Page 125 of The Promised Prince
55
Trev
Aline of servants and a few remaining wedding guests bordered the sides of the courtyard, quietly watching the waiting transporters. New Hope flags were attached to each vehicle, flapping freely in the wind. Seran would leave Albion much in the same way she had arrived, heralded by all the fanfare a princess deserved. Except this time, she was in a casket.
Trev’s grief and guilt had prevented him from sleeping the night before. He should have treated Seran better. He deserved the bullet, not her.
“Thank you for everything,” Queen Mariele barely managed to say before all her fragile strength was gone.
Trev bowed in silence. What was there to say? Mariele knew the truth, knew what kind of a liar he really was.
King Bryant spoke to his father first. “We’ll be in contact about the next move with our alliance and Tolsten.”
The two kings shook hands.
King Bryant stopped in front of him. Trev wanted to say a million things to him, but all that came out was, “I’m sorry.”
Bryant put his hands on Trev’s shoulders, and that’s when Trev lost it, when his tears started to come heavily. “I’m sorry,” Trev said again through his sobs.
Bryant folded him into a fatherly hug, the way his own father never had. They stood there, hugging, crying, not caring who was watching.
“It’s not your fault.” Bryant’s words were soft and comforting. “You did all you could.”
“I didn’t deserve her,” Trev cried.
“Yes, you did.” He pulled Trev back, forcing him to look in his eyes. “When you jumped in front of her,” Bryant fought to speak between stifled sobs, “when you risked your own life to protect her, I knew you were a good man. I knew you deserved her.”
Trev wiped at the tears that wouldn’t stop coming, wishing he could believe him. “I should be coming with you to New Hope for the funeral.”
“No.” King Bryant shook his head. “Things are uncertain with Tolsten, and with an election around the corner, you need to be in Albion right now.”
King Bryant was right, but it felt cruel to watch Seran’s body leave in a transporter without him.
56
Joniss
The blackness of night felt thick around Joniss. Even the narrow sliver of moon glinting in the night sky seemed darker than usual. He whipped his head around, making sure he wasn’t followed, but there was nothing but a canopy of pine trees behind him. Joniss wasn’t usually this jumpy, but ever since the wedding ceremony a month ago, he’d been watching his back, half expecting King Adler to be lurking in every shadow.
Joniss quickened his steps, pointing his hand light into the dirt in front of him. Through the rays of light, he could see his breath puff out like a cloud of smoke in the chilly air.
He was almost to the cave.
Joniss had sent a note earlier in the week, letting his men know he would be visiting Axville as part of his campaign. His men knew the plan and what was supposed to happen during his visit.
He looked back one more time before ducking under the rocky ridge that led to the opening of the cave. He crouched to avoid hitting his head as he slowly walked through the narrow tunnel. The flicker of firelight danced ahead of him and there was a panic of frantic movement.
“Calm down. It’s just me!” Joniss called out to his men.
“He’s here,” someone shouted to another. “Get the blindfolds ready.”
The passageway opened up into a large alcove. Joniss straightened, the rocks finally high enough for him to fully stand. He stopped at the opening, careful to stay in the shadows. He didn’t want to be heard or recognized. So far, his men had done all of the dirty work for him.
Parson stepped in front of him, a long gun slung over his shoulder. He was dressed in all black with clunky black mountain boots that almost went up to his knees. Firelight danced off his bald head and face, making his teeth look more yellow than they already were.
“Is everything ready?” Joniss whispered.
“Dundy and Fike are finishing with the ropes and blindfolds.” Parson gestured behind him to where the men worked.
