Six of Ruin (Heirs of Irenwell #1)

The great hall came alive once again once my brother left and the musicians continued to play. Pulling down my dress to reveal my cleavage, I snatched a flagon of wine and moved my hips from side to side as I pushed people away.

Ladies of all regions threw dirty looks under their decorated eyelashes, their lips pursing, their eyes narrowing, their tiny palms squeezing the hems of rustling, over the top dresses. Lords longed after me; my bouncing breasts probably caused a stirring in their pants after decades of stillness.

Well, of course, their wives were proper and boring, shrunk down to pathetic gossip and deciding on a dress they might wear.

Bastians stood in the corner, sulking, mostly, hidden behind their steel chest palates, one hand always near the swords on their hips. Springs in Irenwell were warm, and underneath their armour, it must be scorching.

They dropped on their knees the moment I approached, slightly startled. Ah, nothing like a bunch of men on their knees in front of you.

Plastering a charming smile on my lips, I plopped on the chair in the middle of them, “Bored?”

A couple of coughs, stirring and confused stares followed my question, until one man, slightly smaller than the rest but still significantly bigger than anyone in Irenwell, answered, “Your Grace, should you be here without a chaperone?”

I waved away and crossed my legs, “My chaperone quit. She couldn’t handle the pressure.”

The men didn’t move. They exchanged a few glances amongst themselves, afraid to do anything or say anything.

Men were so fun. Their minds travelled to two activities, exclusively. Fight or fuck. They existed in this limbo of confusion until the situation cleared and landed on one or the other. And while fighting or fucking, they were magnificent.

I asked again, “Bored?”

One of the men gathered the guts to answer, “No, your Grace, it is a good banquet, good food, good wine.”

Oh, what a wordsmith.

I took off my crown and gave it to one of them, “Hold this for me, will you?”

The dark-haired man with gorgeous brown eyes stared at the crown in his hands, holding it like it was the most important piece of jewellery in the world. I had ten of those.

I let my hair fall loosely over my naked shoulders and my exposed cleavage, “Tell me, did I hear correctly whispers of the Irenwell debt being collected?”

The question caused exactly what I intended it to, relief. Finally, Bastians had something to talk about.

“Yes, your Grace.” The smallest of the bunch spoke. “Oracles have spoken, the Irenwell debt has to be collected. Magic in the land is awakening. The evil has returned.”

Irenwell debt wasn’t so much a debt as it was a promise, made some five hundred years ago, when three Kingdoms worked together to banish some unimaginable evil, or whatever. Kingdom of Irenwell, Kingdom of Bastia and the forgotten Kingdom of Orathia, the one across the Northern Ocean, which didn’t exist anymore.

The magic used to defeat this evil was currently in a tome, locked by the power of royal blood from all three Kingdoms. And the royal blood of the three Kingdoms was the only thing able to unlock it. And therefore, the Irenwell debt, the promise that, once called, the heir of Irenwell will answer with his or her blood.

I feigned fear and ignorance for the sake of the male ego, “What does that mean?”

Another man answered, indistinguishable from the others, “The heir of Irenwell will have to visit the forgotten lands of Orathia to spill his blood over the lock guarding the magical tome.”

Ah, yes, the biggest problem. Five hundred years ago, the strongest, most powerful kingdom in the known world was the Kingdom of Orathia and that was where they locked the tome. Meanwhile, Kingdom of Orathia fell due to sickness and war from the unknown lands on the far west.

“But, forgotten lands of Orathia are abandoned.” I pouted slightly, causing serious nods all around me. “Does the heir of Irenwell truly have to go? Couldn’t they just take a bit of his blood?”

One of the men shook his head solemnly, “The blood has to be fresh, the lock requires companionship, for it was companionship that defeated the evil five hundred years ago.”

My lips trembled on purpose, “Is there any proof? They might be wrong.”

“I’m afraid they’re right, your Grace, the Oracles have spoken.”

Northmen and their Oracles, always sounding ominous and never finishing a sentence.

I snatched back my crown, “Thank you for keeping me company, I’m afraid I have some womanly duties to get back to.”

They nodded hastily like they knew precisely what I was talking about, and dropped on their knee one more time.

A familiar voice startled me, “Princess Irina!”

“Gretchen!” I turned on my heel. “How I have missed you these ten minutes we haven’t seen each other.”

She grabbed my upper arm and dragged me away from the men, “You are not allowed to talk to them without a chaperone! How many times do I have to say it?”

I chuckled, “How about we hire one of the Bastians as my chaperone? I swear to Goddess I will never step one foot away from him.”

“You will be the death of me.” Gretchen hissed. “Stay close to me while you’re talking to them.”

“Oh, no, I’m done here.” I wiggled out of her grip. “And so are you, there might be something to do about my magical problem, after all.”

Gretchen shushed me, “Quiet, your Grace!”

“Follow me.” I casually strolled through the sea of people, smiling politely at the ladies and lords who regarded me with both awe and disgust.

There was something thrilling about being a princess. My blood was more important than my manners, which meant I could do so much and everyone would just tolerate it. I used this every single day of my life.

Gretchen hopped after me, “Your Grace, where are we going?”

“Back to my room.” I smiled thinly at the people we walked past, hoping no one would desire to speak with me.

“Princess, this banquet requires your presence-”

I pushed the massive wooden door open, “I do not particularly care about the Irenwell banquet or whoever might require my presence. This is important.”

Servants and cooks and maids and squires jumped through the castle, carrying platters, flagons and cutlery, paying little to no attention to me. They were used to watching me run up and down, always a scheme on my mind.

We made it to my chambers; pillows and vials were still scattered around the floor. No one seemed to have bothered to clean up. Half-terrified, half-confused Gretchen carefully closed the door, making sure it made no sound. From the drawer, I took one of the history books out, called Northern Artefacts, an old tome covered in leather.

I turned it towards Gretchen, “Quite an informative read.” And opened to the three-hundredth page.

“What are you looking for, your Grace?” Gretchen couldn’t help herself, she momentarily began picking up vials and lingerie.

I plopped on the stool in front of the makeup table, “King Bernard is calling in the Irenwell debt.”

“Ah, yes, most terrible news. I do hope they are wrong and that no evil threatens our land.” Gretchen bowed her head and placed three fingers against the middle of her chest in a religious gesture.

“Well,” I crossed my legs, “Irenwell heir has to go to Orathia.”

Gretchen raised her head, “King Rodrig?”

I nodded, “Blood of an Irenwell heir has to be spilled over the lock that guards the magical tome in Orathia. It is the only way to get the magic they need to fight off the evil.” I skimmed through the page I was looking for, confirming information I already knew.

“Irina, I am so sorry.” Gretchen’s concern shook me out of it. “If Rodrig has to go... forgotten lands of Orathia are dangerous and vast and full of dark creatures-”

I took in a sharp breath, “Yes, yes. And littered with all kinds of relics.”

The older woman’s brows furrowed, “Your Grace?”

I gave her the book, “Orathia is full of all sorts of artefacts, not just the magical tome. But, no human has been there in the past fifty years.”

Gretchen’s worried eyes looked over the cover of the book, realisation emerging in her elevated eyelids, “What are you looking for, Princess Irina?”

“It’s called the Vanishing Well.” I said. “Allegedly, it is a place where one can make something of one’s choosing disappear. Guarded for a millennia, unapproachable and forgotten.”

Gretchen exhaled, her expression relaxing. I cocked my head, waiting for the scolding to begin. Despite being an uneducated maid, Gretchen was a woman who understood the ways of the world. And right now, she seemed to be understanding that despite doing her best to raise me right, I would always remain somewhat of a disappointment.

“You wish to go to the dead lands of Orathia.” She stated, using no title this time. “In your brother’s stead.”

It was my turn to exhale the breath I was holding, “I do. So that I can find the Vanishing Well and get rid of my magic.”

Gretchen’s face twisted into a disgusted grimace, “I beg of you, your Grace, do not say it out loud.”

And despite sharing her sentiments, I couldn’t help the nudge of shame her words had caused. Sure, this was my problem to deal with, but I hadn’t affected its existence in any way. I had not chosen this curse, yet if I were to confess it, I would bear the consequences.

I blinked away my annoyance, “Either way, forgotten lands of Orathia might be hiding a solution to my problems.”

“Your Grace,” Gretchen cleared her throat, “as much as I believe you must be rid of your magic, that journey is dangerous. Who knows what looms across the borders of Irenwell? Not to mention the distant north... terrible things are hiding in the dark forests-”

“I understand,” I cut her off, “And I would never be able to go alone, which makes this situation my sole opportunity. An Irenwell heir has to go and Rodrig cannot.”

“No, I disagree,” Gretchen still flinched each time she openly disagreed with me, but she always spoke her mind and I respected her for it, “King Rodrig is more than capable to visit the lands of Orathia and perhaps bring this artefact along with him-”

“Gretchen-”

“If you simply told him about your problem-”

“Gretchen.”

Her eyes met mine, full of concern and fear, “Princess Irina...”

“Rodrig cannot leave Irenwell, because his Kingdom will collapse without him,” I said sternly, “You and I both know it.”

“Irina,” Gretchen sighed, “you are not trained to visit Orathia.”

An agitated sigh left my lips, “And what am I to do? Remain like this? Full of magic that I do not understand and do not desire to hone?”

Should I remain plagued by the man whose life I’ve been watching ever since my magic awoke? Should I simply accept that someone, a stranger, might be watching my life, as well?

I said none of that to Gretchen, her poor heart most likely wouldn’t handle it.

To my surprise, she nodded, her jaw remaining clenched, “You are right, your Grace.”

I raised my brow, “I am?”

Gretchen nodded slowly, “You cannot live with this curse. And if going to the lands of Orathia is the only way to get rid of it...”

I swallowed another burst of shame, “I couldn’t agree more.”

History of Magic peeked behind the half open drawer, attracting my attention. The narrative of the book was quite clear. Magic was a dangerous burden; it turned all the mages mad and evil. It corrupted their souls.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts, “Your Grace?”

“Yes?”

The person never walked in and only spoke through the door, “King Rodrig wishes to speak with you.”

Ah, the most interesting turn of events, “I will be there in a minute.”

Gretchen’s deep eyes landed on the floor, “What now?”

“Rodrig suggests I rule in his stead while he visits Orathia.” I put on some lingerie and fixed the beige dress. “And I suggest his Kingdom won’t last a second under my rule and that I should be the one to leave for Orathia.”

“And how are you going to do that, your Grace?”

“Ah,” I smiled, “using the oldest trick in the book, Gretchen, emotional manipulation.”