Page 133 of Crown of Darkness
“She made a deal with one of her enemies—another young female who had been captured by the king for his harem. They slit the king’s throat while he was asleep, thinking his death would bring them glory, and her enemy used the king’s blood to bind the princess to the crown. But the king had worn the crown for so long that he was not entirely mortal anymore. He crawled onto his throne as the throne room shook and burned, his crown in hand. He set it on his head, even as the princess fought him for ownership of it.
“The Crown of Shadows is sentient, and the princess knew she could not hope to win it by force. It feeds on the emotions of its wearer and gnaws at their soul. And the king was old by this stage, a shadow of his former self. So she offered the crown something that it hungered for: She offered it a new host to feed upon. A heart full of bloody vengeance. And a soul that craved power. And the crown accepted.”
The oracle falls into silence, her dark eyes locked upon me.
I can barely breathe.
Why would the Mother of Night want such a thing?
I don’t realize I’ve whispered the thought aloud until the oracle replies, “Because the crown was created to feed upon the power of the lands without being forced to bond with it. It can sidestep certain… restrictions. And the Mother of Night’s link to the lands was severed the second she was cast into her prison world.”
I’ve felt her power. I would hate to face her with unrestricted access to it.
“So she needs the crown to tie herself to the magic of the lands and break her way free of the prison,” I whisper.
The oracle remains quiet.
If I put that crown in her hands, then I have set her free. I have set them all free. But if I don’t….
My hands lace over my abdomen in horror.
“Where is the crown now?”
“If you find the king, you will find the truth of the crown’s whereabouts.”
“I want a name,” I tell her. “Who was he?”
“But you should already know the name,” she says with a faint smirk. “It was your bloodline that ended his reign.”
I shake my head slightly.I don’t—
“Myrdal.”
The name means nothing to me.
“King Myrdal of Mirthwood.”
Again, nothing. “I’ve never heard of anyone by that—"
Of course not.
It drops whole and fully formed into my brain.
There’s one name that was obliterated from history. One name that was ruthlessly burned from the history books. One name that earned any bearer that spoke it the loss of their tongue.
And suddenly, I see a castle choked with vicious thorns and roses. The king my mother stole her lands—and power—from. The king she wiped from memory, as if to destroy any hint of the man.
“The Briar King. Myrdal.” I breathe the word, and it takes shape, as if to give him a name suddenly makes him real. He’s always been a myth. A monster. A secret we never dared speak of.
And my mother was gifted to him? She was raped and brutalized and forced to heel at his boots like a dog? I can barely breathe. This doesn’t exonerate her actions. Nothing ever will. But there’s a part of me that feels grief for that princess—the young fae woman who sacrificed everything in order to bring down a monster.
I don’t know her.
There’s nothing left of her within my mother’s hard carapace.
But… it explains so much.
“Yes.Thatking. Your mother took his life and his crown and his lands,” the oracle whispers, leaning closer as if she can smell my sudden fear and wants to drink it in. “You want to find the Crown of Shadows? Then take the crown from Myrdal’s head, and you will understand everything.”
