God of Loyalty Read online

  God of Loyalty

  Kingdom of Fairytales Rapunzel book 4

  Emma Savant

  J. A. Armitage

  Contents

  1. 16th April

  2. 17th April

  3. 18th April

  4. 19th April

  5. 20th April

  6. 21st April

  After the Happily Ever After…

  A NEW FAIRYTALE ANTHOLOGY

  Join us

  A note from the author

  About Emma Savant

  About J.A. Armitage

  The Kingdom of Fairytales Team

  Copyright © 2019 by J A Armitage

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited By Rose Lipscomb

  Cover by Enchanted Quill Press

  Created with Vellum

  Kingdom of Fairytales

  You all know the fairytales, the stories that always have the happy ending. But what happens after all those storybook characters get what they wanted? Is it really a happily ever after?

  Kingdom of Fairytales is a new way of reading with one chapter a day and one book a week throughout the year beginning January 1st

  Lighting-fast reads you won’t be able to put down

  Read in real time as each chapter follows a day in the life of a character throughout the entire year, with each bite-sized episode representing a week in the life of our hero.

  Each character’s story wrapped up at the end of every season with a brand new character and story featured in each season.

  Fantasy has never been so epic!

  16th April

  Back in Floris, wedding preparations were in full swing. Maids and footmen scurried from wagons to the palace’s front doors, bearing armloads of silk or tree branches draped with tiny sparkling fairy lights. I wasn’t allowed in to see for myself, but the maids I’d managed to talk to had said the entrance hall and all the corridors leading to the throne room and ballroom were being hung with silk garlands, and well-rationed flowers from my garden already stood in crystal vases at intervals.

  The wedding was going to be beautiful. I wished I could have said the same about the marriage.

  I dodged behind the gray branches of a dead rose bush to avoid a cluster of photographers who were being led into the palace by a guide. They were getting a sneak peek at the wedding decorations in advance of the big day, which put them one step ahead of me. I held my breath as they passed, then, when no one noticed me, let it out again.

  I wasn’t ready to make another statement to the press, not until the Festival judges had ruled on my lily.

  On either side, gardeners and apprentices raked the bare dirt of former flowerbeds and coated the gray grass with green paint, sprayed from clever little Forge contraptions that distributed the coloring in an even coat across the blades. Nearer the driveway, apprentices and assistant florists arranged the rocks that had been painted with flowers.

  It wasn’t an unattractive scene, on the whole. But it wasn’t as elegant as a princess’s wedding should have been, and it wasn’t very Florian.

  Still, all we could do was our best. I knew Lilian wouldn’t blame anyone if it didn’t look quite right in the end.

  “Mr. Gilding.”

  I started, jerked out of my reverie, and was surprised to see Jonquil standing a few feet away, his hands resting behind his back. He didn’t usually call me Mr. Gilding, not when Deon or a sarcastic sir would do. But his face didn’t bear any of his usual contempt.

  My stomach turned over. “What is it?”

  He shifted from foot to foot. I’d never seen Jonquil looking nervous before, and he’d certainly never seemed like that around me.

  “The blight isn’t improving,” he said.

  I waited for the accusation that was sure to follow, but he fell silent.

  Finally, I nodded. He shifted again and held an envelope out to me.

  I took it and raised an eyebrow when I saw my name on the front.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s my letter,” he said. “Of resignation.”

  I jerked my head up to stare at him. He wasn’t joking. It wasn’t a threat, either. If anything, he looked sad.

  “I’ve been offered a position in Draconis,” he said. “I start in a couple of weeks. It’s a good opportunity. And with things the way they are here…”

  He trailed off. He didn’t need to explain.

  “It’s a chance to keep working,” I said. “That’s not something you’re going to get in Floris, not anytime soon.”

  “I hope you’ll convey to the king and queen that this isn’t any reflection on the palace,” he said. “I know Their Majesties are doing their best.”

  I allowed myself a slight smile. “I’ll bet you’ll be happy to get away from me, though, right?”

  He didn’t deny it, but, with uncharacteristic graciousness, he didn’t agree outright, either.

  “We could use your help setting the kingdom up with enchanted glass,” I said. “But I suppose you’ve thought about that.”

  “I considered it. At the pace we’re going, it’ll be months before I have enough to do. In Draconis, there’s a chance for advancement.”

  I couldn’t blame him, not in the slightest. I’d played with the idea of escaping, too.

  “It sounds like you have the job in the bag,” I said. “But I’ll be happy to write you a reference if you end up needing one.”

  His eyebrows went up. He hesitated, then said, awkwardly, “I didn’t think you’d, uh…”

  I didn’t have to offer him anything. He’d been a thorn in my side ever since I’d been promoted, and I couldn’t honestly recommend him as a cheerful addition to any team.

  But he was a talented gardener, and hurting his chances of finding something better in the future sounded like something Duke Remington would have done.

  And I was no Duke Remington.

  “You were good enough to get a job at the palace,” I said. “I’d hate to see those skills go to waste.”

  He frowned, trying to make sense of me. Confusing him like this was almost more entertaining than firing him on the spot would have been.

  I held out a hand. “I’ll pass your regrets on to Their Majesties. I hope it works out for you.”

  His handshake was firm, and while I couldn’t truthfully say I’d be sad to see the back of him, it was a gift to end on a decent note.

  “Do me a favor?” I said.

  He put his hands behind his back again and nodded.

  I grinned. “Be a little nicer to your next boss.”

  I watched him walk back across the gloomy grounds--I couldn’t rightfully call them gardens anymore--and wondered how long it would be until the next notice came my way. A few of the apprentices wouldn’t last much longer. Chervil would drag his feet and complain a bit, but then he’d likely go, too. I’d try to talk Olive into finding a position abroad if she didn’t end up pursuing one on her own; she was too young and talented to remain a gardener in a kingdom with no flowers.

  And the rest of them--I’d figure that out as I went. There was no reason to keep an army of gardeners at the palace anymore. Once we figured out our greenhouse situation, perhaps some of them would be willing to go out into the country and teach the people in small cities and villages how to grow their own food under glass.

  I made my way to the biggest of our greenhouses. Reed was inside, as I’d known he would be, but he wasn’t alone. Two figures were with him, and it took me a moment to place their elegant
figures.

  “Mistress Hemlock,” I said, walking forward. “Master Cypress.”

  Hemlock greeted me only with a sharp glance. Cypress, though, smiled and held out a hand. I shook it, and his skin was as smooth and cool as a river stone.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Magic,” Cypress said. “Or, at least, that is our intention.”

  “We are performing magic,” Hemlock said. “The question is whether it’s going to do any good.”

  Hemlock cupped her hands on the outside of one of the bell jars and seemed to fall into deep concentration. A tiny shard of light flashed in the glass, and she let go.

  “Is that how you enchant them?”

  “Stars, no,” Hemlock said, waving a hand. “That has to be done in concert with a glassmaker. This is just an extra boost to encourage the plants to be productive. If this works, we’ll use it on the greenhouses, too.”

  She nodded at Reed, who took the bell jar and placed it over a small terra cotta pot that held a couple of seedlings. Their tender green stalks looked so delicate. They were young and fragile, and it seemed impossible that they could survive against the onslaught of the blight.

  I watched them work for a while. The process seemed simple, but I couldn’t imagine what they were doing. Reaching into the core of a plant and feeling for its life energy made sense in an intuitive way I couldn’t quite pin down. But reaching into glass--that seemed different. I bit my tongue and resisted offering to help. I didn’t have those kinds of abilities, and they didn’t need to be teaching magic to a child. And anyway, Reed still didn’t know I had magic, and this didn’t seem like the time for a big reveal.

  So I stood, useless.

  I had been useless a lot lately. Even going to Urbis, exhausting as the quick trip had been, hadn’t actually done any good. Everything I did, from raking dead flowerbeds to combing through an already-pilfered archive, felt like a lot of work for very little result.

  Even so, the queen deserved to know what had happened.

  I waved at Reed to excuse myself in silence. Hemlock and Cypress, intent over their jars, didn’t notice me leave.

  It was easy enough to slip inside the palace. All I had to do was fall into step with a bunch of delivery men, and use their bodies as a shield until I was through the entrance hall.

  Getting up to the queen’s rooms, on the other hand, required a bit more stealth. I tried sneaking through the usually-quiet servants’ passages, but they were crowded today with maids rushing from the laundry to guest chambers with arms full of fresh bedding. I pressed myself to the wall and waited for a group of them to pass before Daisy, one of the senior housemaids, caught me lurking.

  “You,” she said loudly, pointing at me over a bulky tulip-embroidered comforter. “Out.”

  “I’m just trying to get upstairs.”

  “It’ll be our hides if the duke finds out you were here,” she said in a low voice. “He was very clear that anyone who spots you inside is supposed to report you.”

  “You wouldn’t turn me in.”

  “Of course not,” she said with a dismissive wave. “But how many other people do you think have seen you already? I can tell you, if Violet or Primrose or any of the other girls notice you’re here, Duke Remington will be at your elbow before you can say sticks and stones.” She made a face. “Suckups will get us all in hot water. Scram.”

  She wasn’t wrong about the other maids or the duke, but Daisy and I had always gotten along. “I thought we were friends,” I tried.

  She rolled her eyes. “If you’re my friend, you’ll get out of here before someone spots us talking. I’m already on Duchess Annemie’s bad side. I don’t need the duke’s attention on me, too.”

  I sighed. I was going to be in trouble with the duke no matter how I sliced things. It wasn’t fair to take anyone else down with me.

  “Fine, I’m going.”

  She gave me a crisp, approving nod and rushed down the corridor. I was nowhere near the queen’s quarters, and how did I think I was going to get inside without help, anyway? Lilian wouldn’t be there to distract the guard this time, and with the wedding so close, there was no way to get her attention.

  Just like Urbis, I’d wasted time and effort for nothing. I sighed and made my way briskly back downstairs and outside where I belonged.

  I couldn’t see the queen. I couldn’t enchant glass jars, or magic away the blight, or track down an evil witch, or even attend to the ordinary work of the gardens.

  But there was one thing I could do.

  Now that the blight had ruined everything that had once been beautiful on the palace grounds, the stone walls of my private garden hulked like a giant child’s block dropped unceremoniously in the middle of a lawn. The ivy that had once grown up the outer walls was dead, with only a few gray stems and soggy leaves remaining, and the stone underneath was old and worn and covered in blight-spoiled moss. The inside was no better. Barren flowerbeds stared at me when I opened the heavy wooden door, each one an ugly gash in the earth’s skin. Raised beds sat empty, their architecture dull and uninspiring without their usual cloaks of greenery. With my flowers gone, the sweet smell that had always filled the garden had been replaced by the poisonous perfume of decay that pervaded the rest of the palace grounds.

  This garden had once been my heart. Now, it was empty and broken.

  “Exactly like my heart’s going to be after the wedding,” I muttered to a sparrow sitting on the top wall of the garden. The bird was thinner than it should have been, emaciated as a result of the blight. “Seems a little right on the nose, don’t you think?”

  I reached into my pocket for a bit of leftover scone from breakfast and scattered the crumbs on the ground, hoping the bird would hop down for an easy meal. It only fluttered away, startled.

  It would come back. I had to hope so, anyway.

  What would the kingdom look like when all the birds were gone? We wouldn’t be able to afford to feed them all, not when everything was being grown under glass.

  On the far side of the garden, my few remaining Gilded Lilies shone with their enchanting golden light. It was hard to believe I’d created something so beautiful. Whatever magic lived in this garden must have helped me. I moved toward the lilies, each step heavy with the risk that if I got just a little closer, I’d catch sight of a hint of gray on a petal or an unwelcome droop of a leaf.

  But they were just as healthy and beautiful as ever. Their light had stayed warm, their shimmer, strong. They were everything I had hoped for, and it was time to dig them up.

  I took tools from my small shed and got to work. The feel of the earth under my fingers soothed me, and the scent of the rich soil reminded me of better days. One of Lilian’s and my tutors had once told us that smell and memory were linked, and that was why flower scents were so highly prized in Floris. A whiff of lavender could remind one of calm; a note of gardenia could trigger memories of a loved one. And dirt--rich, dark, fertile dirt--took me back to my earliest memories, of filth under my nails and Lilian grinning at me. We couldn’t have been more than four or five the day we’d gotten into Hedley’s petunia beds. He’d just spread compost all across the beds, and we’d been unable to resist the light, fluffy texture and the way it squished and crumbled between our fingers.

  We’d never gotten in as much trouble as we should have. Looking back, I wasn’t sure if it was because Lilian was a princess and exempt from the usual punishments or just because Hedley was kind and loved me.

  I’d been blessed here in Floris, with love and family, the likes of which no orphan foundling should have been able to expect.

  It would be over soon, but I couldn’t leave without making sure my lilies were safe with their rightful owners. I repotted a few for the queen and a few for Lilian, then reserved the rest for myself. Wherever I went after this, whether to somewhere in Tulis or another kingdom entirely, I’d have to be able to keep working to make the Gilded Lily into a stable hybrid. My work would be the o
nly thread I’d be able to carry from my old life to the new one. I doubted Duke Remington would allow me to write to Lilian once they were married. Seeing her would be out of the question. My lilies--and whatever waves I might be able to make in the press or in horticulture journals--might be the only connection I would have with Lilian going forward.

  Stinging nettles, I was going to start crying like a child if I kept thinking like this. I blinked back the prickling behind my eyes and took a few steadying breaths.

  The future was coming for me, whether I was ready for it or not. The best thing I could do now was to use these lilies to get inside the palace. I’d give them to the queen and the princess.

  I’d say goodbye.

  The silence of the garden was absolute, aside from the sound of my spade scooping soil into the pots to stabilize the lily roots. So when the door creaked suddenly open, I jumped and spun around.

  “Sticks and stone, Reed,” I exclaimed, before realizing that it wasn’t Reed.

  My stomach dropped, and I became acutely aware of the lilies sparkling behind me.

  “I thought my mother told you to dig up all your flowers for the wedding,” Duke Remington said. His smile was friendly, which only made his words the more chilling.

  I clutched my spade. The idea of using its heavy wooden handle against the side of his head flashed across my mind. I dismissed the image as soon as it arrived, though the temptation that accompanied it couldn’t be denied.

  “Your Grace.” I bowed. “Yes, she did.” I didn’t have to scramble far to find the lie. “The Gilded Lilies are particularly delicate, so I’m taking them to the florist last.”

  “Not cutting them, I see.” He strode casually forward and spoke like we were having a normal little Florian chat about gardening.