Sorcerer's Ring (Books 1 ,2, and 3). Morgan Rice
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he could respond, suddenly the room broke into song and dance and feasting, people celebrating all around him. It was mayhem. He looked up at the king, saw the love in his eyes, the adoration and acceptance. He had never felt the love of a father figure in his life. And now here he was, loved not just by a man, but by the King no less. In one day, his world had changed. He only prayed that all of this was real.
*
Gwendolyn hurried through the crowd, pushing her way, wanting to catch sight of the boy before he was ushered out of the royal court. Thor. Her heart beat faster at the thought of him, and she could not stop turning his name over in her mind. She had been unable to stop thinking about him from the moment she had encountered him. He was younger than her, but not by more than a year or two— and besides, he had an air about him that made him seem older, more mature than the others, more profound. From the moment she had seen him, she felt she had known him. She smiled to herself as she remembered meeting him, how flustered he was. She could see in his eyes that he felt the same way about her.
Of course, she did not even know the boy. But she had witnessed what he had done on the jousting lane, had seen what a liking her younger brother had taken to him. She had watched him ever since, sensing there was something special about him, something different from the others. Meeting him had only confirmed it. He was different from all these royal types, from all the people born and bred here. There was something refreshingly genuine about him. He was an outsider. A commoner. But oddly, with a royal bearing. It was as if he were too proud for what he was.
Gwen made her way to the upper balcony’s edge and looked down: below was spread out the royal court, and she caught a last glimpse of Thor as he was ushered out, Reece by his side. They were surely heading to the barracks, to train with the other boys. She felt a pang of regret, already wondering, scheming, how she could arrange to see him again.
Gwen had to know more about him. She had to find out. For that, she would have to speak to the one woman who knew everything about anyone and everything going on in the kingdom: her mother.
Gwen turned and cut her way back through the crowd, twisting through the back corridors of the castle she knew by heart. Her head spun. It had been a dizzying day. First, the morning’s meeting with her father, his shocking news that he wanted her to rule his kingdom. She was completely caught off guard, had never expected it in a million years. She still could hardly process it now. How could she ever possibly rule a kingdom? She pushed the thought from her mind, hoping that day would never come. After all, her father was healthy and strong, and more than anything, all she wanted was for him to live. To be here with her. To be happy.
But she could not push the meeting from her mind. Somewhere, back there, lurking, was the seed planted that one day, whenever that day should come, she would be next. She would succeed him. Not any of her brothers. But her. It terrified her; it also gave her a sense of importance, of confidence, unlike any she’d ever had. He had found her fit to rule—her—to be the wisest of them all. She wondered why.
It also, in some ways, worried her. She assumed it would stir up a huge amount of resentment and envy, her, a girl, being chosen to rule. Already she could feel Gareth’s envy. And that scared her. She knew her older brother to be terribly manipulative and completely unforgiving. He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, and she hated the idea of being in his sights. She had tried to talk to him after the meeting, but he would not even look at her.
Gwen ran down the spiral staircase, her shoes echoing on the stone. She turned down another corridor, passed through the rear chapel, through another door, past several guards, and entered the private chambers of the castle. She had to speak with her mother, whom she knew would be resting here. Her mother had little tolerance for these long social affairs anymore—she liked to slip out to her private chambers and rest as often as possible.
Gwen passed another guard, went down another hall, then finally stopped before the door to her mother’s dressing room. She was about to open it, but stopped. Behind the door, she heard muted voices, their pitch rising, and sensed something wrong. It was her mother, arguing. She listened closely, and heard her father’s voice. They were fighting. But why?
Gwen knew she should not be listening—but she could not help herself. She reached out and gently pushed open the heavy oak door, grabbing it by its iron knocker. She opened it just a crack and listened.
“He won’t stay in my house,” her mother snapped, on edge.
“You rush to judgment, when you don’t even know the entire story.”
“I know the story,” she snapped back. “Enough of it.”
Gwen heard venom in her mother’s voice, and was taken aback. She rarely heard her parents fight—just a few times in her life—and had never heard her mother so worked up. She could not understand why.
“He will stay in the barracks, with the other boys. I do not want him under my roof. Do you understand?” she pressed.
“It is a big castle,” her father spat back. “His presence will not be noticed by you.”
“I don’t care if it is noticed or not. I don’t want him here. He’s your problem. It was you who chose to bring him in.”
“You are not so innocent, either,” her father retorted.
She heard footsteps, watched her father strut across the room and out the door on the other side, slamming it behind him so hard that the room shook. Her mother stood there, alone in the center of the room, and began to cry.
Gwen felt terrible. She didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, she thought it best to slip away, but on the other, she couldn’t stand the sight of her mother crying, couldn’t stand to leave her there like that. She also, for the life of her, could not understand what they were arguing about. She assumed they were arguing about Thor. But why? Why would her mother even care? Dozens of people lived in the castle.
Gwen couldn’t bring herself to just walk away, not with her mother in that state. She had to comfort her. She reached up and gently pushed the door open.
It creaked, and her mother wheeled, caught off guard. She scowled back.
“Do you not knock?” she snapped. Gwen could see how upset she was, and felt terrible.
“What’s wrong mother?” Gwen asked, walking towards her gently. “I don’t mean to pry, but I heard you arguing with father.”
“You are right: you shouldn’t pry,” her mother retorted.
Gwen was surprised: her mother was often a handful, but was rarely like this. The force of her anger made Gwen stop in her tracks, a few feet away, unsure.
“Is it about the new boy? Thor?” she asked.
Her mother turned and looked away, wiping a tear.
“I don’t understand,” Gwen pressed. “Why would you care where he stayed?”
“My matters are of no concern to you,” she said coldly, clearly wanting to end the matter. “What do you want? Why have you come here?”
Gwen was nervous now. She wanted her mother to tell her everything about Thor, but she couldn’t have picked a worse moment. She cleared her throat, hesitant.
“I…actually wanted to ask you about him. What do you know of him?”
Her mother turned and narrowed her eyes at her, suspicious.
“Why?” she asked, with deadly seriousness. Gwen could feel her summing her up, looking right through her, and seeing with her uncanny perception that Gwen liked him. She tried to hide her feelings, but knew it was no use.
“I’m just curious,” she said, unconvincingly.
Suddenly, the queen took three steps towards her, grabbed her arms roughly, and stared into her face.
“Listen to me,” she hissed. “I’m only going to say this once. Stay away from that boy. Do you hear me? I don’t want you anywhere near him,