Iron Crowned

Book 3: Dark Swan

by Richelle Mead

Genres: Fantasy; Fantasy action & adventure; Fantasy Romance; Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

An embattled realm mystically entwined with our own, the Otherworld is at the mercy of one woman . . .



Shaman-for-hire Eugenie Markham is the best at banishing entities trespassing in the mortal realm. But as the Thorn Land's queen, she's fast running out of ways to end the brutal war devastating her kingdom. Her only hope: the Iron Crown, a legendary object even the most powerful fear . . .



But who can she trust to help her? Fairy king Dorian has his own agenda. And Kiyo, her shape-shifter ex-boyfriend, has every reason to betray her. To control the Crown's all-consuming powers, Eugenie must confront an unimaginable temptation—one which puts her soul and the fate of two worlds in mortal danger . . .

Release date: March 1, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 385

Sample

Don’t confuse fairy queens with fairy princesses.

Where I come from, girls who want to be fairy princesses usually dream about gossamer wings and frilly dresses. Pink dresses, at that. I’m pretty sure rhinestones are part of being a fairy princess too, as are cute wands with stars on top that grant wishes. Fairy princesses expect lovely lives of luxury and lounging, ones that involve small woodland creatures waiting on their every need.

As a fairy queen, I can admit that there is a bit more involvement with woodland creatures than one might expect. But the rest? A total joke. Fairies—the kind I deal with, at least—rarely have wings. My wand is made of rough gemstones bound together, and I use it to blast Otherworldly creatures out of existence. I’ve also whacked a few people in the head with it. My life is dirty, harsh, and deadly, the kind of life no frilly dress could withstand. I wear jeans. Most important, I look horrible in pink.

I’m also pretty sure that fairy princesses don’t have to deal with this kind of shit first thing in the morning.

“I have killed … Eugenie Markham.”

The words rang out loud and clear through a dining room filled with about thirty people eating at round wooden tables. The ceilings were vaulted, and the rough stone walls made it look like part of a medieval castle because … well, it kind of was. Most of the morning diners were soldiers and guards, but a few were officials and high-ranking servants who lived and worked within the castle.

Dorian, King of the Oak Land and my bondage-loving Otherworldly boyfriend, sat at the head table and looked up from his breakfast to see who had made such a bold statement. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

The speaker, standing on the other side of the table, turned as red as the uniform he wore. He looked about twenty-something in human years, meaning he was probably a hundred or so in fairy—or gentry, the name I preferred—years. The guy bit his lip and straightened his posture, making another attempt at dignity as he glared at Dorian.

“I said I killed Eugenie Markham.” The man—a soldier, it appeared—looked around at the faces, no doubt hoping his message would inspire horrified reactions. Mostly his words brought about good-natured confusion, largely because half of the people gathered in the room could see me standing in the hall outside. “I have killed your queen, and now your armies will crumble. Surrender immediately, and Her Royal Majesty, Queen Katrice of the Rowan Land, will be merciful.”

Dorian didn’t answer right away and didn’t look very concerned. He delicately patted his mouth with a brocade napkin and then returned it to his lap. “Dead? Are you sure?” He glanced over at a dark-haired woman sitting beside him. “Shaya, didn’t we just see her yesterday?”

“Yes, sire,” replied Shaya, pouring cream into her tea.

Dorian brushed autumn-red hair out of his face and returned to cutting up the sugary, almond-coated pastry that was serving as his most important meal of the day. “Well, there you have it. She can’t be dead.”

The Rowan soldier stared in disbelief, growing more and more incredulous as people continued to either regard him curiously or simply ignore him altogether. The only person who seemed mildly concerned was an elderly gentry woman sitting on the other side of Dorian. Her name was Ranelle, and she was an ambassador from the Linden Land. She’d only arrived yesterday and clearly wasn’t used to the wacky mishaps around here.

The soldier turned his attention back to Dorian. “Are you as insane as they say you are? I killed the Thorn Queen! Look.” He threw down a silver and moonstone necklace. It clattered against the hard, tiled floor, and the pale, iridescent stones just barely picked up some of the morning light. “I cut this off of her corpse. Now do you believe me?”

That brought some silence to the room, and even Dorian paused. It was indeed my necklace, and seeing it made me absentmindedly touch the bare spot on my throat. Dorian wore his perpetually bored expression, but I knew him well enough to guess at the maelstrom of thoughts swirling behind his green eyes.

“If that’s true,” Dorian replied at last, “then why didn’t you actually bring us her corpse?”

“It’s with my queen,” said the soldier smugly, thinking he’d finally gained ground. “She kept it as a trophy. If you cooperate, she might release it to you.”

“I don’t believe it.” Dorian peered down the table. “Rurik, will you pass the salt? Ah, thank you.”

“King Dorian,” said Ranelle uneasily, “perhaps you should pay more attention to what this man has to say. If the queen is dead—”

“She’s not,” said Dorian bluntly. “And this sauce is delicious.”

“Why don’t you believe me?” exclaimed the soldier, sounding oddly childlike. “Did you think she was invincible? Did you think no one could kill her?”

“No,” admitted Dorian. “I just don’t think you could kill her.”

Ranelle tried again. “My lord, how do you know that the queen isn’t—”

“Because she’s standing right there. Will you all shut up now so I can eat in peace?”

The interruption—and end to this farce—came from Jasmine, my teenage sister. Like me, she was half human. Unlike me, she was totally unstable and was consequently eating her breakfast while wearing loose but magic-stunting handcuffs. She also had headphones on, and the breakfast debate must have been overpowering her current playlist.

Thirty faces turned toward where I stood near the doorway, and there was a mad scramble as almost everyone shoved back their chairs and tried to rise for a hasty bow. I sighed. I’d been comfortable leaning against the wall, resting from a hard night’s journey as I watched this absurdity unfolding in my Otherworldly home. The gig was up now. I threw back my shoulders and strode into the dining room, putting on all the queenly airs I could.

“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” I announced. I had a feeling I’d messed up the Mark Twain quote, but in this crowd, nobody knew the reference anyway. Most thought I was simply stating the facts. Which, really, I was.

The Rowan soldier’s flushed face suddenly turned white, his eyes bugging out. He took a few steps backward and glanced uneasily around. There was really nowhere else he could go.

I gestured for those who were standing and bowing to sit down as I walked up to my necklace. Picking it up from the floor, I eyed it critically. “You broke the clasp.” I studied it for a few more moments and then turned my glare on him. “You broke it when you ripped it off my neck while we were fighting—not when you killed me. Obviously.” I just barely recalled grappling with this guy last night. He’d been one among many. I’d lost him in the midst of the chaos, but apparently, Katrice had decided to send him here with a story after he’d captured this “evidence.”

“You look amazing for being dead, my dear,” called Dorian. “You should really come join us and try this sauce that Ranelle brought.”

I ignored Dorian, both because he expected me to and because I knew I didn’t look so amazing. My clothes were ripped and dirty, and I’d accrued a few cuts in last night’s battle. Judging from the haze of red I kept seeing out of the corners of my eyes, I had a feeling my hair was frizzy and sticking up in about a hundred different directions. It was already turning into a hot day, and my stuffy castle was making me sweat profusely.

“No,” gasped the Rowan soldier. “You can’t be alive. Balor swore he saw you fall—he told the queen—”

“Will you guys stop this already?” I demanded, leaning in close to his face. This made a few of my own guards step nearer, but I wasn’t worried. This loser wouldn’t try anything, and besides, I could defend myself. “When is your fucking queen going to stop turning every rumor about Dorian or me dying into some huge proclamation? Haven’t you ever heard of habeas corpus? Never mind. Of course you haven’t.”

“Actually,” piped in Dorian. “I know Latin.”

“It won’t work anyway,” I growled to the Rowan guy. “Even if I were dead, it’s not going to stop our kingdoms from trampling yours.”

That pulled him out of his stupefied state. Fury lit his features—fury spiked with a little bit of insane zeal. “You half-breed bitch! You’re the one who’s going to be blighted from existence! You, the Oak King, and everyone else who lives in your cursed lands. Our queen is mighty and great! Already she’s in negotiations with the Aspen and Willow Lands to unite against you! She will grind you with her foot and take this land, take it and—”

“Can I kill him? Please?” This was Jasmine. Her gray eyes looked at me pleadingly, and she’d taken the headphones off. What should have been teenage sarcasm was actually deadly seriousness. It was days like these I regretted keeping her in the Otherworld, rather than sending her back to live with humans. Surely it wasn’t too late for reform school. “I haven’t killed any of your people, Eugenie. You know I haven’t. Let me do something to him. Please.”

“He’s under a truce flag,” replied Shaya automatically. Protocol was her specialty.

Dorian turned toward her. “Blast it, woman! I’ve told you to stop letting them in with immunity. Wartime rules be damned.” Shaya only smiled, unconcerned by his mock outrage.

“But he is protected,” I said, suddenly feeling exhausted. Last’s night battle—more of a skirmish, really—had ended in a draw between my armies and Katrice’s. It was incredibly frustrating, making the loss of life on both sides seem totally pointless. I beckoned some of my guards forward. “Get him out of here. Put him on a horse, and don’t send him with any water. Let’s hope the roads are kind to him today.”

The guards bowed obediently, and I turned back to Katrice’s man.

“And you can let Katrice know that she’s wasting her time, no matter how often she wants to claim she’s killed me—or even if she manages it. We’re still going to see this war through, and she’s the one who’s going to lose. She’s outnumbered and out-resourced. She started this over a personal fight, and no one else is going to help her with it. Tell her that if she surrenders immediately, then maybe we’ll be merciful.”

The Rowan soldier glared at me, his malice palpable, but offered no response. The best he could manage was to spit on the ground before the guards dragged him off. With another sigh, I turned away and looked at the breakfast table. They’d already brought up a chair for me.

“Is there any toast?” I asked, sitting down wearily.

Toast was not a common item on the gentry menu, but the servants here had gotten used to my human preferences. They still couldn’t make decent tequila, and Pop-Tarts were totally out of the question. But toast? Toast was within their skill set. Someone handed a basket of it to me, and everyone continued eating peacefully. Well, almost everyone. Ranelle was staring at all of us like we were crazy, which I could understand.

“How can you be so calm?” she exclaimed. “After that man just—just—and you …” She looked me over in amazement. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but your attire … You’ve clearly been in battle. Yet, here you are, sitting as though this is all perfectly ordinary.”

I gave her a cheerful look, not wanting to offend our guest or project a weak image. I’d just arrogantly told the Rowan soldier that his queen would never gain any allies, but his comment about her negotiating with the Aspen and Willow Lands hadn’t been lost on me. Katrice and I were both scrambling for allies in this war. Dorian was mine, giving me the edge in numbers right now, and I didn’t want to risk any chance of that changing.

Dorian caught my eye and gave me one of his small, laconic smiles. It warmed me up, easing a little of the frustration I felt. Some days, it seemed like he was all that was going to get me through this war I’d inadvertently stumbled into. I’d never wanted it. I’d never wanted to be queen of a fey kingdom either, forcing me to split my time between here and my human life in Tucson. I certainly hadn’t wanted to be at the center of a prophecy that claimed I’d give birth to humanity’s conqueror, a prophecy that had driven Katrice’s son to rape me. Dorian had killed him for it, something I still didn’t regret, even though I hated every day of the war that had followed in the killing’s wake.

I couldn’t tell Ranelle any of that, of course. I wanted to send her back to her land with an image of confidence and power, so that her king would think allying with us was a smart move. A brilliant move, even. I couldn’t tell Ranelle my fears. I couldn’t tell her how much it hurt me to see refugees showing up at my castle, poor petitioners whose homes had been destroyed by the war. I couldn’t tell her that Dorian and I took turns visiting the armies and fighting with them—and how on those nights, the one who wasn’t fighting never got any sleep. Despite his flippancy, I knew Dorian had felt a spark of fear at the Rowan soldier’s initial claim. Katrice was always trying to demoralize us. Both Dorian and I feared that someday, one of her heralds would show up telling the truth. It made me want to run away with him right now, run away from all of this and just wrap myself up in his arms.

But again, I reminded myself that I had to brush those thoughts away. Leaning over, I gave Dorian a soft kiss on his cheek. The smile I offered Ranelle was as winning and upbeat as one he might produce. “Actually,” I told her. “This is a pretty ordinary day for us.”

The sad part? It was true.

I retreated to my bedroom as soon as etiquette allowed, collapsing onto the bed the moment I entered. Dorian had followed me in, and I tossed an arm over my eyes, groaning.

“Do you think that display helped win us over with Ranelle or scared her off?”

I felt Dorian sit on the bed beside me. “Hard to say. At the very least, I don’t think it’ll turn her king against us. We’re too terrifying and unstable.”

I smiled and uncovered my face, looking into those green and gold eyes. “If only that reputation would spread to everyone else. I heard a rumor the Honeysuckle Land might join with Katrice. Honestly, how anyone could call their kingdom that and keep a straight face is beyond me.”

Dorian leaned over me, lightly brushing hair from my face and trailing his fingers along my cheekbone. “It’s quite lovely, actually. Almost tropical. I mean, it’s no barren wasteland of a desert kingdom, but it’s not half bad.”

I was so used to his jibes about my kingdom that there was almost something comforting about them. His fingers ran down to my neck and were soon replaced by his lips. “Honestly, I’m not worried about this Honeysuckle place. It’s other potential allies worrying me. Hey, stop.” His lips had moved down to my collarbone, and his hand was starting to lift my shirt. I wriggled away. “I don’t have time.”

He lifted his head, arching an eyebrow in surprise. “You have some place to be?”

“Yeah, actually.” I sighed. “I have a job back in Tucson. Besides, I’m filthy.”

Dorian was undeterred and returned to trying to get my shirt off. “I’ll help bathe you.”

I swatted his hand away but then pulled him over so that I could put my arms around him and hold him against me. I knew he wanted more than cuddling, but I didn’t have the energy. Considering his fastidious nature, I was surprised he consented to resting his head on my chest, seeing as how dirty and ragged the shirt was.

“No offense, but I’ll take human showers any day over some servant lugging water up to a tub.”

“You can’t leave without talking to Ranelle,” he pointed out. “And you can’t see her like this.”

I grimaced and ran my hand over his brilliant hair. “Damn it.” He was right. I was still bad at this queen thing, but I knew enough about gentry customs to know that if I really did want the Linden King’s help, I would need to look and sound good. So much to do. Never enough time. All so wearying.

Dorian lifted his head and looked back down at me. “Was it bad?”

He was referring to last night’s battle. “It’s always bad. I’m still not okay with people fighting and dying for me. Especially over one insult.” The living suffered from this war too. I often had refugees coming to me for food and shelter.

“Their kingdom’s at stake,” he said. “Their homes. And that was more than an insult. Letting it pass would make the Thorn Land look weak—like prey. It would make you open to invasion, which is the same as surrendering to Katrice. Your people don’t want that. They have to fight.”

“But why do yours fight?”

Dorian looked at me like that was a crazy question. “Because I tell them to.”

I left the conversation at that and called for a servant to fill the bathtub in the chamber adjacent to my bedroom. It was a tedious task I hated making them do, though Dorian would no doubt argue it was their duty to. The magic I’d inherited from my tyrant father gave me control over storm elements, so I could have summoned water straight to the tub, rather than making my servants haul it up one bucket at a time. The Thorn Land was so dry, however, that pulling that much water magically would both dry out the castle’s air even more and possibly kill surrounding vegetation.

The servants had their own entrance to the bath chamber, and as soon as we heard them hauling and pouring water, Dorian grinned and pulled me back to the bed. “See?” he said. “Now we have time.”

I stopped protesting. And as our clothes came off and I felt the heat of his lips, I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t averse to sex, not really. This war really did put our lives constantly at risk, and he had worried about me. Having me here, merging physically, seemed to reassure him that I truly was all right. And I took comfort in it too, being with this man I’d fallen in love with against all reason. I’d once feared and hated the gentry—and it had taken me a long time to trust Dorian.

Sex was surprisingly tame for us this time. Usually, we found ourselves caught up in bad, kinky sex, sex that was a game of power and control I both loved and felt dirty about. Now, I sat on top of him, wrapping my legs around his hips as I drew him inside me. A sigh of bliss escaped his lips, his eyes closing as I began to slowly move my body and ride him. A moment later, his eyes opened and held mine with an expression of such affection and lust that a chill ran through me.

It always amazed me that he found me so desirable. I’d seen his past lovers—sexy, voluptuous women with curves and cleavage reminiscent of classic Hollywood starlets. My body’s build was lean and athletic from all the activity I did, my breasts pretty nicely shaped—though hardly porn star quality. Yet, since we’d officially become a couple these last few months, he had never looked at another woman. It was me he watched, his gaze hungry even at the most unromantic times.

I increased my pace, tilting forward and rocking us so that more of my body rubbed against his, bringing me closer to orgasm. I came shortly thereafter, my lips parting without a sound as a sweet ecstasy wracked my body, and every nerve in my skin seemed to ignite. I leaned forward, kissing him, letting his tongue explore my mouth as his fingers stroked my nipples.

The door to the bath chamber suddenly opened, and I jerked my head up as a servant peered in. “Your Majesty? The bath is ready.” Her words were bland, and she disappeared as quickly as she’d come. My being naked on top of Dorian hadn’t seemed like any big deal to her—and probably, it wasn’t. The gentry had much looser sexual mores than humans, public displays being very common. It probably would have been weirder for her if she hadn’t found her monarchs immediately going at it upon my return.

This sexual ease wasn’t something I’d picked up, and Dorian knew it. “No, no,” he said, feeling me slow down in my shock. The hands cupping my breasts moved down to my hips. “Let’s finish this.”

Dragging my eyes from the door, I turned my attention back to him and found my arousal returning. He rolled me over, not holding anything back now that I’d come. He pushed his body into mine, thrusting as hard and fast as he could. Moments later, his body shuddered, his fingers digging in where he gripped my arms. I loved watching it happen, loved watching this smug, confident king lose his control between my thighs. When he finished, I gave him another long, lingering kiss and then slid over to lie beside him.

He exhaled in contentment, regarding me again with that mix of hunger and love. He wouldn’t say it, but I knew he always secretly hoped that somehow, some way, our lovemaking would result in me getting pregnant. I had explained to him a hundred times how birth control pills worked, but the gentry had difficulty with conception, making them obsessed with having children. Dorian claimed he wanted a child just for the sake of having one with me, but the prophecy about my firstborn son conquering humanity had always been alluring. Obviously, I wasn’t in favor of that idea—hence my emphasis on contraceptives. Dorian had ostensibly let go of that dream for my sake, but there were days I suspected he wouldn’t mind fathering such a conqueror. As it was, our alliance already made us dangerous. He loved me, I was certain, but he also craved power. Our united kingdoms put us in a good position to conquer others, if we chose.

It was difficult leaving him, but there was too much to be done. I retreated to the bath, washing both sex and battle off of me. Life and death. The tub was only big enough for one, but Dorian seemed perfectly happy watching me and lounging in the afterglow. He was less excited about my wardrobe choice. As queen, I had a closet filled with elaborate dresses, dresses he loved seeing me in. As a human shaman, I’d also made sure it was stocked with human clothes. He looked at my jeans and tank top with dismay.

“Ranelle would be more impressed with a dress,” he said. “Especially one that showed your lovely cleavage.”

I rolled my eyes. We were back in my bedroom, and I was loading myself up with weapons: charmed jewelry and an iron athame, along with a satchel containing a gun, a wand, and a silver athame. “You’d be more impressed with that. And anyway, it’d be a waste now.”

“Not true.” He got up from the bed, still naked, and gently pushed me against the wall, cautious of the athame’s sharp blade. “I’m ready again.”

I could see that he was, and honestly, I probably could have gone back to bed too. Whether that was from lust or a reluctance to fulfill my impending tasks, it was hard to say.

“Later,” I told him, brushing a kiss against his lips.

He regarded me suspiciously. “Later means a lot of things with you. An hour. A day.”

I smiled and kissed him again. “Not more than a day.” I reconsidered. “Maybe two.” I laughed at the face this earned me. “I’ll see what I can do. Now get some clothes on before the women around here are driven into a frenzy.”

He gave me a mournful look. “I’m afraid that’ll happen with or without clothes, my dear.”

When we finally managed to part, I headed off toward Ranelle’s room, my post-sex good humor fading. A little air magic left me with only semi-wet hair by the time I reached her. Once admitted, I found her writing a letter at her room’s desk. Seeing me, she leapt up and curtsied.

“Your Majesty.”

I motioned her down and took a nearby chair. “No need. I just wanted to have a quick chat before I returned to the human world.” Her face twitched a little at this, but ambassador training quickly moved her past how strange she probably found that. The ease with which I jumped worlds wasn’t normal for gentry. “I’m sorry for the grisly display this morning. And that I haven’t been around much during your visit.”

“You’re at war, Your Majesty. These things happen. Besides, King Dorian has been quite hospitable in your absence.”

I hid a smile. Ranelle was hardly in a frenzy, but it was clear Dorian had charmed her, as he did so many women. “I’m glad. Were you writing your king?”

She nodded. “I wanted to send him my report right away, although I’ll be leaving later today.”

Magic filled the Otherworld and the gentry, and there were those among them with the power to expedite messages. A magical e-mail, of sorts. It allowed gossip to spread fast and meant her letter would get back to her homeland before she did. I eyed it on the desk.

“What will you tell him?”

She hesitated. “May I be blunt, Your Majesty?”

“Of course,” I said, smiling. “I’m human. Er, half human.”

“I empathize with you. I understand your grievance and know King Damos will too.” She was carefully skirting the explicit details of Leith raping me. “But tragic as your situation is … well, it is your situation. I don’t believe it’s one we should risk the lives of our people for—begging your pardon, Your Majesty.” Delivering bad news obvio. . .