Page 90 of Crownless King

The pain was of his own making now. And it was his to bear for as long as he lived.

He rubbed his chest. The spot over his heart had been red and burning for months—a small inconvenience compared to the endless agony racking his soul.

“Time to get going,” he told Alcon. “Please settle the account with the farmer and catch up.”

He headed for the horses tied at the water trough by the fence. Magnus sprang from the saddle of the royal horse. Voron jumped in as the bird took off.

Restlessness buzzed through his muscles, urging him to move. Sorrow wrapped around him, swaddling him like an old, thick blanket, familiar but suffocating—inescapable, even after all these weeks on the road.

He looked forward to the exhaustion the long ride would bring. Maybe he’d tire himself enough to get some sleep tonight? He’d pay a king’s ransom for just one night of restful, dreamless sleep.

Alcon caught up with him on the road, gliding on his outstretched wings just above him.

“Your cloak, Your Majesty?”

He jerked his head, spurring his horse into a gallop. “I don’t need it.”

His skin felt flushed. His body burned, welcoming the cold of the autumn wind pummeling him at full speed.

The hooves of his guards’ horses hit the cold mud of the road behind him. Three of them had caught up on horseback to keep a close eye on him, allowing Alcon to soar higher. The man was on the Royal Council now, yet he still viewed watching over Voron as his duty.

The rest of his royal escort joined Alcon in the sky. Voron had personally picked every one of the people who came with him on this trip. He’d invited the lords he respected and their wives, whose company he enjoyed. This trip was supposed to be useful and refreshing.

Useful, it had been. The Sky Kingdom had been ruled by winged highborn, historically leaving many needs of those who couldn’t fly unmet.

Over the past several weeks, he’d traveled the holdings of three High Lords, identifying the problems that could be fixed to make the lives of those without wings easier. Now, there would be new bridges built, old roads fixed, and some unpassable swamps drained—all at the expense of the crown.

Tiane had left the royal treasury nearly completely drained, but Voron had been replenishing it steadily. Unlike his predecessor, he had no desire for lavish parties and had been extinguishing every flare of rebellion ruthlessly before it had a chance to grow into a lengthy, costly war. The expenses of the crown were lower than they had ever been. And now, he wished to put that treasure to good use.

The work was rewarding. Some of the High Lords remained suspicious. A few even expressed a strong dislike for the crown “meddling” in the infrastructure of their lands. But the majority of the general population loved the improvements. Their gratitude made it all worthwhile.

The trip had proven extremely useful. But it didn’t bring him the peace he’d craved. He didn’t feel refreshed and didn’t look forward to returning to the grand Palace of Elaros.

He’d made some good changes to his court and the Royal Council, but the danger to his crown had not been fully eliminated yet.

High Lord Bussard evaded pledging loyalty to the new king by never returning to Elaros. He was rumored to be hiding in the Below. Unfortunately, Voron’s people had failed to find him either above or below the clouds so far. It was safe to assume the High Lord was biding his time, watching Voron’s every move from a distance like a vulture and waiting patiently for the best moment to strike.

Voron had to remain vigilant. But he was also tired. Both his soul and his body needed rest that he would never get in the bustling court life of the Sky Palace. He was tempted to swerve off the road and spend a few days elsewhere.

Maybe another day in a quaint farmhouse here in the sleepy countryside on this bank of the Cloud River would do him good? In a place similar to the one they had just left, with simple food and a soft-spoken hostess who made him feel like burying his face in her chest and crying openly until the tears washed every burning ember of pain out of his heart.

But the Silk Festival was taking place in Elaros in a few days. It only happened every ten years and, historically, the king never missed it. The Council had already informed him his presence was expected.

People traveled from the furthest parts of the kingdom, some by air, but many by bumpy dirt roads, tossed and jolted in rickety wagons or stuck in the saddle for days, just to see their king. They expected him to be there. Many were bringing presents for him. He couldn’t let his people down by not showing up.

There was no place where he could hide from his pain, anyway. Vensari used to be his safe haven, his one true escape. He used to go there to take a break from Tiane’s phony court.

But Vensari had lost its calming effect long ago, turning into a place of torture instead. It had been saturated with the memories ofher.

Everywhere he looked, he saw Sparrow. She’d be knitting on the window seat in the library, sunbathing on a lily pad in the pond, or strolling in the shade of the treed alleys. She’d smile, her eyes filled with tenderness so warm, no one else could ever match it. So real, he could almost taste her. But she’d disappear the moment he’d try to touch her.

Leaving him.Alwaysleaving him.

On a rare night when he found some sleep, he dreamed of her. She kissed him and made love to him in his dreams, only to leave him again in the morning.

He lived for those dreams and he dreaded them. Because he knew he was destined to lose her the moment the dream ended. A most exquisite kind of torture that threatened to plague him until the day he died.

There was no escaping it. But he held on to it, treasuring his torment. Because that was all he had left of her—his memories and the dreams. He’d traded his sanity for both. Gladly.

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