Crown of Blood and Ruin: A romantic fairy tale fantasy (The Broken Kingdoms #3)(8)

“Where do we go today, Valen?” Casper asked, a bit of berry juice dribbling over his lips.
“The walls. How have the folk settled in since last night?”
“Crispin, Frey, and Frey’s brother are finding shanties for families with young ones.”
“Axel,” I said. “Frey’s brother. The people trusted him last night.”
Tor nodded. “From what I understand Axel helped lead revolutions. They say he can sense the gods’ will.”
“What does he say?”
“He says he has a sensitive stomach.” Tor chuckled darkly. “He stands with the Ferus line.”
Good. One less potential traitor to worry about. Bringing in so many new faces, put us on alert after Ulf’s betrayal to Ravenspire. But if Axel was like Frey, he would be a skilled fighter and loyal to the end.
“The others without young ones will need to set up camps in the trees for now,” Tor went on with his report. “Frosts are coming, though, and the false king keeps destroying what few trade roads we have left.”
Damn Calder. He was cleverer than I gave him credit for. We never took main roads for our supplies. Ruskig routes demanded rocky terrain, precarious side roads the guards of Ravenspire despised using. Somehow the fool would find our roads, destroy our supplies, and push us that much closer to starving before Timoran slipped into a harsh winter.
At the far walls, stone and broken earth shaped jagged gates like claws from the bedrock. Moonvane grew in thick vines across the crags and crevices, as if the blossoms couldn’t help but bloom over my fury.
But even built with fury, there were places the walls crumbled.
“King Valen, over here.”
At a large hole, Stave gestured for us to join them. I didn’t remember Stave as a boy but had learned his father was a palace guard during the raids. He’d proven loyal and hated Castle Ravenspire as much as me.
“Stave,” I said, clasping his forearm. “Good to see you. My thanks in looking after Ruskig in our absence.”
He grinned, slathering clay and sod over the edge of the wall. “I will always defend our people against threats, My King.”
I clapped him on the shoulder and studied the break. A split shattered through the stone, wide enough for a man to slip through. Fury grew taxing, and I never wanted to be drained, never wanted to be caught off guard. But this was too deep to be repaired with mud and clay.
“Step back.” I waved the people away.
Folk curved behind me, watching. I was unsettled enough over people bowing to me, but the way they gawked whenever I used fury drew a flush of heat to my face. A hum of magic danced through my fingertips, melting into the stone when I flattened my palms over the surface.
In a matter of moments, the earth tilted and shuddered. New jagged points scraped to the surface. The more fury pulled from my body, the hotter my blood grew. The burn was a comfort, a reminder of weapons we had that the Timorans didn’t.
Then again, when the raids came, we had fury and the Timoran king overthrew our people. Traitors in the royal council could be blamed for our loss. Another reason, I chose my inner council with care.
Sweat beaded over my brow by the time the wall was repaired.
“Fill in the cracks with the clay,” Tor shouted.
The people wasted no time.
“Always a sight to see, King Valen,” Stave said.
I scoffed. “It would be greater if I did not get so winded. I’m afraid being cursed for so long has left me lazy with fury.”
He chuckled and followed Tor and me along the walls, filling in the gaps with a bucket of mud whenever we paused to rebuild weak points.
“There is a new confidence in the people of Etta,” Stave said as we paused at a bucket of water. He ladled in a gulp and wiped a dribble from his chin. “You’ve restored the hope here.”
I took the ladle from him. “Not me alone. There are many who have done more than me.” Elise Lysander being one. Without her, I would still be a mindless beast, killing and suffering through blood and violence. Even after the curse was lifted, without Elise, I would not be here. I would never have taken my place. I wouldn’t even know Sol still lived.
“All the same,” Stave went on, “the people are pleased with you. But there is talk.”
“What talk?”
“Of the future. For you, for our people, and for the kingdom.” Stave smiled. “They wish to see the king settled, happy, with a strong Ettan queen to lead us through this.”
At first, I laughed, imagining nosy folk planning a royal vow behind my back. Then, I came to a pause. “Elise is Timoran.”
“Yes,” Stave said softly. He didn’t look at me as he slathered mud over the cracks in the wall. “It is well known the king’s consort is Timoran. The folk speak of a queen. As king, you may have both.”
I glanced at Tor, confused. Did the people take issue with Elise’s lineage? She’d proved her loyalty time and again even before I claimed my place on the throne. Hells, I was half Timoran. If they took issue with Timorans, they took issue with me.
I thought of her pause, the slight frown over her lips this morning when I pressed on our time apart. A coal of anger stirred in my chest.
What had happened in my absence?
“Keeping multiple lovers is a Timoran practice, Stave,” Tor said. “Our king has made it clear he intends to follow the tradition of his parents and grandparents before him. To rule with his hjarta.”
Stave dipped his head. “Of course. I simply have repeated what I’ve heard.”
Had I been so oblivious to discontent with my consort? My jaw tightened. If the people did not accept Elise, then damn the crown. I would step down and return it to Ari.