Page 6 of King Elijah (The Zemiran Chronicles 2)

Three

The palace

“KING ELIJAH!” THEmuffled sound of his name behind his tall chamber door jolted his body into sudden awareness.

It had been three days since his violent encounter with the female assassin and three days since he locked her away in his dungeon for interrogation. Her face, mingled with the haunting dreams of his own death, gave him another night of restlessness.

The elf woman had refused to speak with either him or his guards. Each night, Elijah had gone down there, hoping she would share with him who had hired her, but her lips pressed together, staying quiet. Her stubbornness was beginning to agitate him.

Elijah turned to look out the window. The sheer curtains had been pulled back and tied off at the sides, allowing him to see the sun that hadn’t fully risen yet. Vast clouds stretched over the Zemiran Sea’s horizon, casting out the morning sunrise against the cerulean sky.

It is barely even dawn, he thought, grumbling under his breath as his eyes adjusted to his dimly lit room.

A hard knock thumped at the door moments later when he didn’t respond to the shout that came from the hall.

Elijah took a deep breath, willing his body to relax as he slowly released it. He hadn’t slept easily for a single night since she’d come. His Elven assassin—the unknown stranger who refused to divulge her secrets—had consumed his mind. The memories of everything that had happened had been weighing on him every time he tried to sleep. He struggled to decipher what her presence might mean for his future, what kind of threat she truly represented. At night, his mind was gripped by the fear he had worked tirelessly to suppress during the day. It crept through his body and mind with long, grasping fingers, making him feel exhausted and constantly on edge. He needed to get something useful out of the elf, and soon.

Just the thought of her dragged a low growl from his throat. It wasn’t only her motivations or how she had snuck in undetected that worried him, but how she was carrying a Newick gem in the first place. His mind had latched onto the mystery of her existence. It refused to let go, causing thousands of questions to flood his every thought.

The Newick gems belonged to his family, his true bloodline. He may not have met his people face to face, but he refused to believe that they would betray him like that. An elf would never have been freely given the gem, let alone an elf with questionable motives. There was no chance that they had simply handed it over.

She had to have stolen it, he reasoned.

Since Elijah became king, he had learned many things about the Newick witches that his father hadn’t shared with him. From his newfound knowledge, he had learned more about his birth mother, Gal. She wasn’t only a sorceress—she was a commoner who lived in the small village of Heyerberg on the other side of Whitestone Mountain. But that entire land wasn’t ruled by royalty. They were people who governed themselves, forming small covens throughout their country of Myloria.

Almost all the people held magic, and since the beginning of the Zemiran battle twenty years ago, they had refused to help. Even knowing that the Zemirans had lost their sight of magic for over twenty years, the call for help went unanswered. The covens chose to abstain from being involved in Matthias’s war against magic, fearing he would use his hate-filled wrath against them if they tried.

The Newick covens were cowards, he thought to himself, reminded that though they shared the same blood, they were not family and never would be.

Naturally, Elijah had been tempted to travel north to Heyerberg on more than one occasion to meet Gal’s family and discover a part of the ancestry he never knew. The desire was nestled safely deep in the back of Elijah’s mind since he first learned about his birth mother.

Would they accept him? Would they blame him for what happened to his mother, even though he was a baby? Could they separate him from his father, who held the pillow over her face until she slipped away?

Elijah’s thoughts went back to the assassin, not wanting to think about the mother he lost any longer.

It was clear how carefully crafted the elf’s moves were—skillfully trained, strong, and undoubtedly brave. The woman had also known where he slept and, more worryingly, how to get inside the palace. Someone had to have given her the information on the castle and his location. Which meant that there was possibly another spy within his kingdom.

Nothing she had done so far was predictable, and he was sure she didn’t believe she would ever get caught. Her fate now would only lead to execution.

No matter how beautiful she is, he thought, I must be willing to kill her.

Elijah tried to focus on his suspicions about her and unravel whatever plot she was attempting to execute, but his mind kept wandering. The image of her long, soft white hair and delicate features distracted him. He thought about how smooth her skin was wherever her clothes were rucked up enough for his fingers to find purchase during their fight. He found himself unconsciously running his fingers across the cool sheets beneath him. His body remembered how she felt, small yet strong, while he had pinned her to the ground.

Hot rage flushed his cheeks—why had he not killed her?

Elijah had planned to inflict the same swift punishment he would have dealt to anyone who was deemed a threat to his kingdom. However, the moment he pulled off that cloak, her appearance had stunned him silent. A minor lapse in judgment he would not allow to happen again.

The pounding on the door continued, pulling Elijah’s thoughts back to the present.

“Is the palace on fire, Liam?” Elijah yelled through the closed door.

Silence.

“Uh . . . um, no,” Liam said.

“Gods Almighty,” Elijah groaned quietly. “Then go away.”

Elijah pulled the thick wool comforter over his head when Liam knocked again, not as loud as before.

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