Fate Abandoned (Book 1 of the Fate Abandoned Series) Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  FATE ABANDONED

  First edition. December 2, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 L. Danvers.

  Written by L. Danvers.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

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  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

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  About the Author

  More from L. Danvers

  Dedication

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  Chapter One

  Deep burgundy splotches covered Princess Daphne’s arm, like a parchment stained with barrel-aged wine. The markings stung, but she didn’t complain. She was proud of them. Being a girl, she wasn’t allowed to compete in the royal tournament. It gave her satisfaction, though, knowing that in some small way she’d aided her brother, Prince Phillip, in his success.

  Lillian scrunched her nose, holding up a dress with quarter sleeves. She shook her head. “This will not do, my princess. You’ll have to wear one of your winter gowns.” With a heavy sigh, the maidservant tossed it aside. She rustled through the many dresses in the antique wardrobe, the doors of which were etched with peonies—the royal flowers of Vires.

  “But I’ll melt.”

  Lillian shrugged. “You should have thought of that. Your father will have both our heads if you show up at the banquet with bruises for all of Vires to see. We’ll just have to cover them.”

  Lillian wrestled the princess into the scarlet dress. The maidservant’s cheeks flushed. Wisps of blonde tresses strayed from the thick braid encircling the crown of her head. Getting the princess into a dress was an event fit for a tournament. She cinched Daphne’s laces so tight the princess could hardly breathe. Then she pulled out a wood-carved chair and had Daphne sit.

  The combined discomfort of the humidity and the dense fabric was already getting to the princess. She fanned herself while she eyed Lillian. Lillian gave a polite nod and crossed the bedchamber to open the towering window. The maidservant’s slate dress billowed in the breeze as she looked out upon the lands of Vires.

  The end-of-summer air breezed into the bedchamber, filling Daphne’s lungs. The winds carried with them the aroma of sweet florals from the garden. They brought with them, too, the stale stench of blood from the morning’s events. Daphne puckered her lips as she looked past Lillian, out upon the lands which her family ruled. Beyond the castle walls were rolling hills, carpeted with grass and wildflowers. She and her brother had spent many summers laughing together as they rolled down those hills. But things were different now. They were no longer children without cares. The twins were nearing their eighteenth birthday. Past the hills, far in the distance, was the spindle-like canopy of the silver forest. The last rays of the setting sun bounced off the trees, making them sparkle like crystal. In this light, the silver forest didn’t look at all as forbidding as legends suggested.

  Lillian tied Daphne’s chestnut hair into braids. The princess bit her lip all the while. Lillian always pulled so tight. The maidservant placed a ruby-encrusted circlet on Daphne’s head. She sighed with satisfaction, admiring her work, and she rested her hand on the princess’s shoulder.

  It amused Daphne to see Lillian so worked up. She always got like this before banquets. She was a year younger than the princess. When it came to banquets, though, she fretted like the queen would have if she were still alive. Lillian put so much weight in them, in what they represented. And tonight was the most important banquet of the princess’s life thus far. It was the last one before her eighteenth birthday, when her life would change forever. Thinking of it filled the princess with dread.

  “Just imagine,” Lillian said. “You will be married soon. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “It would be if I were in love. But picking a husband from a handful of suitors my father chose? There’s nothing special about that. And Sir Hartley...” Daphne’s voice trailed off as a chill raced down her spine.

  “King Edgar’s chief advisor’s lust for you is, admittedly, a tad off-putting.”

  “A tad?” Daphne laughed. She had found him charming when she was a girl. Those deep blue eyes, that stubbled black beard. But he was thirty years old now—almost twelve years her senior. Far too old for her taste. “I swear, Lillian, all he sees when he looks at me is a girl who would put him two heartbeats away from the throne.”

  It was the first time she’d expressed her fear about him to Lillian. She could trust Lillian, though. She was loyal and true. Were they not separated by class, they would make fine friends.

  The maidservant pinched Daphne’s cheeks until they were nice and pink. “At least you have two other suitors to choose from,” she said after a while.

  “I suppose,” Daphne said, sliding her gold ring back and forth over her knuckle. It bore the crest of Vires, in the center of which was a scaled dragon. Beneath it read: Post Tenebras Lux, which meant Light After Darkness. “I just have no desire to be shipped off to a foreign land with a man I don’t love—or know, for that matter. It isn’t fair. I turn eighteen and am forced to marry. All Phillip has to do is go on some foolish quest.”

  Lillian’s mouth fell open. She shook her head in disbelief. “You don’t really find it foolish, do you? It’s tradition.”

  “Of course it’s foolish. Since when does finding something make you more of a man?”

  “I suppose you’re right, my princess,” she said. She was half-listening as she reached for the bottle of rose oil. She dabbed the sweet scent on the princess’s wrists and behind her ears. “Nevertheless, this is an important night for the prince. It’s his birthday, too, after all.”

  When they were finished, the princess and the maidservant rushed downstairs. Lillian was unable to contain her smile as they neared the banquet hall. One of the king’s guards stood watch by the door, covered from head to toe in polished metal. He gave a nod upon seeing them. His plum cape swept across the floor as he reached for the door and pulled it back so they could enter.

  Inside, over the mumbling of the many guests, a minstrel recounted the tale of the Battle of Gargantem.

  Daphne and Lillian stepped through the threshold. Hundreds of eyes fell upon them. Daphne tugged at the hem of her bell-shaped sleeve to make certain her bruises were covered. The last thing she needed was the whole kingdom whispering about her.

  The air was heavy with the scents of wine and fresh-baked bread. Lillian departed to join the other servants, leaving the princess to cross the hall alone. Daphne scooped up the fabric of her gown and weaved between the tables. They were topped with heavy plum and gold silks and floral arrangements. And a spread of candles sat
on the tabletops. Their flames danced back and forth as guests spoke over them.

  Daphne took a seat beside her twin.

  “I was wondering where you were,” Phillip said. He filled her chalice with wine. He smiled as the minstrel finished singing of their great-grandfather’s bravery.

  A few seats down, the white-bearded Bishop Montfort cleared his throat and stood. He adjusted his white robes and waited for the room to fall silent. When it did, he led a prayer thanking God for Phillip’s success in the day’s tournament. He implored protection for the prince on his quest.

  When the invocation was complete, servants descended upon the hall carrying trays of food. Phillip was ravenous after a day of sword-fighting and jousting. Without any sense of decorum, he sank his teeth into a turkey leg, ripping the meat from the bone and swallowing the mouthful without chewing. He chased it down with wine and wiped the dribble with the back of his sleeve.

  Daphne watched in disgust as he proceeded to slurp a spoonful of stew.

  The thought of how many girls in the kingdom lost their heads at the mere sight of him baffled her. She knew he was next in line to be king. And he was decent-looking, she supposed. But she imagined girls would find him far less appealing if they watched him eat.

  “Do you really have to go on this quest?” Daphne asked, half because she wanted to know and half because she couldn’t take the slurping any longer.

  “Yes, Daphne. I must.” He drew his dark eyebrows together, perplexed that she would ask such an absurd question.

  “But why? What purpose does you leaving serve?”

  “It’s tradition,” he said with a shrug. “It’s not for us to question.”

  His answer was annoying, but expected. While Daphne felt suffocated by the laws of the land, Phillip felt the laws gave them a sense of purpose. He wasn’t driven by a thirst for power, but by the desire to make their father proud. He was certain that if he did things the way they were supposed to be done he would earn favor with their father.

  It was a futile pursuit, but the prince was blind to that truth.

  King Edgar sat on the other side of Phillip. He downed a chalice of wine, then he leaned over and prodded his children to dance.

  Daphne rolled her eyes.

  This was her least favorite part of banquets. There was nothing more awkward than dancing with Phillip. He was a great dancer, but still. He was her brother.

  But it pleased their father to see them dance, so they did.

  Phillip led her to the center of the room where other guests were already taking part in the merriment. She rested one hand on top of his and placed the other on his shoulder. They twirled across the floor with forced smiles on their faces.

  “What’s with the long sleeves?” Phillip asked.

  “Lillian thought it best to hide the bruises. You owe me, you know. You might not have won today’s tournament had I not spent so much time practicing with you last night.”

  “Daphne, please.” His dark eyes darted around the hall, checking to make sure no one was within earshot. He puffed his chest and said, “I am the best swordsman in all of Vires.”

  “Precisely. Best swordsman.”

  “Alright, I get the point.” He extended his arm and spun her, then he brought her back in. “Thank you for practicing with me.”

  They danced some more until a shadow crossed his face. Phillip looked past her. Daphne turned and saw Sir Hartley standing there.

  “Excuse me, my prince,” he said, his voice as rough as the stubble on his chin. “May I borrow your sister for a dance?”

  Dancing with Phillip was uncomfortable, but if given the choice, she would have danced with her brother all night rather than spend even a moment in Sir Hartley’s arms. She looked to Phillip, eyes pleading, but he didn’t pay her any attention. He didn’t give her as much as a passing glance before offering Sir Hartley her hand.

  Thirteen-year-old Daphne would have swooned at the thought of dancing with her father’s chief advisor.

  But with age came wisdom.

  She once thought he had an air of mystery about him. In time, though, she realized she was sensing his untrustworthiness. She feared his influence over King Edgar grew stronger by the day.

  She’d been brave enough to bring it up to her father on two separate occasions. Both times he disregarded her concerns. He told her she shouldn’t worry her pretty little head about such matters.

  It infuriated her that her worries were discounted just because she was a girl. But, still wanting to get her point across to her father by any means necessary, she brought her concerns to Phillip’s attention.

  She’d hoped he would speak to their father about it.

  But he dismissed her, too.

  Sir Hartley kept a firm grip on her hand as they danced, kicking their feet along in rhythm with the song. He found her eyes wandering more than once, and each time he turned her chin so that her focus returned to him, subjecting her to his penetrating gaze.

  A wrinkle formed just above his brow, and she fixated on it alone while praying for the music to hurry up and end.

  Before Sir Hartley had finished bowing, Daphne rushed back to her seat. She wiped her hands on the skirt of her gown, trying to rub off the lingering feeling of his touch.

  Meanwhile, the king stood and clanked a spoon against the gold brim of his chalice.

  The hall silenced at once, and everyone turned to hear what he had to say.

  As he stood there, the silver hairs around his ears caught the light of the flickering candles. It hit the princess how much he had aged since her mother passed away.

  He had loved the queen intensely, and her death changed him.

  Daphne and Phillip had hoped they would grow closer to their father after her untimely passing. Instead, his heart hardened, and he pushed the two of them away.

  Phillip took it hard.

  Daphne, on the other hand, had been closer to their mother anyway. There was a fierceness about her that she envied.

  But there was a difference between fierceness and harshness—and the king was harsh.

  “We have gathered here tonight to celebrate the eighteenth birthday of my children.” His voice boomed throughout the hall. His hand rested on his gut as he spoke, his gold rings flashing as his belly moved up and down with each labored breath. “Tradition dictates that once the tournament is complete, the prince must go on a quest. Upon his triumphant return, we will have a grand banquet to celebrate his success. And at that time, my daughter will announce who will take her hand in marriage.”

  Daphne choked on her wine.

  Her father’s eyes pierced her like daggers.

  But Phillip piped up, to her relief, and asked, “What is my quest, Father?”

  The padded feet of wooden chairs scraped against the stone floor. Guests turned in closer to hear what the king had to say.

  King Edgar stretched out his arms and grinned. “You have all heard the tales: Many moons ago, King Cedric defeated the giants at the Battle of Gargantem. The ruby at the center of his crown was lost during the battle. Your quest, my son, is to find the ruby and return it to the castle.”

  Phillip frowned. “My quest is to find a ruby?”

  “Do not be naïve, boy. As I’m sure you recall, the battle took place all the way in Proelium. It will not be an easy journey. You must venture through Nemoria, across the Acerbus Sea and through the Perdeus Ruins to get there. You will face many trials along the way that will test your strength, wit and endurance. Your success in completing this task will prove to the people of Vires you are indeed worthy of wearing my crown and ruling the—”

  King Edgar stopped mid-sentence.

  The room filled with shrill cries and the scraping of metal at the drawing of swords.

  Sir Hartley whispered something in the king’s ear as they stood there, watching in horror as an icy mist seeped into the hall. From the windows. From the doors. From between the stones themselves.

  For the first time all e
vening, Daphne was cold.

  She clung to her twin as the fog rolled in, swirling about the floor.

  Every candle went out at once, and they were in darkness.

  There was shouting and footsteps and the shattering of chalices as they crashed to the floor.

  In a flash, the flames reappeared. A woman with eyes as silver as the moon stood in the center of the room, her wiry hair creeping out from under the cover of her hooded cape. Her thin lips separated, and she held out her finger.

  She gazed about the room until her silver eyes fell on Phillip. She pointed at him and hissed, “You will soon meet your fate, my prince.”

  Daphne looked at her brother, her nails burying through his finery and into his flesh.

  Phillip stood there, unblinking, but then he startled at the sound of their father’s fist slamming against the table.

  “Enough,” he boomed.

  “I have come to warn—”

  “Guards! Remove this wretched hag at once.”

  “This is a grave mistake, my king. You should heed my warning. His quest—”

  The king’s men, swords drawn, narrowed in on the woman.

  But with the sweep of her arm, the fog swirled around her until it covered her completely.

  There was another flash, and the fog lifted.

  She was gone.

  The room was busy with whispers and cries, and Daphne could tell by the tightening of her father’s jaw that he had had quite enough.

  He cleared his throat, and everyone froze.

  “My apologies for the interruption,” he said with a dismissive tone. He turned his chalice upright. There was hardly a mouthful of wine left in it after his fist had sent it tumbling across the table. Nevertheless, he raised it high. “To my son, Prince Phillip of Vires. May he be ever victorious on his quest.”

  “To Prince Phillip,” everyone cheered.

  DAPHNE GASPED AND CLUTCHED her covers. She pulled them up over her shoulders as the chamber door creaked open.

  Phillip peered in, his face all lines and shadows in the moonlight, looking much like the portrait of a young King Edgar that hung in the hall.