Heir of Stardust and Secrets (Mythic Spark #1)

8. Awakening to Majesty

Chapter 8

Awakening to Majesty

I watched as the whispering wind sent the diaphanous floor-length curtains fluttering. Inhaling deeply, I savored the sweet scent of blossoming lilacs that swept in on the breeze’s coattails.

Cassy always enjoyed harvesting the early bloomer, placing an elegant display of violet in the center of the small kitchen table—to Father’s chagrin. He detested the perfumed fragrance of lilacs, favoring the warm, rich aroma of roses. But roses were summer flowers, so he tolerated the all-pervasive scent of the tiny purple flowers until they gave way to different varietals.

As I let my gaze lazily take inventory of the room, and all its wondrous details, the sorrow of my last moments under the willow threatened to consume me. First Eithan, then my family—what fresh hell had been unleashed upon me? I stopped myself from following those thoughts down a rabbit hole I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull myself out of.

The chamber was large, almost the size of the cabin. I lay in a four-poster bed which could have easily fit just as many people comfortably. Despite its size, it didn’t overpower the room .

Off to my right, a fireplace stood proud, beautifully clad in gray-veined stone that stretched from hearth to rafters—I’d never witnessed such extraordinary masonry before. The polished surface of the tile had a brilliant sheen to it that reflected the natural light flooding the room, and I knew instinctively that I would see my own reflection if I were to stand in front of it.

Around the fireplace sat a cozy pair of luxuriously large wingback chairs. They made me yearn for a chilly day, a cozy blanket, and an enrapturing tale. I could get lost in those chairs as much as I could get lost in a good book. As the enticing thought lingered, the thick, sludgy presence of guilt oozed its way through my being—who was I to covet such moments as my parents rotted away?

That heaviness solidified in my chest as I looked to my left, taking in the grand expanse of towering windows that stretched across the width of the chamber, reaching more than fifteen feet high. Their adornments obscured what lay beyond them, but from the rustling sounds and aromatic whispers, I could comfortably assume they faced the estate’s gardens. Another set of chairs faced outward, undoubtedly placed to take in the landscape beyond.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I noted that the floors were clad in the same stone as the fireplace.

Opposite the foot of the bed was a massive, freestanding bathtub just beyond the glass doors. I shuddered at the luxurious thought of slipping into a warmed bath—the closest I’d ever come was a hidden hot spring about a two-day hike from the cabin.

The grandeur of this place hit me, and I quickly glanced at my hands, fully expecting them to be in their perpetual state of grime.

They were clean. I was clean.

Apparently, I had been stripped, scrubbed, and dressed in a nightshift. The thought unnerved me enough to drag me out of bed.

Forcing myself up, I swung my legs over the edge. Now sitting, I could feel an omnipresent stiffness clinging to my limbs, and an exhaustion like I’d never experienced before pressing down upon me like a leaden cloak. Perhaps it wasn’t exhaustion at all, but the weight of grief. Every fiber of my being wanted to crawl back under the sheets and drink the contents of that canteen again, but I couldn’t stay in this chamber—Cassy and Leighton could still be alive.

Heaving a sigh, I tentatively placed a toe on the ground, anticipating chilled stone. To my surprise, the floor was warm to the touch.

I made my way over to the clothes that had been laid out on a bench next to the hand-carved wardrobe.

I held up the dress. It was beautifully made, of such quality that the beading detail alone would have cost more coin than most families in our village made in a year. Clearly, this was no place for peasant’s garb.

There were skirts for skirts and so many laces. Stars, the laces. Trying, and failing, to get myself into the garments, I gave up after the third try. Feeling frustrated and inept, I searched for something else to wear.

Silently praying for the wardrobe to house more options, I placed my hand in one of the recessed handles, feeling the silken quality of the wood. I paused for a moment, marveling at the intricate details before pulling it open.

My search revealed a pair of finely tailored sand-colored pants and a flowing, long-sleeved white blouse. It was reminiscent of equestrian wear, but anything was better than the endless laces. The broken-in softness of the knee-high leather boots I found hugged my calves perfectly as I slid them on.

Once dressed, I ventured into the bathroom.

Confronted by my reflection in the mirror, I halted. It’d been years since I’d last caught a glimpse of myself. Lady Time had brought changes upon me; most notably, my figure. My siblings had teased me often enough about my backside. But now, as I examined my curves, I couldn’t help but appreciate them .

I wasn’t curvaceous in the obvious way Cassy was. My chest lacked the fullness hers possessed, and my form featured harder angles, both in my jawline and the overall contours of my body. My shape was still that of a woman, but not as curvaceous as the beauty standards dictated.

There was clear evidence of training and a life lived outdoors. As those were some of my favorite things, I smiled, knowing now that I was okay with the trade I hadn’t known I was making.

Cassy exuded an innate femininity that made it seem as if pink were tailor-made for her. In contrast, I was never sure I could pull the color off, sticking to earthy tones instead. I was attractive in a much different way, I supposed. Not in the dress-wearing, large-chested, portrait-of-propriety kind of way—but in a fiercer, more striking manner.

Depending on whom I encountered, people would insist my eyes were green, or put coin down on them being blue. One thing they agreed on was that they were fiercely captivating. I leaned into my reflection, assessing—green, they were definitely green.

My mother and Cassy would lament over how I’d been blessed with long, thick eyelashes, claiming they were wasted on me. As I studied the feature up close, I understood what they meant. The lush, dark lashes feathered just below my strong, arched brows, accentuating the deep, multifaceted coloring of my eyes.

There were other details too. A hint of redness that encircled my puffy eyes, and a shadowy darkness hanging below. I traced a small cut just above my cheek bone, feeling the rough edges of a healing scab. It wasn’t the only evidence of how hard I’d thrashed at the cabin; I was also speckled with finger-shaped bruises—remnants of the stranger’s tight grip. None of the marks bothered me, though, not when compared to what my parents had endured.

Confronted by the undeniable truth of what transpired, I had no other choice but to venture from the refuge of this chamber. The prospect sent a wave of dread crashing into me knowing only grim realities awaited me past the confines of this room, but I needed answers.

Hand poised over the handle, I took a moment to ready myself before I turned the knob and sought out the man who called himself king.

I wasn’t prepared for the sheer magnitude that awaited me on the other side of the door. Stunned, it took me a moment to gather my bearings and scan the expansive hallway. Spotting a sentinel at the far end of the corridor to my right, I walked in his direction.

“Nyleeria?” A gruff, male voice sounded from behind, causing me to whirl in a jolt of surprise. “You’re expected.” The man motioned for me to go before him, indicating back the way we’d just come.

Not moving, I spotted a bandage covering a wound on his forearm in the same place I’d clamped my jaw down—he was the one that restrained me outside the cabin. The stranger followed my gaze.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, my eyes dropping to the ground.

“It was an impossible moment for you,” he said, and I met his eyes again. “Shall we?” He offered a small smile and gestured again before we started down the hall.

Every splendid detail beckoned for my attention as we walked, but I reined in my curiosity, forcing myself to focus on less superfluous elements. I noted turns, doors, windows, and stairs, making a mental blueprint of the pertinent aspects of my surroundings—a habit I’d picked up from Eithan over the years.

The grandeur of this place was not lost on me, and a corner of my heart yearned to linger over the paintings, tapestries, and artifacts that were tastefully on display in every passage and nook we passed.

Eventually, we stopped before an imposing set of doors that were left ajar. The weight of the door creaked with age as my escort pressed against it and stepped through.

The space appeared to be some sort of study. It was bathed in natural light that poured in through the bordering windows, which were interspersed with handsome black walnut bookshelves that were filled to the brim. It smelled of paper, both fresh and aged, accentuated by a muted undertone of lilacs.

Undeniably, the centerpiece of the room was a grand escritoire that presented itself like a silent, solemn monarch holding court. The wood’s raw, unprocessed state preserved its beautiful imperfections—the knots and burls bore the testament of time in its uniquely expressive grain.

“Your Majesty,” my escort said. “Nyleeria, as requested.” His words forced me to pry my focus from the desk.

The man he’d addressed appeared to be engrossed in something of importance, and he noted where he was before putting the book down and standing to face us.

“Thank you,” the man said in dismissal. Evidently, I didn’t pose a threat. My escort inclined his head, then made his way back through the doors, shutting them as he took his leave.

The words spoken by my chaperone echoed in my mind: Your Majesty. The man I had been left alone with had claimed as much outside my parents’ cabin, but I’d doubted its veracity at the time. Yet, as I stood there amid the splendor, beneath the monarch’s emblem which was expertly etched into the stone mantle behind him, it seemed possible that he was, in fact, the king.

“Are you really the king?” I asked.

The edge of his mouth curved upward. “I am, but please, call me Thaddeus. Shall we take a seat?” He gestured to the relaxed lounge area behind him.

Tentatively stepping forward, I opted for a large chair on the far side, unable to stomach the couch. The king noted my hesitation but didn’t mention it as he joined me in the paired set.

“Can I offer you some tea?” he asked. Before I could answer, he started pouring from the porcelain teapot that was perched on an adjacent side table between us.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the cup before setting it back without drinking it. The last time I had drunk something he offered, I’d passed out. For how long? I still didn’t know .

He noted that too. “It’s just tea,” he said over the rim of his cup before taking a sip, then setting it down next to mine, offering me a disarming smile.

I crossed my legs, sitting up straighter, still not reaching for the tea. “Why am I here?” My voice was steady, and I was grateful it hadn’t betrayed the effort it took to stay composed.

“Can you tell me how old you are, Nyleeria?” he asked, ignoring my question.

“I could, but you promised me answers, not more questions.”

“Nyleeria, for me to give that to you, I need some information first,” he said patiently.

“I’m twenty-one.”

“When did you turn twenty-one?”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”

He reached for his tea. Sinking back into his chair, he took a leisurely sip, waiting for my response. I wasn’t sure if anyone had refused to answer him before, and I suspected I wouldn’t be the first.

“This week,” I said.

“What day, exactly?” Anticipating my answer, he set his tea back down and sat forward in the chair.

“Three days ago.”

His expression softened. “What date , Nyleeria? Please, it is important.”

“Like I said, three days ago.”

“Nyleeria, almost a week has passed since we met. I need you to tell me the exact date.”

His soothing voice did nothing to ease the panic that kicked in. “A week? I don’t understand. How has it been a week? Oh gods, the twins. I need to find them, I?—”

He clasped my hands in his. “Take a deep breath, Nyleeria.” He squeezed gently, coaxing calm into my veins.

The king waited patiently for my breathing to slow before he continued, “You reacted to the tonic differently than anticipated. It should have only taken effect for the night, at most. I had the healers check on you to understand why, but they’re at a loss.” He paused. “I am sorry, Nyleeria. It was not my intent.”

I took a moment to let the information sink in. Somehow, I had anticipated the contents of the canteen would affect me, and at the time, I had been grateful for the blackness that followed. But a week. An entire week just…gone? I released my hands from his grip and tried to calm myself. Somehow, I knew answering his questions, working with him, was the only path forward. Possibly the only chance of seeing my siblings again. I’d have to accept his apology and be more discerning in the future.

“The eleventh,” I said, voice rough. I cleared my throat. “My birthday was on the eleventh.”

“Thank you,” he said, then seemed to contemplate the answer. “Did anything unusual happen that day?”

I turned the memory over in my mind, double-checking the details before I answered. “No. It was the same as previous years. There was nothing different—at least not of consequence.” Truthfully, the only difference had been Eithan’s imminent departure, and I wasn’t about to get into those details with a stranger, king or not.

“Okay. Thank you.”

The king stood, then made his way to the escritoire, picking up a weathered book that rested on the corner. Returning to his seat, he took a breath, as if preparing himself. “I spoke the truth the day we met, Nyleeria. I have been searching for you for a long, long time. Longer than you’ve been alive.” I looked at him, confused, wondering how that could be. He couldn’t have been more than ten years my senior—at most.

“Nyleeria, there are ancient things at play that are larger than you and I. The information and histories are too vast for me to impart all at once, but I will hold true to my promise. Before I continue, you need to know that there’s no going back. I’d like you to take a moment to decide if this is what you want.”

His words held a gravitas to them like that of an omen, but I had already passed the point of no return the second I saw my parents seated on that couch.

I took a second to appreciate this moment, knowing deep down that everything up until this moment would be considered the before, that my next words would seal everything else in the after . Bracing myself, I said, “I want to know it all.”

“Then let us begin.”