Crown of Iron (Book 1 of the Crown Trilogy)

Forty-Five

Never did I think I would find myself conflicted when the call came to rescue my father. I always pictured myself racing out the door and riding nonstop to Basecamp. But after my morning with Micah, I'm not so sure it's the best idea. I don't know if the prophecy is about me, but he believes it, and the future of this kingdom rests on my shoulders. I hate to think I'm letting him down.

I spend the afternoon pacing my room, staring at the empty satchel resting in the chair before the fire. A few times, I wander into my wardrobe and gather clothes suitable for riding. But I walk out every time with my hands empty.

"Get yourself together, Raelle," I say, falling onto the couch in my sitting room and placing my face in my palms. My mind races with conflicting thoughts, trying to muddle through my divided emotions.

If something happens to me, Micah won't have an heir. I fought for my place on the mission to save my father.

But his soldiers are capable without me.

I'm not sure I can handle breaking my mother's heart again.

Lucent is looking to me for leadership.

The plan to get into Stigian relies on me and my gift.

I stand, grab the satchel, and bound for my wardrobe. Minutes later, I exit my room, heading for the foyer. The footman greets me, and I inform him I will need a carriage to take me home. While he prepares the horses, I bounce on the balls of my feet and watch the sun move across the western sky. If I don't make it to the meeting place on time, my escort will have no choice but to leave without me. After the run-in I had with outlanders on my way to Basecamp, it's not a good idea for me to ride alone at night. I have to make it to the market on time.

The carriage pulls to the front of the palace, and I hike up the hem of my dress and step inside. I watch the pristine grounds pass by, waiting for the right moment to pose the question that will change our course.

As soon as we pass the palace's front gates, I stick my head out the window and call up to the driver. "Excuse me."

"Yes, Your Grace," the man holding the reins says over the clapping horses' hooves.

"Do you mind dropping me off at the market? I just remembered that my sister said my family would be there this evening. I can get a ride home with them."

"As you wish, Your Grace."

I lean back in the seat and run my palms over the skirt of my dress. My lie should buy me the time I need. Mother doesn't know Micah sent me home, and the palace staff believes that is where I'm headed. By the time anyone realizes I'm gone, I should be at the Stigian gates.

The driver stops and opens the door for me. I wish him a good evening before merging with the bustling crowd. I rush toward the square where the finest tailors and galleries surround an enormous fountain. I walk around the focal point and friendly faces smile at me and bow their heads, but none of them belong to the soldiers I know.

Moving to a corner, I lean against a lamppost. "Shit," I hiss, fearing I'm too late.

"Looking for someone, my lady?" asks a gruff voice with a thick country accent.

"No, sir," I lie, wrinkling my nose as the breeze carries in a horrific smell.

A bag lands at my feet, and I curl my lip at its grotesque condition. I lift my gaze, ready to give a piece of my mind to the person who so carelessly is tossing laundry at me. A man sits at the reins of a cattle cart, wearing a filthy tunic, brown trousers and coat. A cap covers his head, and a red bushy beard graces his familiar face. Ulric.