Kiss of the Royal by Lindsey Duga
To Mim and Pap
PART ONE
The Princess
and the Heretic
And so, with Myriana’s sacred Kiss,
the birth of a new race of mortals began.
It is with her power and her sister’s—Saevalla’s—passed down generation after generation, that we possess the
sole weapon on earth to vanquish the might
of the Forces of Darkness.
Excerpt text from The Royal Legion Archival History It is with logic and reason that we lead the
kingdoms into an ordered reign.
Perish emotions and vanquish doubts,
for they are tools of heretics and cracks in our armor.
Stay strong, Royals, for we are the Legion,
and we will conquer the Darkness
and see the Wicked Queen put to rest at last.
Excerpt text from Queen Gardenia Myriana
Chapter
One
Return of the Patrol
By the seventh day of constant agony, I wished I hadn’t already killed the dwarf who cast this locking curse on me. I wanted the opportunity to kill him again. Slower this time.
Sitting up in bed, I gave my calves a testing flex, and pain shot through them. Holy Queen. I clenched the sheets until the ache subsided, then loosened my hold. They still bloody hurt. But smiling through the pain meant I could escape the bed I’d been chained to for the past week.
Unfortunately, Ulfia had been my recovery nurse long enough to see through the facade. She narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her ample bosom, towering over me. “You don’t think I know when you’re faking it?” she chided.
“And you know I can handle it. I’ve had a week for the healing process. That’s more than enough time.”
Ulfia scowled but didn’t argue my point. I’d been through much worse than a locking curse before, and keeping me in bed a day longer wasn’t going to make a difference. I needed to get up, to move, to practice, to get out of this blasted bed and be useful.
“I will be the one to say whether you are healed or not, princess.”
As Ulfia attempted to guide me back onto the pillows, I placed my hands over hers and pushed them off my shoulders.
“I’m in perfect condition, I swear. I could run laps with the recruits until dusk.”
“Oh very good, princess, wheeze yourself to death, that’ll help us win the war.” Ulfia bent over my legs, her soft gray curls falling in curtains over her round face, and started massaging my right calf to find any lasting remnants of the locking curse.
I stared at a spot on the wall, where mineral deposits in the stones had created an interesting pattern that resembled fairy wings, and gritted my teeth while Ulfia probed mercilessly into my muscles. I’d just shifted to watching the dust motes float about lazily in the sunlight when she hit one particular spot that made me hiss out a swear through my teeth.
I truly hated dwarves. And their sneaky curses.
Ulfia looked up, raising an eyebrow, giving me her signature I-told-you-so look. If it were up to her, no Royal would ever see battle again after so much as a bruise.
“The patrol will be at the castle any moment,” I said. “I need a report from Kellian before I hit the training fields.” It was bad enough I had to miss out on patrol with my partner because the healing Kiss was taking over a week to do its job, but this particular patrol was critical to new intelligence on the enemy. After the eastern kingdom of Raed had reported a horde of goblins casting new curses, the Council sent out an emergency patrol to gather any information about how they could be defeated.
Ulfia gave my calf a small swat. A needling sensation pricked my skin, and I flexed involuntarily, forcing a violent shudder through me. “You’ll do no training today,” she said. “Did you not hear a word I said, Ivy Myriana? You. Are. Not. Healed. Yet.” She tapped my foot with every word.
I opened my mouth to protest again, when a familiar-looking page burst through the door as if he had a witch on his heels.
“Princess Ivy! Your Kiss is needed—the patrol—at the palace gates!”
I stood at once, which was a mistake, because I wobbled and almost fell on Ulfia. Luckily she was a strong old bird and caught me easily by the waist, clucking her tongue in disapproval.
Although she had a tight hold on me, I tried to free myself. “I’m on my way.”
“On your way, my fanny,” Ulfia snapped. “Come here, boy.” She gestured for him to take her place. “The princess is still getting over a locking curse. Be sure you walk with her.”
Under Ulfia’s glare, the page scurried over to me and tentatively took my waist as I leaned on his shoulder. His face went from white to a ferocious red.
Blue sunlight streamed through stained glass as we made our way down the corridor to the servants’ halls, where we’d emerge close to the gates, avoiding the Hall of Ancestors, the grand staircase, and the one-hundred-pound double doors.
I glanced at the page’s face again, noting the freckles across his cheeks, not unlike my own, and his name came to me. I’d heard my own page, Bromley, use this boy’s name before. “Desren, did they say anything to you? Who needs my Kiss?”
The boy flushed deeper, probably shocked I knew his name. He pushed open the servants’ door and helped me through. “I’m afraid I don’t know many details, princess. Only that the curse is a bad one. Princess Tulia’s Kiss did not work.”
At this, I stumbled, and Desren had to tighten his grip to keep me from going down. “What? But Tulia is a pure-blood Royal.”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
So. I was their last hope. Tulia may be pure, but she wasn’t a direct descendant like me.
Nerves rose in me like a thousand bubbles pressing against the cork of a spirit bottle after shaking. Oh Heavenly Queen, had they been taken by the same curse we’d gone to investigate? Just how powerful was it?
We emerged into the bright sunlight reflecting off the white-and-caramel-colored stones decorating the pathway to the intricately woven iron gates. Beyond those gates, the beautiful Crown City of Myria sprawled out for miles, with shops, homes, and steeples, creating a rolling expanse of stone and thatched roofs—some structures as old as the castle, some as new as the dwarf attack from last week.
The sky was a brilliant blue, with a few wispy clouds slowly moving from east to west, following the wind’s journey. The only thing that marred such beauty was a swirl of dark specks in the distance. For a moment, I considered them to be nothing more than a flock of crows chased off by some farmer, but the specks fluttered about, hovering, rather than scattering away in fear.
“Desren, what does that look like to you?” I pointed to the dark specks.
“You mean the crows, princess?”
“No, they’re not—” I stopped, swallowing. They were sparrow harpies—birdlike blood scavengers the size of fairies, with dark, leathery wings. Living shadows. They were never seen in the daylight or without some kind of monster horde to follow and feast on the trail of bodies.
“Milady—the patrol.” Desren tugged me gently forward, heading for the gates.
I tore my eyes away from the sparrow harpies, making a mental note to mention them to a Master Mage later. Their strange behavior should be investigated.
Just past the gates, the patrol was coming up the slight slope of the castle road. Even from here I could make out the blood and slime that coated my comrades’ battle armor. As they approached, scratches and bruises came into view. Their exhausted faces and weary eyes evidence of their journey through the night back to Myria. Back home.
My gaze jumped from prince to princess, searching for my partner’s face. Ridding myself of Desren’s shoulder, I limped toward them as they passed through the gates.