Fight for the Crown Read online

  Emilie MacCauley

  FIGHT FOR THE CROWN

  The Silver Throne: Book 1

  Copyright © 2020 by Emilie MacCauley

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

  Cover art by Cover Me Darling

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  For those who have ever felt left out or misunderstood

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  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

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  The familiar scent of fresh bergamot fills Rowan’s nose at the same time a hand clamps down onto her red painted lips. An arm wraps around her middle is pulling her away, her feet dragging along the marble floor trying to stop her attacker from dragging her further away from safety.

  Just moments earlier, she had entered the crowded ballroom, now she is far away from all that. The thought of what is to come makes her shiver in fear.

  Her life as a princess means she is never safe. Locked in her room, secluded from friends, she has lived a sheltered life. One heavily protected and enforced by her father—King of Ovkha. Rowan is no stranger to violence, not while her brothers are all envious and bitter, fighting for their spot on the Silver Throne. She has seen her brothers cruel acts toward each other, she has witnessed things that would give anyone nightmares. Yet, her bedroom in the castle is a haven as well as a prison.

  There is no freedom being the Princess of Ovkha.

  There is no such thing as absolute safety being the Princess of Ovkha.

  And her kidnapper is a familiar someone who knows no mercy.

  CHAPTER ONE

  One Hour Earlier

  Princess Rowan Greenfallow, enters the decorated ballroom. Guests turn their heads, eyes following her as she makes her way to the front to bow in front of the king and queen—her mother and father.

  An annual masquerade ball to celebrate the Shevka liberation. Strangers wear a new face and Rowan herself has a shimmering silver mask that covers just half of her face. A turquoise gown matches the blue of her eyes and the tiara on top of her head is as silver as the color of her hair and mask.

  The annual ball is one of the parties she loathes the most. Once a year the palace comes alive for the masquerade. It has been eighteen years since the fall of The Sorching King, a Dakra king who caused misery for all Shevka living in Ovkha. Every Shevka citizen is welcome for dancing, eating, and socializing in the castle. The ballroom and hallways are loud with laughter as the ball welcomes guests from all over the land. For Rowan, dancing and conversing is tiresome. She is forced to attend these festivities for grueling political reasons.

  Her heels click against the white marble floor. The masks of guests stare at her, stoic faced as the holes cut out for the eyes, follow her every more. She keeps her chin high and shoulders back as she crosses from one corner of the room to the next. In a few short strides she approaches her father—the great slayer of the Scorching King sitting on the Silver Throne—and his beautiful queen at his side.

  Being compared to her mother, Queen Harlow, Rowan has always felt it’s like comparing a rock to a diamond. Rowan gets her silver-white hair from her, but that is where their similarities end. Her mother’s hair is wavy and falls down to the middle of her back where Rowan’s hair is pin straight and barely touches her shoulders. Harlow’s lilac colored eyes are mesmerizing and makes it hard to look away. When her mother moves, it’s as though she is floating. Her body moves with a suaveness Rowan could never possess no matter how hard she tries.

  Her father is a powerful man, tall with a husky build. Before he became the ruler he was a feared warrior that could crush a skull with the squeeze of his hand. Rowan shares his blue eyes and that is where their similarities end as well. His ears are long with a pointed tip and like all Shevka fae his handsomeness is blessed.

  Being eighth in line to the throne means she has no power. Luckily for Rowan, she has never wanted the power or the responsibility that comes with the crown. Prince Arlo, her eldest brother, has been groomed for the throne since the moment he was born. The older Arlo gets, the need for power grows with him. With each passing year he becomes more impatient to take the throne from their immortal father. Their father, King Syro Greenfallow, will rule the Ovkha kingdom for centuries. To Arlo, that is too long to wait. He wants to secure his spot as king as quickly as possible. Especially before one of their other siblings gets the opportunity to steal it from him.

  Rowan’s father became king when he planned a siege on the castle that killed the previous ruler known as The Sorching King. From that day forth her father became the new rightful king of Ovkha. Her parents and tutors talk of The Scorching King’s rule as a time of ruin and disorder. His fire powers wreaking havoc on their land leaving his subjects in a state of misery and destitution. Many believe his rule was destined to be one full of ruin because he was a Dakra fae and that’s why the Shevka fae had to start the uprise.

  That’s what tonight’s ball is honoring.

  The kingdom is currently ruled by the high blooded fae—Shevka. Their magic made to heal and restore balance in the kingdom given by their God, Lysstrom. Shevka are unflawed with unblemished skin and irresistible beauty. Unlike the high blooded fae, Dakra fae are low blooded—born of darkness and turmoil from their God, Hellias. Their magic causes destruction and misfortune and upsets the balance of the land.

  Rowan, who spends most of her time in her room, doesn’t bother herself with politics. She wants nothing more than to not be royal. To be queen means to be killed. Her brothers feel differently as they threaten one another in hopes that their place in line will move up. Rowan stays out of their wicked games, actively showing her disinterest in the Silver Throne so they’d leave her alone. She rejects the power that comes with the crown. Everyone wants the luxury and power that comes with being royalty, but she has seen what ruling a kingdom does.

  War. Betrayal. Inexplicable cruelty.

  Royalty has turned her family heartless. Maybe in another life, she would’ve loved her parents and brothers, now she does her best to avoid them. Her brothers have never shown compassion towards one another. She tried for many years to win over their affection, but they are too blind to see each other as siblings instead of competitors. All seven of her siblings are deranged and obsessed over having the Silver Crown on their head and the Silver Throne beneath them.

  While her brothers plot each oth
er’s demise and plan their rise to become heir, no one goes after Rowan for two reasons. One: because she is the eighth and last in line and two: because she is not a threat. Rowan is not a threat because unlike her brothers, she bears no magic. All high blooded Shevka fae are gifted with light powers that aid to creation. Shevka have healing powers, elemental powers, and powers that help restore and balance the lands. She has always thought by age five she would gain these powers. By age ten, she thought maybe she was a late bloomer then a couple of years after that she gave up and began thinking of herself as an anomaly. She was henceforth known as the Powerless Princess in the eyes of her mocking brothers and disappointed father. She spends her mundane days locked in her bedroom reading as many books as she can. With the viciousness of her brothers, her room is where she can temporarily cease to exist.

  A life outside the castle and outside being a princess, feels foriegn to her. Every night since she has learned how to read, she has read at least one book a night. Books explain and allow her to enter a world that shows her what it is like to be normal. What it is like to have the love of a mother. What it is like to play outside with friends from next door. Her life is anything but the glamorous lives storybook characters have. Her life is to serve the Silver Crown, obey the Silver Crown, and live for the Silver Crown.

  Being a princess is a lonely life. Her father has gone to extreme lengths to protect her, that means no friends and no playing outside the castle gates. She’s limited to her room, the dining hall, and a few other rooms—all of which require an escort. The castle is her prison. A suffocating enclosure that refuses to allow her to be who she really wants to be. Her father dictates her worth where he sees fit. Being born of royalty means her life is not her own. She’s had private lessons from the best tutors in the land and the protection of personal guards while living in the heavily fortified castle. Everything she does is for the benefit of the crown. Like networking at a ball.

  Rowan lowers her half-face masked from her face and curtsies in front of her parents. They nod, coldly greeting as well as dismissing her. She turns on her heel to join guests that all seem to be having a good time. The ballroom is crowded and she grows overwhelmed with the noise and how suffocating the air feels. Guests bump into each other, laughing over jokes and scarfing down finger foods. Claustrophobia causes her breathing to go shallow and a panic attack to spike.

  Not before a man in a dark mask with a silver teardrop falling from the left eyehole grabs her. His hands are covered in white gloves as they gently hold her delicate pale hand, and he leads her to the dance floor. The piano and violin play simultaneously and in beautiful melody, as the stranger spins her and sways with her in the middle of the dance floor. Guest watch them, she can hear their whispers but can’t make out any words. The stranger is quiet, his dark eyes collectively watching her. A shiver runs through her body. As she stares back at him, she loses track of time.

  Breathless and confused, the music stops. Guests clap and the mysterious tall male in front of her bows before disappearing into the crowd.

  “Wait!” She nearly shouts. Holding up the hem of her dress, she chases after him.

  Curiosity and a fluttering heart gets the best of her. She wants to know something about him. She didn’t even catch his name nor a glimpse at the face beneath the mask.

  She searches every corner of the ballroom, but the black masked male is nowhere to be found.

  Still looking, Rowan finds herself straying away from the ballroom. She knows she shouldn’t be anywhere without her guards, but she has always found slipping away from them to be too easy. Especially during an event as big as this one.

  Alone in a corridor just outside the masquerade, a hand clamps over her mouth. A muffled scream escapes from her lips, but the roaring sound of laughter and music drowns her out. Her eyes are wide with fear as an arm wraps around her waist and pulls her in the opposite direction of the ballroom.

  Fighting as hard as she can gets her nowhere. He is too strong. Planting her heels into the floor doesn’t work, they scrape along the marble causing her to lose her footing. Her captor is leading her far away from anyone who can help her.

  All Rowan can think about at this moment is how many people would pay a hefty sum to get their hands on a princess. How many deranged people who would love to do things to a princess.

  The bergamot scent of the cologne hits her nose and the familiarity of it, hits her with realization of her captor’s identity.

  The hand lets go of her mouth, and the arm on her waist spins her around. She starts to back away but he quickly grabs her wrist keeping her close to him.

  “Father has told you before not to drift away from your guards view,” her eldest brother, Arlo, wears a crooked smile.

  “I was looking for something,” her body is still trembling with fear.

  His grip tightens on her wrist and she winces in pain. He promptly lets go, letting out a soft chuckle and shaking his head. “You know, I have always been lucky being first born. I have the right to the throne and I’m bigger and stronger than any of you.”

  Her eyes narrow. “What do you want? I’m not a threat to you.”

  “Now see, that’s where you’re wrong.” Arlo sheathes a dagger from his belt and strikes quick. Her mind can barely register his movements as his knife swiftly cuts her cheek. She grabs her marred flesh and pulls her hand back to look at the red blood.

  She runs down the hallway as fast as she can stumbling in her heels. She swiftly takes both of her shoes off and throws them at Arlo, who is trailing behind her. The pointed heel hits him hard and he momentarily stops to grab his wound and curse. She zig-zags throughout the corridors hoping she can lose him. The palace is no longer safe for her. Rowan begins to wonder what Arlo knows that she doesn’t.

  There’s no way Rowan could ever be a threat to him.

  She sprints, the pitter-patter of her bare feet on the freshly waxed floors echoing. Her lungs burn from exertion by the time she makes her way outside. She places her hands on her knees and takes deep breaths trying to regain her stamina. When her heart rate finally calms down and her ears stop ringing from the adrenaline, she notices just how peaceful it is. The courtyard in the back of the castle is enclosed by tall black gates. In the enclosure is a terrace just off the castle along with a large garden with flowers of every color imaginable. The night sky above her is clear and filled with many bright stars. The sound of laughter from the ballroom is faint and muffled, the silence of the night envelops her into peaceful bliss.

  There’s no time to linger, she needs to think of a way to protect herself against her brothers and fast. At any moment Arlo could find her or worse—he could have gathered their brothers and make murdering her a family activity.

  A twig snaps in the forest that is right outside the castles back gates. Her eyes narrow in to see a dark figure weaving in and out through the trees. She takes a step closer, building her confidence as she puffs out her chest and yells, “Who goes there?”

  No response. She hears another twig snap and her blood goes cold. Sneaking past the scattered few guards she struggles to climb over the gate. It is the thought of getting killed that gives her, what feels like, super strength. Her corset rips from her straining muscles along with tears on the lacy sleeves of her biceps, as she climbs to the top. At the top, the hem of her ballgown gets caught and rips at the end. She tries to pull the fabric free but loses her balance causing her to fall to the ground. She lands on the other side of the gate. The guards act on the noise marching toward her direction. She sprints away from the perimeter and further into the forest. Fabric is falling off her body, the dress completely mangled as she clings on to the ripped material.

  She can see nothing but darkness and the outline of tall oak trees. Something is urging her to keep walking despite her minds protests to turn back. It feels like her body is no longer her own as this magnetic force pulls her further into the forest.

  A tall figure appears from behind a tree. Th
e figure has no face, and yet she knows it’s staring straight into her soul. It curls its long fingers urging her even closer to it until they are standing mere inches apart. Her heart races, her mind goes fuzzy as she’s in its trance. It feels like a manipulation of some sort. This creature is low blooded, and a dangerous one at that. Being face to face she can make out a thin line appearing on the creatures face. It’s a mouth. It opens showing off a full set of sharp triangular teeth.

  “My my. What do we have here?” The creature speaks, the words echoing in her mind. The voice is dark, seductive, and enticing. He leans in toward the cut on her cheek and inhales deeply. “Smells like it’s time for my nightly snack.”

  Wings spread wide behind him and then wrap around her body engulfing her in its grasp. She tries to push off of it but her hands go right through. It isn’t a solid being but made of dark misty matter. The oxygen in the air gets thinner and she finds herself suffocating in its hold.

  The low blooded creature screeches so loud her ears ring and she stumbles back out of its reach. She falls on her butt and stares up at the near nine foot figure as a crooked dagger has pierced one of its wings. She’s momentarily speechless as she looks up to see it suffering and croaking in pain. She knows she should be running to escape, but she can’t look away. It rips the dagger out from its wing and rushes toward her. It stops as though it has hit a wall and growls. An arm comes up from behind her and scoops her up. This new creature throws her over its shoulder and runs away. Away from whatever that terrifying monster was.

  Rowan clutches onto the dark fabric of this new creature’s shirt to try and stop the dizzying bouncing motion she gets with each sprinting step. In an instant they are just outside of the forest. The creature puts her down and it takes a moment for Rowan to steady herself as all the blood that went to her head, drains. The castle is nowhere in sight, so instead of turning back, this thing brought her to the opposite side of the forest.