Page 5 of An Archer's Reckoning

“Whenthat womanreached out her hand to call us forward, I saw her ring. I would know it anywhere.” Bitterness laced my words but gave way to childlike disbelief. “Mymotherwas going to kill me. I know we have been at odds for years, but I am herdaughter. How could she do that? How couldanymother . . .”

Another memory interrupted my thought. “And I could have sworn . . . I heardJustin’svoice call out for me. Was my brother there?”

I looked frantically around the boat. I had been so lost in my own thoughts that I had paid no attention to the others. The men rowing avoided my gaze. “Where is he? Where’s my brother?”

Keelan’s expression faltered, and it was his turn to look down at his hands.

“Tell me he’s okay.” My eyes darted between my saviors, desperate for any reassurance of my brother’s safety. I found only sadness in their eyes and a grim set to their mouths.

“He’s my baby brother, my best friend! Tell me he’s all right. Please!” I pleaded.

My heart was now a stallion set loose upon a field as I waited for some sign of hope.

“I honestly don’t know, Your Highness. The King sent him on the mission with us. It’s possible he escaped, but many died. The people in this boat are the only ones I can be certain have made it out.”

I looked away, afraid to face his gaze any longer, afraid my world might shatter further with another word from his lips. Tears fell freely, and my chest heaved. For what felt like eternal moments, the sounds of anguish reigned over Lake Irina.

Keelan discarded royal protocol and reached across, placing his hand on mine. I accepted the invitation and leaped forward into his arms, rocking the boat dangerously. The Protectors rowing steadied the craft but dared not disturb their Princess. One of the burly men even shed his own quiet tears. Prince Justin was loved, especially by his adopted fathers and brothers in the Protectorate. Many would be shaken by his loss.

I didn’t speak again, just kept my head pressed against Keelan’s chest until one of the Protectors quietly announced we were approaching the shoreline.

Keelan gently pushed me back, holding me at arm’s length. His powerful hands were firm and sure, yet so gentle against my skin. “Your Highness, you have long days ahead—days to grieve and mourn—but there are going to be a lot of people waiting for us when we land, waiting for you.”

I took a few deep breaths. My chin snapped up. For the first time in what felt like forever, my vision was clear and strong.

I dabbed my eyes one last time and nodded to him. “Lead on, Protector. The Crown will havejusticeto dispense before this day is over.” My voice was ice.

Keelan gave me a tight smile and a shallow nod. “I’m just a Constable from Melucia, Your Highness, not a Protector, but I’ll be here if you need me.”

Confusion furrowed my brow.

Keelan smiled weakly. “The King will explain. Forgive me. It isn’t my place.”

I eyed him, then nodded once.

We were jarred by the sound of the boat scraping against sandy ground and men from shore splashing to secure it. Keelan hopped out and offered a hand to me. I hesitated, staring down at his hand as though it were an adder waiting to strike, then met his gaze and gripped his palm.

Men in emerald uniforms, black against the night, raced forward. Recognizing their Princess, each offered crude, hasty bows before forming a protective wall between the lake and me. The Protectors-turned-rowers took up positions on either side as we strode toward town. I never wavered, my head high, my back straight, just as Father had taught me since I drew my first breath. Righteous fury blazed in my eyes as we marched. The drug-induced fog clouding my mind was gone.

We reached the edge of the town square, where High Sheriff Sebastiano Wilfred halted our approach with a raised palm and quick glance at my escort. His eyes then found mine, and my heart stilled.

“What is it, Sheriff? I am in no mood for games.Mymothersaw to that.” My glare bored into Wilfred.

He hesitated, his eyes darting from me to Keelan, then back.

Something resolved in his gaze.

He dropped to one knee and raised a hand high above his head. A golden signet glinted in the torchlight, small diamonds glittering around the etched crown and peak of the monarch.

My heart lurched as I stared. Some of my earliest memories were of sitting in my father’s lap, tracing the lines of that ring with my fingers. If Wilfred presented methatring, then . . .

“What in the Spirits are you doing? What is the meaning of this?” I meant to snap, to lash the man with my words, but they merely slipped free, a drifting feather on the wind.

Wilfred remained bowed and spoke in a quiet, stilted voice. “The King is dead. Long live the Queen.”

The Protectors’ heads snapped to Wilfred. As one, they dropped to a knee with heads bowed.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. My body felt weak, and a wave of dizziness threatened to topple me.

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