Page 5 of Randall
Artor sighed as he circled Queen Guenevere to sit in an open chair beside her. She lifted an ever-present carafe of red wine and poured Artor a measure. As he tossed it back, I realized it must contain blood… whose I could not say, but it wouldn’t surprise me to learn it was Her Majesty’s. Payment for services rendered.
“No, but there’s the prophecy to consider.”
I looked from one to the other, assessing them. Both had mentioned the prophecy foretold at Valter’s first birthday celebration. “He’s come of age.”
“I told you he’d figure it out,” Her Majesty crowed triumphantly at Artor.
“You were correct, my queen,” Artor bowed his head, offering her a bemused smile.
She rolled her eyes at him before settling back in her chair. “So…” She steepled her fingers. “We need to bring Valter together with his shifter and vampire mates. I’m thinking a ball.”
I groaned. Artor groaned. We looked at each other and snickered.
“Don’t laugh at me. You know I’m right.”
I nodded. “You are, of course.”
Her wolfish grin said what words couldn’t. “Excellent. Location: castle. Date… hm… a moon from now, give or take when we finish preparing the invitations. Reason… well, that’s easy. Potential brides and grooms for all my children.”
“You want to invite every eligible bachelor and maiden, Your Majesty?” Artor’s voice rose, his eyes widening with horror.
“Yes, it’s time. Valter’s mates will come and claim him, and with luck, I’ll have husbands and wives for the other four. His Majesty will be pleased.”
The king might, but I wasn’t. More sleepless nights awaited me, scrying to all corners of the kingdom for danger while attempting to discover why Valter’s power surged that afternoon. Sighing, I agreed with her plan, for her loving deviousness knew no bounds.
Chapter 3
Darvon
“Darvon?”
“Here, Sylvan.” Darvon poked his head out of his closet to look at the son of Sylvar—his mother’s seneschal—and his favorite cousin. Maybe that was a stretch since Sylvan was his only cousin. While Sylvar managed the queen, his eldest managed him. Plus, Sylvan served as a personal guard, although Darvon felt it unnecessary… He was pretty fine on his own with his magick.
“Jarrah has sent word… A note…”
Sylvan’s hesitant tone was so unusual that Darvon stopped picking out clothes and exited the closet to peer quizzically at him. “A note?” When offered a folded piece of paper, he snatched it up.
“He left without me?” Darvon fumed. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Your Highness!”
“Not literally, Sylvan.” He huffed. “He expects me to follow and join him at the castle. Wasn’t he banned after the incident?”
“Queen Guenevere sent word that it’s been lifted.”
“Why wasn’t I informed?” Darvon narrowed his eyes, frowning as Sylvan turned away in silence.
He crossed the room and sat in his favorite chair, balancing the note on his thigh before threading his fingers together as he stared out the window without taking in the view. “A call for all bachelors and maidens from King Sulter, Jarrah’s ban lifted, and now he’s gone on ahead. What does my brother know? Or perhaps the better question is: what is my brother up to?”
Darvon’s gaze drifted again to take in Sylvan. His seneschal stood by another window, his body stiffer than usual. Most days, Sylvan was chatty, prodding Darvon to meetings, duties, exercise, what have you. His continued silence unnerved Darvon. It was as if Sylvan knew a secret— “You know something. Look at me.”
Sylvan shook his head, his lips pressing together, refusing to look in Darvon’s direction. Darvon chuckled as he pushed up from his chair and crossed to stand just behind his friend. Resting his chin on Sylvan’s right shoulder, he gripped Sylvan’s left arm. Born only a year or two apart, they’d grown up the best of friends, sometimes enemies, but always they found their way back to each other. They’d experienced all their firsts together: first kiss, first explorations, first intimacies, but they knew they weren’t mates. Someone else was out there waiting for them. Still, they remained close, faithful to their long-standing friendship, so Darvon felt comfortable pushing.
“What did you overhear? What tidbit did your father drop?”
“Not my father.”
“My mother, then…” He slowly spun Sylvan around and held his shoulders. “What did she say?”
