Cyrene awoke in a daze. When she opened her eyes, her head pounded, and her vision blurred. She lifted herself out of bed and then plopped back down. A wave of nausea crashed over her.
What is wrong with me? She certainly hadn’t had enough to drink last night to feel like this.
Tingles traveled up her arms, starting at her fingers, as if they had been asleep and were now waking up. The tingles turned into pinpricks, and then the stabbing pain moved from her arms to her chest, down her stomach, and to her legs, like a wave washing over her skin. She gasped when it finally passed, and she breathed in the wet stale air.
Her eyes flew open.
Wet stale air?
Her rooms were in the interior division of the castle, and there was nothing wet about being encased in a mountain. She eased into a sitting position, the dizziness slowly subsiding. Cyrene couldn’t see anything in the pitch-black room. She just felt the small bed beneath her. Swinging her feet over the edge, she landed on soft compact earth.
What in the Creator’s name?
Is this another test? Edric had been clear that he didn’t want any more pranks. Her nerves prickled. Am I not supposed to have said anything? Are the masks punishing me for getting them in trouble about the ceremony?
She hardly cared about what might have happened to the people who had done that to her. They deserved their punishment, but she didn’t want retaliation—or worse—for speaking up.
Plus, Zorian’s death was only a couple of weeks behind her. At the thought of this being another attack, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
She noticed a slit of light across the room. She rushed to the wall and felt along the stone until she found a door handle.
She took a deep breath, turned the knob, and pulled. Expecting some kind of resistance, she yanked on the handle harder than necessary and shuffled backward a few steps when it opened with ease. The way ahead of her revealed nothing but a dirt path covered on either side with high hedges illuminated by the moon and stars above.
Placing one foot in front of the other, she left the small room behind and walked the length of the path, which ended at a wrought iron gate with climbing vines snaking around the intricate design. She unlatched the gate and pushed it open to reveal a large circular pavilion.
Well-manicured bushes enveloped the perimeter, leaving only one exit directly opposite her. The pavilion was set up in a series of concentric circles from the bushes to the pathway and up to the marble slab patio before landing on a flat-topped dais. Thick wax candles had been set up in a semicircle, lighting the patio and casting a silhouette on four individuals.
Cyrene swallowed hard. Not another ceremony.
She couldn’t believe they were about to put her through something else after her warrior ceremony and everything she’d had to deal with regarding Zorian’s death.
With a sigh, she stepped across the circular garden until she reached the patio. She couldn’t keep the shock off her face as the four individuals came into focus—King Edric, Queen Kaliana, Consort Daufina, and Prince Kael. They were all clad in ceremonial Dremylon green and gold.
Her gaze found Edric’s.
He had been so kind and charming in the gardens earlier this evening. Is there some ulterior motive with him as much as his brother? The whole situation was too confusing.
“Affiliate Cyrene,” King Edric finally broke the silence. “Welcome to the Ring of Gardens, a place of peace, loyalty, duty, and acceptance.”
Queen Kaliana spoke next, “When King Viktor Dremylon first came to rule Byern, where he rightfully belonged, the Ring of Gardens was a constant place of solace. He believed, to truly nurture and grow the most valuable aspects of his subjects, he needed to set the example.”
“The time before the Class system is not well known among our citizens,” Consort Daufina said. “The Doma are our history, our example, yet much of what transpired has lapsed into folklore. This has been our own doing. We have purposefully let it be forgotten by the every day person.”
Cyrene stared forward, her eyes growing wider. They had let history become folklore on purpose?
“King Viktor Dremylon chose to stamp out the memory of the Doma and everything they had done to torment our people and our lands,” Daufina continued. “He left a glimmer of a reminder with his heir and his most trusted High Order and Affiliates of what could happen if we allowed his Class system to fall or fracture. He didn’t want the leaders of our world to forget what was possible under that kind of rule.”
“So, King Viktor left it to his best and brightest,” Prince Kael said, his characteristic smirk gone, his eyes like stone. “He didn’t want those who had the most influence over the structure of the new regimen to forget. The scholars, ambassadors, and inventors were the backbone, his Affiliates and High Order.”
“Back to the first group of Affiliates and High Order, the King tested those who wished to remain in his service,” King Edric said.
Cyrene’s blood ran cold. Is this why he forbid the warrior ceremony? Because I would have to undergo another such test?
“And he tested the very qualities that the Ring of Gardens represents—loyalty, duty, and acceptance,” King Edric spoke severely, as if the Doma’s subjugation still pained him to this day. “Affiliate Cyrene, do you wish to continue in my service as an Affiliate of Byern?”
Is that even a legitimate question? The thought of relenting her position, even after all that had happened, was heartrending.
“Of course, My King.”
“Then, we must put you forward to the test of the Ring of Gardens. Loyalty to the throne, duty-bound to your lands, and acceptance of the structure of the system were the three qualities King Viktor believed to be required of a true subject.”
“Should you choose to continue,” Queen Kaliana said, “know that the trials might be difficult. The outcome, should you fail, might be as simple as removal from the Affiliate program or as severe as death. Once you start, there is no going back.”
Cyrene held her chin high. She wouldn’t have the Queen scare her off. Surely, it couldn’t be as difficult as the warrior ceremony.
She glanced once into Prince Kael’s eyes. He held the same stony expression, but something about him seemed to be pleading with her. What is he thinking?
She didn’t know, and she couldn’t hesitate.
“I accept.”
King Edric walked two paces into the center of the pavilion and produced a small glass vial. He placed it on the center of a small table and gestured for Cyrene to walk forward.
Cyrene blankly stared down at the liquid. She couldn’t show any signs of weakness. To her core, she knew that she would need to remain strong or else she would surely fail.
“There will be three tests. The first is your agreement to begin and to drink this,” King Edric said, gesturing to the liquid.
“Do you agree?”
“Yes,” she said strongly.
He pushed the vial a fraction closer to her.
“What will it do to me?”
“It has a different reaction to every person who drinks it. If it doesn’t kill you, you’ll enter into another world of what could have been…and maybe even what could be. It is your risk to take,” the King stated simply before taking two steps back to stand between his Queen, Consort, and the Prince.
Cyrene steeled herself, took the small vial in her hand, and weighed it.
Loyalty. Duty. Acceptance.
She just had to drink it and trust that it wouldn’t kill her. She just had to step off the ledge and hope she had a soft landing on the other side. This was what they wanted from her. This was what she had to give them.
She unstopped the vial and set the cork down before pressing the glass to her lips and tilting her head back. The liquid ran down her throat and settled in her stomach. Cyrene placed the glass next to the stopper and looked at the four people standing in front of her, waiting.
Is something supposed to happen?
Then, it hit her like a fire scorching and burning away her skin. Worse, it was like poison turning her blood to sludge and pressing against her veins. She felt near to bursting. It was like jagged glass was dragging against her entire body.
She sank to her knees as tears sprang to her eyes. All she wanted to do was scream, but her lungs wouldn’t cooperate, and she could only open her mouth. She was a picture of agony and strangled desperation. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth, wondering if it would ever end, if she would die.
Think!
There had to be an explanation.
The push of the poison coating her insides made thinking almost impossible. She tried to settle herself and ignore the pain, but it was a constant battle.
What am I even doing here? Where am I?
She couldn’t open her eyes to tell. All she felt was the all-consuming agony that would surely equal death.
Loyalty.
The word appeared in her mind out of nowhere, and she held on to it like a drowning person reaching for a raft.
She was loyal. She’d drunk the vial. She was forfeiting her life for the good of the country.
At her Presenting ceremony, she had told Edric that she was his most loyal subject. The thought made her smile despite the pain.
Then, it was replaced by numbness.
And then, there was nothing.
Cyrene stood in the side room she had been escorted to immediately after her Presenting.
King Edric sat behind his desk, impatiently drumming his fingers against the stack of papers in front of him. Consort Daufina leaned against a bookshelf, impassively staring at the shelf. Queen Kaliana’s lips were set in a severe straight line, and she looked as tightly coiled as the bun on her head.
How did I get here?
A perfectly snug pale blue dress embroidered in cream fit her to perfection. Pins dug into her hair where they held it back off her face. Even her feet were in her favorite pair of dark blue slippers, not the black she typically wore.
“Affiliate, are you even listening?” King Edric snapped.
“Yes, of course, My King.”
Cyrene dipped a curtsy to cover her shock at his tone rather than to show deference. The potion must have done something, made her forget everything that had happened before this moment.
“We’re concerned about your performance with your work as an Affiliate thus far,” King Edric said. “The Queen said you’ve disobeyed orders, refused to listen to her, pushed against her commands, and even requested to be assigned to the Consort for no reason whatsoever. Is this all true, Kaliana?”
“It has been dreadful to work with her. I would hate to have to put her off on Daufina. I don’t know what we were thinking when we accepted her into my service,” the Queen said, her voice controlled.
“If she is this much trouble, then I don’t see how I could work with her either,” Daufina said harshly. “Even her own friend said she hides behind others’ brilliance.”
Cyrene stared at her in disbelief. Her stomach plummeted. She had been stubborn and opinionated, but it was certainly nothing to make her endure this kind of treatment.
When she had spoken with King Edric about Queen Kaliana’s interference, he had seemed to understand what was going on. Had that all been a ruse?
“That settles it then.” King Edric signed a document on his desk.
“That settles what?” Cyrene asked.
She froze under his heated gaze. His blue-gray eyes were normally alight with affection and hidden mischief. She was sure she had misconstrued those looks now that he was staring at her so solemnly…as if she were incompetent.
“We’re moving you to the Third Class.”
Cyrene gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth, and her knees weakened. She nearly fell, but she grasped on to the desk in time to stay upright.
“Your sparse knowledge of agriculture should assist you with the farming out on the banks of the Taken Mountains, past Levin, where we are reassigning you,” he continued.
He didn’t seem to notice or care about her discomfort.
“Reassigning me?” she asked softly.
“Yes, we feel that perhaps this was not the best fit for you.” The King looked up at Queen Kaliana and nodded.
“Edric,” Cyrene whispered, pleading.
Everything happened at once. Queen Kaliana hissed through her teeth and stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the stone floor. Consort Daufina strode across the room, her eyes hard, her expression nearly as cross as the Queen’s. But the King…he blankly stared forward, his mouth set in a line. His fingers had ceased their drumming, and he clenched them into a fist.
“You will not call the King by his given name!” Consort Daufina scolded.
“My apologies,” Cyrene stated quickly, straightening and trying to look demure.
“Third Class,” King Edric said. “Straight away. You spoke the Oath of Acceptance, and you’ll follow the orders set forth in our Class system. You are no better than anyone in the Third Class, as they are no better than anyone in the First. Do I make myself clear?”
Cyrene nodded. The Oath of Acceptance. Yes, she had agreed to abide by the King’s requests.
Duty.
She plucked the word out of thin air. She was duty-bound to her Class, and she would do as he instructed.
Slowly, as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, Cyrene sank into a curtsy, nearly brushing her head on the stone floor. She didn’t peek up. She didn’t stagger or sway.
She just stayed there and whispered, “As you wish, My King.”
Cyrene stood, her head full of reluctance, her body aching from the heartbreak. Third Class. She was to be reassigned to the Third Class. Never once had she ever dreamed it possible.
She brushed at the tears pooling in her eyes. Tears would do her no good. She had pushed too far and broken the thing she had wanted most.
She was no longer an Affiliate.
With a start, she realized that she wasn’t in the castle but in a master bedroom that resembled the one in the house she had grown up in. It had the same sturdy stone walls and wide open room. But it couldn’t be her parents’ house.
“Darling!” someone called from outside the room.
Cyrene’s heart fluttered at the voice. But who is it? No one calls me darling.
Yet her stomach felt as if she had butterflies in it. She couldn’t keep from biting her lip, and a smile broke out on her face.
He’s home. It was like she had known him all along.
At the sound of his voice, she burst out of the room and stared all around at the house she had called home for many years. She gripped the railing and flew down the flight of stairs to the foyer.
A man stood in the entranceway. He was stunning with dark blonde hair and dark eyes, and his smile set fire to her insides. He was strong and sturdy and dependable. He was her cure, her relief, her true solace. Nothing else mattered when she looked upon his face.
Cyrene rushed to him.
He picked her up around the middle and swung her in a circle. “Oh, I have missed you,” he breathed into her neck.
He smelled of timber, ink, and the clove soap her servants used in the wash.
“I missed you, too,” she murmured.
He set her back down on her feet and kissed her full on the mouth.
She could never remember a time without him. She could never remember a moment in her life when it wasn’t him that she wanted most of all. This was her life, a perfect life.
“My darling”—he softly kissed her once more—“this arrived for you.”
Cyrene scrunched her brows together. She took the envelope out of his hand and stared at the royal seal. An invitation from the King! Surely, this would be for the royal wedding. She had heard rumors of the engagement of Prince Kael to an Affiliate, but she wasn’t certain when it would be official.
“I’ll just be in the study,” he said, rubbing his knuckles against her jawline. “Don’t be too long.”
Cyrene stared up at him, entranced, the letter already forgotten in her grasp. She watched him walk down the hallway and into their study. They would take the next hour to read together before sitting down for supper and attending to houseguests. She smiled dreamily and then tore open the envelope.
A crisp cream letter fell into her hand, and she read it, her eyebrows rising.
AFFILIATE CYRENE,
IF YOU FIND YOURSELF IN COMPANY WHEN READING THIS LETTER, PLEASE PROMPTLY REMOVE YOURSELF BEFORE CONTINUING.
YOUR LIFE IN THE FIRST CLASS IS AT RISK. THE LIVES OF THE AFFILIATES AND HIGH ORDER FOR THE ENTIRE KINGDOM ARE AT RISK. WE NEED EVERY PERSON TO RETURN TO THEIR RIGHTFUL PLACE—BESIDE THE KING. YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU, AND THOSE WHO ARE LOYAL TO THE THRONE MUST COME BACK TO COURT AT ONCE.
TELL NO ONE YOUR INTENTIONS TO LEAVE. YOUR ABSOLUTE DISCRETION IS NECESSARY.
DESTROY THIS LETTER AFTER READING.
KING EDRIC
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS
A sob escaped her throat, and she choked back on the cry that would be certain to bring her love back into the foyer. She swallowed the pain rising in her chest.
I can’t leave him! What about the way he looks at me when he comes home and the husky smell of him after work?
No, the court couldn’t ask that of me. They shouldn’t have!
She had given them her time and devotion. Now, she was settled down and happy just to be with him. She didn’t deserve this request.
She read through the royal demand one more time, running her finger across the King’s indented signature. He had pressed too firmly in such haste.
Cyrene walked to the study and peeked through the open door. Her wonderful man was sitting in a chair, engrossed in an age-old book. Deep in study as he read, his brow crinkled between his eyes.
A smile touched her face. At least she would always have that—the one last image of him, the man she was madly in love with.
She retreated from the study, pulled open the front door, and began tearing the paper into a million little pieces.
She would do what was right. She had to help save the kingdom. If the King needed her, then she would follow. She would always follow.
She brushed the tear from her eye and hurried out of the house.
Cyrene took off at a sprint down the pebbled street. Her sturdy boots clattered and squished her toes. She would never have made it this far if she had worn slippers. Her hands clenched her dress, so the ends wouldn’t drag in the dirt. The roads were particularly wet and muddy this time of year, and a wrong footfall or a catch on her dress could result in her twisting an ankle.
The Royal Guard was close behind her, but she had to get there first.
A vague memory of a man with brown hair and deep dark eyes needled her, but she pushed it away. She had never known such a man. All she could think about were the beautiful blue-gray eyes she had been staring at all these years.
Her breathing was raspy, and she was getting a stitch in her side, but she kept running. It wasn’t much farther. She turned the bend and saw the small thatched cottage at the end of the lane. A strained smile touched her lips, and she surged forward.
Cyrene pushed open the door to the cottage and burst into the stifling hot room. “Where is he?” She stared at the maid sitting in a rocking chair in the corner. “Where is he?”
The maid cowered. “Right…right here, Your Grace.”
“What are you waiting for?” she snapped. “Get him ready. Bring him to me. We must be on our way.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Where are we taking him?” The maid jumped up and stuffed belongings into a bag. Then, she hoisted a little baby boy in her arms before swaddling him in blankets.
“Away. As far away as we can. Quickly!” Cyrene all but shrieked, staring at the door in worry.
There was a trap door that led into a tunnel. Since they had so little time, they would have to take that.
Cyrene brushed aside a chair and the dirt covering the trap door, and she wrenched it open. A darkened set of stairs descended under the cottage. She yanked a lantern from above the hearth and handed it to the maid. Cyrene took the little baby out of the maid’s hands, and with a sigh, she gently cradled him in her arms. It had been too long, far too long, since she had seen him. Planting a kiss on his soft forehead, she ushered her maid down the stairs, so the woman could light the way ahead.
As she took a step down the stairs to follow, the front door slammed inward.
“Halt! In the name of the King!” a guard called. His plume denoting him as Captain of the Guard waved about.
Cyrene swallowed and tried to keep her feet moving. She almost made it down the stairs when a guard grasped her by the back of her cloak and ceased her progress.
“Let me go!” she shrieked.
“Your Grace, you know I cannot.”
“You show up here, yet you still call me Your Grace.”
“I’m doing my duty as Captain of the Guard. Come with me.”
He marched her back up the stairs. She struggled against him the whole way.
Queen Kaliana strode into the quarters, and her eyes filled with hatred. Cyrene had never actually expected her to show up.
“Hand him over,” Kaliana spat.
“No.”
“Hand him over!”
“Never! I’ll never hand him over.”
“By order of the King,” she growled. “He has denounced you. Everyone has denounced you.”
“Then, he is all I have left,” Cyrene snarled.
“The King said he would take pity on you, if you gave the boy up.”
“You wench! I don’t care about his pity. I will never give him up!”
“You swore an oath. Do you not remember? You swore fealty to the King, to your lands, to your people. If you keep him…then you will truly have lost everything,” Kaliana said, her eyes hard.
“What will you do with him?” Cyrene asked, the oath weighing down on her.
Loyalty, duty, acceptance—the words came to her like a rushing torrent of water, as if she had stepped into a hurricane.
“That is none of your concern…or mine. He is a Dremylon heir. The last male Dremylon heir. One day, he will become the king, and to him, it will be as if I was always his mother. If you are truly an Affiliate of this realm, then you will give him to me.”
“I know what I am,” she spat back.
Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the little baby boy in her arms. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her entire life. She had never expected a baby. She had never even really wanted one, but this boy, this wonderful baby boy, was a part of her now. How can I lose a part of myself?
“He should not be king,” Cyrene whispered.
“That is not for you to decide.”
Cyrene felt the oath as if it were a crushing boulder falling upon her from thousands of feet up. “Just because you could never produce an heir does not mean that you have to steal the only living one!”
“I’m not stealing. You did your duty, and now, you are to leave. That is the next King of Byern. If you are loyal to anyone but yourself, then you will give him to me, so I can raise him as a proper prince.” Kaliana stepped forward and put out her hands. “Give him to me, Cyrene. You can no longer provide what he needs.”
Tears ran like a river down her face as Kaliana reached forward, removed the baby from her arms, and walked out of the room.
Cyrene sank to her knees feeling dead inside.
Arms gripped Cyrene on all sides as they helped her stand. She heard whispers all around her.
“She fainted.”
“She must be unwell.”
“I heard she is with child.”
Her thoughts seemed to swirl all around her. Did I actually faint?
All she could remember was Kaliana taking her baby, her beautiful baby boy. He had his father’s eyes, those same blue-gray eyes. Her throat tightened.
Then, it slipped away. She didn’t have a child. Why did I think I had one?
Cyrene shook off the hands still pestering her, and the people scurried away. She straightened and raised her head high to survey her surroundings. She was in the throne room, but it was empty, save for a splatter of Royal Guard, a few flustered courtiers, and the King seated on the throne before her. He was whispering to the Captain of the Guard with huge green and gold plumed feathers in his hat.
There was no Queen and no Consort. It was just the King.
“Affiliate, are you quite all right?” the King asked.
Cyrene sharply looked up at that silky smooth voice. Kael. Her heart began beating in overdrive at the man she had not expected to be seated on the throne, wearing the crown while dressed in Dremylon green and gold. He even had the linked gold chain of the Dremylon line attached to his forest-green crushed-velvet cape.
As she tried to speak, her mouth went dry, and she found she could not articulate words.
That jawline, those blue-gray eyes, the almost black dark hair—he was so beautiful but in a way that she always associated with a predator tracking his prey.
“Do you need some water?” Kael asked with that heart-stopping smile.
“No. I mean, no, thank you,” she corrected, quickly dipping him a curtsy befitting a king.
Why did it feel wrong? By the Creator, it feels wrong.
But she could not pinpoint the exact reason for feeling that way.
“My lady, surely you need a minute before we continue the proceedings,” Kael said.
He stood and gestured for the courtiers to be seated. They flitted away like they were used to following his orders on a whim.
“Come along. I’ll see that you are restored to health before we proceed.”
Kael stood and strode to Cyrene. He offered her his arm. She walked with him across the ballroom. The Captain of the Guard held the door open for them, and she followed Kael inside a small office.
“I’ll keep watch. I’ve stationed men at all the exits,” the Captain spoke gruffly.
Kael nodded, and the Captain shut the door.
Cyrene had so many questions. They bubbled up out of her from places unknown but dissolved into the wind just as quickly.
“Water?” Kael walked to a full pitcher on the other side of the small room.
With a start, she realized that she was in the room she had waited in before her Presenting. It had been draped all over with rustic colors with too many throw pillows tossed about.
“No. Really, Kael, I’m fine,” she said, using his given name like she always had.
He set the pitcher down and returned to her side. His hand trailed the length of her face and down her neck before circling her waist and pulling her closer. “You know I look out for your comfort, Cyrene,” he said, her name falling off his lips like a caress.
She swallowed hard. Goose bumps broke out across her skin, and she tried to push away the pestering feeling of wrongness in the air. Her mind flew to the first thing that might bring her to reality.
“Edric,” she whispered.
Kael stiffened and pulled away. He looked hurt, and she immediately wanted to comfort him, but she wouldn’t move.
“You really must have fainted. Did you hit your head?”
She remained silent.
“Edric has been gone for a year, Cyrene. I know it was hard for all of us, but that is why we are reinstating our vows—swearing fealty to the throne, to the Dremylon line, to me.”
He reached out for her again, bringing his lips down onto hers. Her first instinct was to struggle, but she didn’t.
What was she doing? And why couldn’t she place why all of this felt wrong?
Kael broke the kiss with a smile. He was clearly pleased because his face showed only delight and smugness. “I want so much from you, but I’ll start with your Oath of Acceptance,” he said. “We can go from there.”
Everything seemed to swirl around her at once. Edric was dead, gone. Kael was king, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. She could never swear fealty to him.
She wrenched backward, out of his embrace, and landed on a divan stacked with pillows. Her hands trembled. He wanted her to be his queen. She knew it with every fiber of her being. How could he think I would do that with Edric having been gone for only a year?
Kael assessed her with a look of concern. “Are you sure you’ll be all right after that fainting spell?”
“Yes. Quite,” she said.
“Then, I should probably bring you back into the throne room to finish the proceedings before the entire court is up in arms.” He offered her his arm.
Seeing no other option, she begrudgingly took it and followed him back out into the throne room. The courtiers reassembled, and Kael returned to his place on the throne.
“You have been selected as an Affiliate of the realm. You have been announced to your Receiver and placed in her charge for proper training. Do you accept the circumstances of your Selecting?”
Cyrene defiantly stared back at Kael. She could not swear her fealty to him. She couldn’t do it. Her loyalty rested with Edric, with Byern, with her people.
“Cyrene,” he growled softly.
She stared up into those blue-gray eyes and tried to understand what she was supposed to do. How can I trust Kael?
Acceptance. She had to accept him. She had to accept him as the next in line on the Dremylon throne. She had to give her life to the line as much as to the land, the people, and the King.
She gritted her teeth and braced herself to answer him even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. “However I am fit and however I am able.”
“Kael,” Cyrene groaned into the silence.
Her hands were covering her face, and she was lying facedown on a hard flat surface. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her body shook when she remembered everything she had gone through—Third Class, love, family, fealty.
She wiped tears from her eyes, unsure of how she looked or if anyone would be around. Her head throbbed, but she slowly pushed off from the marble patio and stood on shaky legs. Chairs had been set up before the small platform, and King Edric, Queen Kaliana, Consort Daufina, and Prince Kael all sat, staring at her with wide eyes.
With horror, Cyrene remembered that she had spoken Prince Kael’s name when she first regained consciousness. She couldn’t even look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her.
King Edric stood stiffly and walked to the flat podium where the glass vial still rested. “Affiliate Cyrene, you have completed two of the three tests of loyalty.”
Two of the three? She almost wept.
“The final is the easiest to request and the hardest to follow. We have already required deference and dedication. Now, I ask discretion of you. Swear that you will speak of what you have seen in this test to no one.”
Cyrene placed her palms flat on the marble table before her. She never wanted to speak of what she had seen with anyone, and she never intended to. Perhaps discretion was hardest for some, but it would not be for her.
“I swear,” she murmured, staring into the King’s blue-gray eyes. She let her gaze travel to the Queen Kaliana, Consort Daufina, and then finally rest on Prince Kael seated behind him, and repeated herself. “I swear.”
She felt a jolt run through her body, and she clutched onto the table for support. Whatever that was…it was powerful.
“Congratulations, Affiliate Cyrene,” King Edric said with a smile, not seeming to notice her momentary paralysis. “You have passed the Ring of Gardens. You are now bound by your loyalty to Byern and the Dremylon line.”
Cyrene sagged with relief. “Thank the Creator.”
“You have had a long night. The Royal Guard will escort you back to the interior of the castle. Congratulations once again. It is great to have you as one among us.”
Cyrene dipped a deep curtsy before walking past the royalty, toward the opposite entrance from which she’d come. As much as she’d sworn that she would never tell about the things she had seen, she would not soon forget the bitter taste of reassignment, the deep ache of losing a lover, the crushing blow at the loss of a child, or the Oath of Acceptance to a king she did not trust or believe in.