The King’s Commander Cecelia Mecca THE KING’S COMMANDER Copyright © 2020 by Cecelia Mecca Edited by Angela Polidoro Cover Design by Najla Qamber Designs Photography by Wander Aguiar 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. Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Epilogue Get a Bonus Scene The Blacksmith Sneak Peek Also by Cecelia Mecca About the Author Chapter One Vanni Castle d’Almerita, Kingdom of Meria “They’re all dead.” So the rumors are true? “I came right away,” I say as the man I’ve served my entire life buries his head in his hands. One by one, the others pile into the throne room behind me. King Galfrid doesn’t even seem to notice. Standing, he moves to the window. I wait with the other members of the Curia as the most powerful man in the kingdom slips his hands over his bowed head in complete despair. “Vanni?” the king’s chancellor whispers to me. I shake my head. This moment deserves silence. Reverence. Friends. Brothers in arms. We’ve lost so many this day. Including the king’s son and successor. A warm breeze drifts in from the open windows. In the chambers below us, only small, shuttered openings and arrow slits puncture the castle walls. A safety precaution. But we’re so high above the earth up here, only the sea is our witness. Bright orange and crimson silk hangings flutter in the breeze as our king stands still next to them. The whole Curia is now assembled. When the heavy wooden doors are closed behind the last of us, my liege finally turns to address the men assembled before him. “The rumors are true. The boat sank this morn, one survivor living to tell the tale.” My chest swells with hope—could Prince Matteo have survived after all?—but in the very next breath he dashes it. “The captain’s son lives. As does my nephew, who apparently imbibed too much drink last eve and lasted only a few moments at port before he disembarked. All others perished in the sea not long after the Oryan left port last eve. According to the boy who washed ashore clinging to a piece of wood”—his voice cracks—“its port side struck a submerged rock and the ship quickly capsized and sank.” We all cross ourselves and mutter words of sorrow for the boy and the implications of Galfrid’s nephew having survived when his son did not. Matteo. A wave of nausea hits as I think of the prince, the boy who became a man alongside me. The strong and thoughtful son of our king. How could he be gone when just days ago we trained together, Matteo as skilled a swordsman as any. I push aside thoughts of everyone I knew on board . . . and the fact that I was originally supposed to go with them. Galfrid needs us now, more than ever. And I live to serve him. “We will mourn tomorrow,” he says. The king’s voice is strong, but his eyes betray him, at least to me. While all of those present serve at the pleasure of the king, I alone was raised by him. My heart bleeds for him, and for the kingdom. The loss of Prince Matteo weighs heavily on us both. Despite my intention to focus on the king’s words, I cannot help but think of him. His last moments. His promising future as the king Meria needed. Though not for lack of trying, the king and queen of Meria have produced just one child, and he is now lying at the bottom of the Merian Sea, along with two hundred of our most skilled warriors. The heir to the kingdom is dead. The king addresses me. “You will go to him. Tell him of what’s happened here. Bid him to return.” Silence follows his words. None, including me, need to be told of whom he speaks. I nod. “He will not come.” Thomas voices what each of us already know. But Galfrid doesn’t waver. “He must.” Pinning his hopes, the kingdom’s hopes, on the journey I’m about to take, the king begins to issue further orders. As the Curia, his most trusted advisors, discuss the further implications of this unfolding disaster, I’m already considering who to take with me, whether to journey by land or sea, and what to say when I arrive. As the first commander of the Curia, I should at least be able to gain an audience with him. But will he listen? Will he return with me? “What say you, Vanni?” I’d not been listening. “Apologies, sire.” Though not temperamental, the king is not a patient man. At his scowl, Ren, Galfrid’s second commander, repeats the question. “Will we mount another attack on Edingham?” It was an easy decision. “We have a more imminent threat.” The other members of the Curia proceed to argue with each other as if the king hadn’t just lost his child. Some remind Galfrid of the reason he agreed to the attack. Or the preparations we’ve been undergoing for months. Others agree with me, that the king’s nephew will waste no time gathering support to lay claim to the greatest prize in Meria. Heir to the crown of our great kingdom. “Enough,” the king says, and the rest quiet. We all know one man’s opinion matters more than the rest. “Edingham will have to wait until Vanni returns.” All eyes turn to me. There are just seven people in all of Meria who know the king has a bastard son. Six of them are in this room. The seventh? The king’s wife, who insisted the babe be sent away. “He must come.” I can easily read the king’s expression. Hidden beneath his regal bearing and trimmed white beard is a look of gut-wrenching grief and worry. I’ve never seen him like
