Crown of Blood and Ruin: A romantic fairy tale fantasy (The Broken Kingdoms #3)

Crown of Blood and Ruin: A romantic fairy tale fantasy (The Broken Kingdoms #3)

L.J. Andrews


Chapter one

Night Prince

The wood laths reeked of vomit.
The burn of it coated the back of my throat with each breath. No one at the table seemed to mind. The man across from me kept dropping bits of his smoked herring, then eating them as if they weren’t coated in someone else’s rank insides.
With a smack of his lips, he slouched back in his chair, eyes on me. “It’s Herr Legion Grey, yes?”
One half of my mouth curled. “Has been all day.”
He snorted, then wiped what came out of his nose away with the back of his hand. “Tell me why I should sell to you? Your king offered me a fine price. And he’s the bleeding king.”
The trader glanced out the foggy window where three dozen serfs were chained like hogs going to slaughter. He tapped his left hand, then reached for his drinking horn. Left-handed. The short blade on his waist would meet me on my weaker side. Easily adjusted.
I took a drink of hard ale.
His blade wasn’t made poorly, but neither was it expertly crafted. Slightly unbalanced in the steel. Bulky. Heavy. Strikes would be swift and hard, but with less control.
“Well?” he asked. “Why d’you want them?”
I lifted my gaze. “I’m ambitious, Herr, and these are uncertain times in Timoran. You are not from these shores, but I have deep coffers. I’m offering for no other reason than I could do with a few bulky serfs guarding my gates.”
He lifted a brow. The trader kept stretching his right leg. Sore perhaps? Old injury? I’d test it if he earned the chance to stand.
“From the looks of it, Herr Grey, you’ve already got plenty of good meat to watch your back.” His eyes drifted over the formidable wall of men at my back. Tor, Ari, and Brant stood with arms folded, blades on their belts, scowls in place.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
Fools. I was here as Legion Grey, arrogant, feckless trader of New Timoran. They were meant to be my partners, my companions. Once, we were known to play our hands at game tables, were known as reckless, young, wealthy men with an eye for a good deal.
Not warriors to a king.
Ari was the only one who had reason to look as if he were in pain. Doubtless, he was. Skilled in illusion fury, Ari was the sole reason my fae features were hidden, but fury had a way of draining the body when exerted too much.
And this bastard of a trader wouldn’t stop talking.
“They are sour we have not invited them to drink,” I said with meaning and a sharp glare at Tor. He rarely smiled before, but since we last left Castle Ravenspire, only one person could bring out any emotion from my old friend.
Elise wasn’t here, so the least he could do was play his part as carefree, ambitious trade partner to Legion Grey.
Like Mattis.
The carpenter knew how to slip into a role without giving away how skilled he was with the sword on his waist. Mattis laughed and smacked a tabletop in the corner, tossing back a horn of red spice with another man who remained hidden beneath a hood.
Frey wouldn’t show his face. Not yet. Here, he’d be recognized too easily.
My smelly drinking companion tipped his horn back, eyes on me. “Apologies, Herr. But I’m not going to be stepping back from a deal with a king to feed your ambition. Take your business to Ravenspire’s open market. And a bit of advice—don’t go making it a habit of undercutting your own royal court.”
“I think you’re making a mistake.”
This conversation was about to change. As the trader blustered and paraded his importance like an arrogant cock, hidden under the table, the axe grew heavy on my lap.
A smug grin cut across his wind burned face. “I did not get to the point of trading with kings by making mistakes, boy.”
“Boy?” I said with a laugh. “Bold of you, Herr.”
“Don’t think the reputation of the wild Legion Grey, trader who beds merchant daughters while robbing their father’s blind has escaped me. To me, you’re only a wandering boy with a thick purse.”
I lifted a brow. “Do they say all that about me?”
He grinned, showing off the gold tooth in front. “They do. Good thing I don’t have no daughter, Herr Grey. I’m not trading with you. A friendly relationship with a king is more intriguing than a deal with a boy like you.”
My lips curled as I lifted my drinking horn. “I couldn’t agree more. Of course, I’d like to offer you one final chance to give over the trade on your own volition.”
“Now I’m to simply give them up?” He chuckled. “You’re mighty strange. How you’ve made it this long in a trade world, I’ll never know.”
“I take it you’re refusing?”
The trader glanced at me like I’d lost my wits. “Yes, Herr Grey. I refuse to give you my serf trade.”
“Understood.” My grip tightened around the handle of my battle axe. A comfort lived there, in the leather, the wood, the steel. Something familiar and deadly. “Unfortunately, this night is not going to go well for you. The king has no interest in friendly trade with the likes of you. He was simply offering a fair shot.”
His grin faded. “What are you—”
Before the trader finished, the curved edge of my axe sliced through the fingers he’d rested on the tabletop. A guttural, sick scream broke the peace of the alehouse. My men from Ruskig rose against his men before they even realized what was happening.
Mattis’s sword cut through the spine of a trader. Frey pulled back his hood and threw a dagger at the aleman, the point piercing the man’s throat. I didn’t question, doubtless the Ettan guard had his reasons to kill him.