North Queen (Crowns Book 1), page 2
Chapter two
She followed the fox north, breathing deep the winter air to calm herself, but calm wouldn’t come. Blood still stained her hands. Fear still stained her mind. What had happened to the men in the forest would haunt her. But what had happened?
She eyed the fox warily. He had been there…
He trotted alongside her, stopping to pounce on anything that resembled something to play with, or a tasty snack.
“You seem to be taking this entire situation rather well.” Her voice still shook slightly. “Better than I am.”
He batted the tip of a stick above the snow with his paw and then skirted to the next.
“I mean, you didn’t run away. You don’t even seem… bothered, really.”
Because he was a fox, with a twilight of memory, and he probably didn’t even care. And yet…
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You can see how that might make one question… your involvement…”
The animal darted under a thicket at the base of a tree and shuffled around before barreling back out of it. He didn’t even seem to remember she was still there, much less able to overpower the minds of her attackers and force them to kill themselves. It was a ridiculous notion, and she quickly pushed the thought from her mind. But if it wasn’t the fox, what had come for those men? And why hadn’t it come for her?
And now here she was, following this fox—admittedly not the wisest idea, but he was all she had at the moment. He was all she knew. And he helped settle her.
“If you’re here to help me, perhaps you could do something useful? Maybe dig me a burrow to sleep in?”
He seemed oblivious to her now.
She gazed up at the fading afternoon sky. “A warm burrow, with a fire and fur blankets.” She would need shelter soon. And food. “Maybe you could find me something to eat? Or lead me to a castle with a warm bath and a feast of roast and honeyed bread?”
He cocked his head. She would have smiled if she weren’t trying so hard to quell the panic rising inside her.
“You’re cute. But I’m beginning to think you’re lost too.” She scanned the trees around her. It didn’t seem she would find shelter anytime soon, and she shivered as the cold sank into her core. She pulled the hood of her cloak up, covering her head for more warmth. “I’m ready for that burrow now.”
The animal ignored her and sniffed around a large rock. She pursed her lips as she tried to not let desperation overwhelm her. It was foolish to have followed a fox. She wasn’t any closer to improving her situation, and the day was fading. Fear crept back inside her, and tears threatened.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she whispered to herself as she turned her attention to what to do next. The protection of the trees kept the wind at bay. She could build a fire for warmth, and she reminded herself people didn’t starve to death right away. Her nerves started to settle.
Suddenly, the fox stopped. He crouched low, flicking his ears forward, then back. His nose tested the air, and her pulse quickened. He flattened his ears against his head with his hackles raised, let out a low growl, and then turned and raced back the way they’d come.
She clenched her stolen dagger tighter as her fear resurfaced. Two ill-intentioned men still lurked about. Had they returned? She stood frozen, listening and scouring the trees for any movement.
All was quiet.
She was alone.
She let out her breath. Flighty fox, she thought, feeling foolish to have believed he was leading her somewhere. She’d wasted precious time.
Just then, a sound caught her ear. She stopped, straining to hear from which direction it came. It echoed through the forest again—a rustling thud—closer now, and she peered through the trees. Spotting movement, her heart leapt to her throat. Her eyes narrowed, focusing.
An animal.
A horse.
A horse with a rider. A man. Drawing nearer.
She ducked low and sidled up to a large tree, but she wasn’t exactly hidden. The best she could do was to not draw attention and let him pass unaware. She clutched the dagger tighter and praised herself for taking it.
The rider drew closer, and she slunk back out of sight and waited, listening to the hoofbeats of his horse. As they grew louder, she placed him only a few yards away. A little longer and he’d be past her. She backed around the tree to stay hidden, but her shoulder caught a small branch, and its echoing snap broke the quiet of the forest.
The hoofbeats stopped.
Her heart raced.
The sing of steel made her shudder as he pulled his sword from its scabbard, and she braced her back against the tree. Her mind screamed for her to run, but her body threatened to forfeit. She didn’t have the energy; he would catch her.
With animals in the forest, the sound could have come from anything—if only he’d believe that. She prayed he’d move on. Waiting felt like an eternity.
She strained to listen, but she could barely hear over the hammering of her heart in her ears. Had he gone?
Slowly, she peered around the other side of the tree. Her heart stopped when she saw the horse.
It stood without its rider.
She made a hasty retreat backward but gasped as she collided with a figure behind her—a figure very firm. And very male. Whirling around, she stumbled, but he caught her. She wrenched herself away and whipped her dagger to his neck.
He didn’t move to counter. Instead, he held his arms out, with his sword pointed down, yielding.
“I don’t want any trouble.” She tried to sound as fierce as she could.
His eyes widened as he drew in a breath. “Norah?” he whispered.
Did he call her a name? Was it her name? Her chest tightened. Did she know him?
She pulled back the hood of her cloak as she took a step back, with her arm still outstretched and threatening to use the dagger. They only stared at each other.
His blond hair was short, but not too short. His square jaw held the shadow of a beard as it tapered to his chin, although she could tell he was a man typically clean-shaven. He wore light armor over a thick jacket—he was a soldier of some sort. His fitted breeches met polished boots, and silver trimmed his scabbard. He wasn’t like the men who had chased her before. And there was something about him…
He took a step closer, and she moved back, gripping the dagger. “That’s far enough!” she warned.
His face twisted in confusion. “Norah?” he said again. He took another step toward her.
“Stop!” she demanded, holding the dagger in front of her. “Don’t come any closer.” He was already too close.
He looked at the blade and then back up at her. “Don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Alexander.” His eyes held the glint of a tear. “Norah, it’s me.”
No recollection came as she studied him. She had no memory of his face, his concerned brow, his eyes. No memory of his name. Yet he seemed to know her…
Relief flooded her, but she clutched it back. She wasn’t having the best of luck in meeting trustworthy strangers in the forest. He held his hand up in pause, then slid his sword back into its scabbard without taking his eyes off her. She softened her stance but didn’t lower the blade. A handsome face didn’t make one trustworthy.
“You know who I am?” she asked, still guarded.
“Of course,” he said with a broken breath. “I’d know you anywhere.”
“And who am I, exactly?” If he called her a witch, she’d stab him.
His brows drew together. “You don’t know?”
If she knew, she wouldn’t be asking, but she bit back the snap of words on her tongue. Emotion glazed his face, bringing a stir of her own. Her heart raced as she shook her head.
He hesitated but then asked, “And you don’t know who I am?” His voice came even softer.
She shook her head again. “No.”
He winced and then looked to the ground for a moment. Then he swallowed.
“Who am I?” she pressed.
His eyes found hers again, and they burned a brilliant blue. “You’re Norah Andell… of Mercia, the Northern Kingdom.”
Norah Andell. A name strangely familiar to her, yet not. Slowly, she lowered the dagger.
“I’ve been searching for you.” He gazed down at her hands, and his brow creased. “You’re bleeding. Are you hurt?”
Chained in her bewilderment, she didn’t move as he swept forward and took her hands in his, but his touch made her jump. “Um, no,” she said, pulling away. “It’s not mine.” He was so close to her now. Dangerously close. But he didn’t feel dangerous. He felt safe, and…
No. She didn’t know this man. Then something caught her eye. The breastplate of his armor bore a raised emblem—a winterhawk—the same as the pendant around her neck. She reached up to her chest and clasped her fingers around it. “Who are you?”
His brow dipped. He paused before saying, “I’m Alexander Rhemus, lord justice to the queen regent. Norah, she’s been waiting for your return. We all have.”
That didn’t make sense. “The queen regent? Why?” Why would a queen regent be waiting for her?
“Because you’re her granddaughter.”
Her pulse quickened. Her granddaughter? She shook her head. “No, that can’t be right.” A granddaughter of a queen wouldn’t be wandering alone in a forest. “That can’t be right,” she said again.
“I tell you the truth, but, Norah”—he glanced around them—“we should go. I can explain everything on the way, but right now, we need to get out of the Wild.”
She took a step back. She wasn’t going anywhere with him. Not yet. “How did I get here?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Then how did you know where I was?”
“I didn’t, exactly,” he answered with a tilt of his head. “I’ve been searching for what I saw in a vision.”
She raised a brow. “You saw a vision, and you just got on a horse and came to find me in the middle of a forest?” No rational person would do that.
“Not just any forest—the Wild. But yes.”
She didn’t know what that meant, but that was the least of what she needed answered. “That’s madness.”
“But… you’re here,” he countered. “And we really do need to go. It’s not safe here.”
She took another step back. “Why?” As far as she was concerned, the forest was keeping her safe from random strangers.
“The Wild isn’t kind to those who trespass.”
Was that what had happened to the two men earlier? Yet it hadn’t done anything to her. Maybe this was a ploy to get her to go with him. If she was who he said, how had she come to be wandering alone in a forest, anyway? Perhaps she’d run away. Maybe she didn’t want to go back. She bumped up against a tree behind her.
“How long have I been gone?” She couldn’t have been out very long. Her dress wasn’t too soiled, aside from her fall, and her hair hung untangled and neatly kept.
He pushed out a scant breath, baffled. “You remember nothing?”
She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “No.”
He stared at her. “You’ve been gone three years.”
Her breath quivered, and she gripped the tree behind her to steady herself. “Three years?” She shook her head. That wasn’t possible. How could one, especially the granddaughter of a queen regent, just disappear for three years?
He looked around them again. “Norah, please. We have to go.” He reached out his hand. “Will you let me take you home? Your grandmother’s at the castle.”
Castle. She glanced around for her fox. Her thoughts had been in jest, but perhaps he really had been leading her to a castle. Better than a burrow.
“We won’t arrive until tomorrow,” Alexander told her. “But there’s an old homestead we can reach before dark. It’s not much, but it’s shelter with a place for a fire.”
She still fought the uncertainty, trying to take everything in and searching for clarity on her situation. But she did need shelter and a fire. And still, there was something about him…
“Norah,” he pleaded, “you do know me. You may not remember yet, but I do. And your people do. They’ve been waiting for you a very long time.”
Her people. She knew he meant it in reassurance, but it brought only more anxiousness. So much responsibility. If people were truly waiting for her, they’d expect something from her, need something from her, and what could she give if she couldn’t remember?
And could she trust this man? She shifted, glancing at the winterhawk emblem on his breastplate again, then the gilded handle of his sword. He certainly wasn’t the same as the foul-intentioned men before. It was almost nightfall, and it had started to snow. She couldn’t see another choice. She’d have to trust this stranger—this stranger who knew her. Slowly, she nodded.
With a small exhale of relief, he led his horse in front of her and reached out his hand. “May I?”
She eyed him warily. “I can manage.”
The corner of his lips turned up, and he gave an obliging nod.
She felt Alexander’s eyes on her as she climbed onto the horse. Her dress made her efforts less elegant than she’d hoped, but she managed to settle sideways into the saddle, with the dagger still in her hand.
The animal, a trained warhorse, stood steady, but Alexander held it like he trusted nothing. He waited until she gave him a nod. Then, with a final look around, he led them back the way he’d come.
Chapter three
She didn’t know him…
Alexander led his horse past the tree line, out of the thickly wooded forest, and north into the snow-covered hills. A small sense of relief filled him to step out of the Wild and away from its dangers, but it was short-lived. He’d rather face those dangers than accept the circumstance before him now.
Three years. Three years he’d waited for the day he would see her again, and she didn’t even know him. A pain gripped his chest, but he fought to ignore it. Later. He’d deal with it later, after he got her to safety. After he got her home.
Leaving the forest, she pulled her cloak tighter around her and grew even smaller in the saddle of his giant destrier, like she was reluctant to leave. Her eyes swept warily across the open hills, as if she didn’t know she was crossing into safety. As if she preferred to stay in the most dangerous place in the world.
Something had happened to her. The blood on her hands…
“Will you tell me what happened?” he asked.
Her lips parted, and she looked down at the dagger she held. Then she swallowed.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he added. It had obviously been traumatic for her. His chest tightened. He should have come sooner. If only he’d known.
At least she wasn’t physically hurt. In fact, far from it. She looked well taken care of. Had she been in the Wild all this time? No—that was impossible. So where had she been, and how did she end up in the Wild?
He couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering back to her as he led his destrier through the hills. He was so afraid it was all a dream, afraid none of it was real. When he glanced back to find her watching him, he forced his gaze forward again.
“How did I come to be lost?” she asked, finally breaking the silence.
He glanced back at her. He still couldn’t believe he’d finally found her. Her question… He forced his mind to focus. Where to start? There was no easy answer, but he had told her he’d explain, and she was waiting. “We were at war,” he said. “Your father took you away. Somewhere safe.”
She straightened. “My father?”
“King Aamon.” One of the greatest kings Mercia had ever known.
“You’ll take me to him?”
His heart fell for her, and he stopped. “No, Norah.” He’d been dreading the day she would learn of this. “He died in the war, shortly after you left, in the Battle of Bahoul.”
She stilled, and her throat moved with a struggled swallow. She’d been close with her father. Perhaps it was merciful that she didn’t remember right now. Despite that, there was no mistaking the sadness in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “He was a good man and a great king, and he loved you very much.”
She cast her eyes down, but at nothing in particular. When she raised them, they were glistening. “And if my grandmother is queen regent, then my mother…” Her words trailed off.
“She died in childbirth. You never knew her.”
She quieted. Anger coursed through him—how cruel fate was to give her loss before she’d even found herself. How cruel the gods.
Slowly, he started them forward again.
“How do we know each other?” she asked.
He wavered at her question, looking back at her from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t yet accept being a stranger to her, but he forced himself to answer. “We’ve known each other since we were children. I’m the son of Beurnat Rhemus of Northridge—Beurnat the Bear—who was lord justice and right hand to your father. My family has served Mercia and the crown for twelve generations.” He looked back at her. “It’s in my blood to protect you and the realm.”
That seemed to settle her slightly. He was glad he could give her some sense of comfort.
Their pace slowed in the deeper snow, but he pressed on with greater urgency. They needed to make it to the homestead by nightfall, before the darkness and true cold set in on them.
“Am I alone, other than my grandmother?” she asked.
“You have a cousin, although you don’t know each other well. No other family.”
He glanced back and caught the hint of a frown on her lips. “But you’re not alone,” he added. “There will be many to help you. Your grandmother’s a strong woman who has great wisdom and the respect of the people. She’ll guide you, along with the members of the Mercian Council. And”—he paused—“you’ll have a lord justice.”
Her brows drew together. “And what’s a lord justice?”
Only his life’s duty. But he gave a small smile. He wasn’t offended. “A justice provides counsel and commands your armies. Executes your will. A justice is your right hand.”
