on the table.
“You have been caring for Zarya all day, Lillian. It is your turn to rest now.” Larelle reached for her friend’s hand as Lillian crossed the room and squeezed it with gratitude.
“I would be happy to look after both Zarya and your son, Zion, for a day so you may have a break.” Larelle smiled at Alvan’s kind offer, though she wondered if he knew how much of a handful a five and six-year-old would be.
“I–” A knock at the door interrupted Lillian’s reply, signalling the arrival of dinner. Zarya frowned; she did not yet understand the need to eat and sleep earlier than her mother. As the servants entered, Larelle’s stomach rumbled at the smell of fresh pasta. Alvan chuckled.
“Mr Alvaaan…” Zarya dragged out his name in a way Larelle knew meant a request was coming.
“Princess Zaryaaa,” mimicked the Lord, crouching to her level as she dangled her legs off the stool.
“Will you read me a story?” she asked, still clutching a book. Alvan’s eyes widened as he drew back to glance at Larelle, whoseraised eyebrows mirrored his surprise. Bedtime stories were the one request Zarya reserved only for Larelle, especially when returning home late. Yet her surprise was squashed at the hopeful look in Zarya’s eyes as she played with the frayed leather corner of the book, waiting for an answer. Larelle nodded, offering Alvan a genuine smile.
“I would be honoured to.” Alvan placed a hand on his heart, and Zarya squealed, sprinting for Larelle’s bed.
“You have to help me up; I’m too small!” she demanded, and Larelle covered her mouth as Alvan stared at her, unsure what to do. “Quickly, or we won’t get through the story!” Zarya said, attempting to climb onto the bed. It seemed Alvan would soon be as wrapped around Zarya’s finger as Larelle was. He wasted no time striding to the bed and paused before lifting her under her arms and tucking a blanket over her. He glanced around several times before finally deciding to sit on the edge of the bed. He inclined his head towards the terrace, signalling Larelle to eat. She paused, conscious of the lost time with her daughter, but witnessing the grin on Zarya’s face when she opened her book, Larelle knew she was unfazed.
Knowing the dinner would comprise her usual company, she did not bother to change from her silk robe. Olden rose from his chair on the terrace and closed his book with one hand, smiling at Larelle. The terrace had become Olden’s favourite place since moving into the castle. All three of their rooms—Larelle’s, Zarya’s, and Olden’s—had access to it, a reminder that one thing had remained amid the chaos of royal life. She still had her family.
“How was your day?” Olden asked. The scent of trailing clematis drifted to her on the evening breeze as he leaned in to kiss her cheek before returning to his chair.
“Fine.” She smiled and reached to gather olives and bread onto her plate. Lillian filled her goblet with wine, tilting her head at the shortness of Larelle’s answer. Larelle avoided her gaze and began pulling the bread apart in her hands.
“Well,” Alvan began, gently clicking the glass doors of the terrace shut as he joined the group. “It is safe to say she was tired; we barely got through three pages.” His chair scraped against the stone as he sat beside Larelle, who winced at the sound. The exhaustion of the day grated on her mind, and the group fell silent, except for their clinking cutlery against china plates and goblets hitting the table. Larelle awkwardly cleared her throat.
“Are we going to address the fact that something is wrong?” Lillian glanced around the table as Olden sat back in his chair, catching Larelle’s eye. He raised his eyebrow.
“What do you mean?” she asked, flicking the curls from her vision and pouring herself more wine. Alvan matched Olden’s look, a playfulness sparkling in his almond-shaped eyes. Larelle was uncertain if she could cope in the presence of two men who knew her mind so well. She compiled a mental list of everything that could go wrong by telling her confidants all she had learned since her reign began.
If the lords found out Larelle told them first, it could cause an uprising and risked the rulers losing faith in her just when they needed to trust one another. Endless thoughts and possibilities crossed her mind, branching from reasonable to outrageous, yet one stood out from the rest. She could put her family at risk. Larelle glanced at their concerned expressions, all attention to their usual evening meal discarded. Larelle sighed and picked at the skin around her nails.
“What I say cannot go any further.” She looked intently around the table. “Because there is a risk that darkness could befall us all.”
Chapter Two
Nyzaia
The flames in the great hall flickered with the same uncertainty haunting Nyzaia’s mind. Guests danced and drank in honour of Elisara’s visit to Keres, and tomorrow, the women would search Tabheri Palace to uncover their parents’ secrets. Sipping from her goblet of wine, Nyzaia locked eyes with Tajana across the hall. The playfulness between the pair was clear despite their recent hostilities. In fact, she did not know how Tajana remained by her side, given her recent behaviour. Nyzaia was not trying to hurt her, but Lord Israar’s threats plagued her mind and steered her actions. She found herself constantly creating distance between them and avoided being together in public.
Nyzaia trusted and loved Tajana endlessly, so why had the words of one man forced her to question a future that had always been so certain? For the hundredth time since her reign began, she mourned her former life, yet the Keres Queen was still no closer to understanding who had set the explosion that killed Novisia’s ruling families. All she had was Isha’s confession and the odd note sent from Isha to her father.
