The Rivaled Crown (The Veiled Kingdom, #3)

by Holly Renee

My father ruled through fear and fire. I had seen what happened to those who defied him. And Dacre had done far worse than defy him. He had helped me escape. I had been his enemy. I represented the thing he hated most. I was a threat to everything he stood for. And still, he had chosen me. Even after the betrayal, after learning my true identity, after every reason I had given him to turn away, he had protected me. He had given me the most dangerous weapon of all. Hope.

The door stood slightly ajar, the flickering torchlight casting strange shadows against the wall. I tensed. Someone was here. My fingers curled into fists. “Who’s there?” My voice came out hoarse, fractured. No answer. I scanned the corners of the room, my pulse hammering against my chest. “Show yourself,” I demanded, though my body was too weak to do anything if they meant me harm. Another flicker of movement. A shadow detached itself from the darkness. I stiffened, instinct screaming at me to retreat, but there was nowhere to go. Then, a familiar voice.

“You look worse than I expected.” The hood fell back, revealing a face I had thought I’d never see again. Warm brown eyes met mine, gentle and filled with something I couldn’t name. A sob clawed up my throat, thick and unbearable. “What are you doing here?” I pleaded, raw with disbelief. “I’m here for you, Nyra,” he murmured the only name he had ever known me by. Micah.

All that mattered was her. The image of Verena being dragged away burned behind my eyes, her desperate screams swallowed by the crashing waves. Her name had been the last thing on my lips when they forcibly silenced me with a gag, as if trying to sever the bond that tied us. But they had failed.

I climbed to my feet on the damp floor and crouched low, my eyes darting back and forth as I surveyed the narrow corridor beyond the iron bars. The ship rocked and swayed beneath my feet, the relentless crash of waves against the hull masking any sound I made. The plan forming in my mind wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even good. But it was all I had.

“The king wants you alive,” he hissed. “He wants you questioned by the captain. He wants you tortured until you squeal like a pig about your beloved rebellion.” He took an aggressive step toward me, his dagger now pointed in my direction. ”The king rewards handsomely when he gets what he wants. Show me the wound.” I shifted my weight, ready to strike as soon as he was within reach. The pounding of my heart seemed to echo through the walls of my cell, each beat thumping loudly in my ears. “Show me your wound,” he snarled, his voice low and menacing as he stepped right up to the bars of my cell. Before he could react, I lunged. The heavy chains around my wrists rattled as I wrapped them around his thick neck, yanking him forward with every ounce of strength I had left. His dagger clattered to the floor as he let out a choked gasp, his hands flying to the chains, clawing at them.

He struggled, his breath coming in desperate wheezes and his nails digging into my wrists as he tried to pry the chains loose. I yanked again until his body jerked once, twice, before going limp. I let him slump to the floor. No hesitation. No mercy. Dropping to my knees, I frantically searched his belt for keys. My trembling fingers finally found a ring of cold metal, and I pulled it free. The first key didn’t fit. Neither did the second. Footsteps sounded from the deck above. I swore under my breath, fumbling with the keys and nearly dropping them.

Finally, on the third try, I felt a satisfying click as the key turned in the lock and the cuffs fell away from my sore wrists with a dull clank.

My father was still looking for me. My father who I had betrayed to save her. My people who I had betrayed. But I had no choice. The boat scraped against the sand. I stumbled out, my legs nearly buckling as they met solid ground. “Dacre!” The voice was distant but achingly familiar. I lifted my head, my vision swimming. Footsteps pounding against the sand grew louder until they were right beside me, and hands gripped my shoulders. The sand shifted beneath my weight as I struggled to focus on the face in front of me. Kai. He was speaking, but I couldn’t make out the words. Another voice. “We’ll find her.” Wren. I tried to stand, tried to speak. “Where is she?” But the world tilted. Darkness swallowed me, and all I heard was Wren’s voice carrying through the void. “We’ll find her.”

Days since Micah had visited my cell. Days since I feared I had imagined my friend. Every inhale was a struggle; each exhale tasted of iron. He won’t break me. I desperately repeated the words in my mind, clinging to them like my last thread of hope. But even that thread was fraying. Just like the edges of my father’s control.

“Let me assure you, Verena. My army is thorough,” he said, mocking my fear. “Even that boy you were so desperate to protect couldn’t stop us.” “No.” A chill rushed through my veins. My father crouched, his eyes glittering with dark amusement. “No?” He tilted his head, watching me. “Do you think I’m lying? Do you think they’re safe?” My breath came in ragged gasps. He’s playing with you. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. “Tell me, daughter,” he said, leaning closer, his voice almost tender. “What secrets are worth the lives of those you claim to care for?”

“You don’t know where they are,” I whispered. “Perhaps,” he said, straightening. “But are you willing to take that risk?” The words sank into my skin like poison. “Give me what I want, Verena.” His voice turned deathly quiet. “Reveal your magic. Tell me everything you know.”

“I won’t betray him.” “You have no choice,” my father snarled, his hand wrapping around my throat. I gasped, kicking, clawing, struggling. “You’re already betraying them all.” His fingers tightened, and my lungs burned, my vision spotted. I clawed at his wrist, but he wouldn’t let go. “Keep your secrets,” he sneered, “and they will die with you. Or embrace who you were always meant to be…” His grip squeezed, his breath hot against my ear. “And I will spare them.”

“The rebellion they are fighting for is dead either way, Verena.”

“Don’t delude yourself into thinking you have any control here.” His boots scraped against the stone as he turned away. “The princess of Marmoris.” He tsked, but I didn’t turn around to look at him. “As pathetic as your mother.”

“Excuse me, Your Majesty.” There was a soft creak of the iron door before a guard stepped inside. “What is it?” my father demanded, barely taking his eyes off me long enough to look at him. “They have asked for you in the war room. It is urgent.” I barely registered the words. I was still gasping for breath, still trembling. Then the guard stepped into the light. Micah. The breath froze in my lungs. He stood rigid, dressed in the crisp uniform of the King’s Guard, every crease and seam sharp and precise. The crest of my father’s rule was stitched into the breast of his jacket, gleaming like a brand against him.

I looked back at Micah, searching for a trace of the friend I used to know, the boy I had once trusted. But all I could see was the crest on his chest. The weight of his betrayal. “Why are you here?” My voice was hoarse, raw from screaming, from choking, from struggling. Micah’s jaw tightened. He hesitated. Then, finally, he spoke. “I didn’t have a choice.” The words were quiet, but heavy, like an anchor pulling him under. “Your father…” He stopped. Looked away. Something flickered behind his eyes, guilt, fear, regret. Then he whispered something that sent ice through my veins. “My sister.”

“What do you want from me?” Micah’s gaze flicked back to me before he did the last thing I expected. He dropped to his knees before me, his trembling hand moving over me but not touching. “I want to help you.” The words hung between us, fragile and uncertain. I didn’t believe them.

“Help me?” My voice was barely above a whisper. “How many of my father’s orders did you follow before deciding that?” Micah flinched before pressing his lips into a thin line. “I never wanted this.” My laugh was harsh, humorless. “And yet, here you are.” Micah’s jaw locked. “You think this was a choice?” I didn’t answer him. I didn’t think that either of us would like my answer. A long silence stretched between us. Then he sighed. “I’ve been looking for you since the moment I heard you were arrested.”

“What?” He ran a hand over his face, looking away. “I would never have let them take me alive if I hadn’t been looking…” He cut himself off, shaking his head. Regret was carved into his features. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“For what?” His voice was empty. “For lying to you. For not telling you who I really was.” My voice was strained with guilt. The words felt like stones tumbling from my lips, each one heavier than the last. “You deserved the truth, Micah. About…everything.”

“I thought we were fighting for the same thing,” he said quietly. There was no malice in his tone, just a bone-deep weariness. “I thought I knew who you were.” It was a simple statement, but it cut straight to my core. “I couldn’t tell you.” My throat constricted at my confession. “I didn’t know who I could trust. I didn’t even trust myself.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he spat, his body seemed to be vibrating with tension. “None of it matters anymore.” I flinched at the bitterness in his voice. “Micah…” “No one’s coming for you, Verena.” His words were a cold blade, cutting through the haze of my hope. It was the first time he had ever called me by my real name. His eyes were like steel, piercing and unyielding as they met mine. “Not whoever you left behind. No one.” His words twisted inside my chest. “You don’t know him,” I managed to choke out, my voice trembling with the fear I couldn’t hide. ”He’ll come for me.” Micah’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes made my stomach churn. “Maybe he will,” he murmured, “But will you still be here when he does?”

“I’ll be back,” he muttered over his shoulder, his voice hollow. “When I can.” The door creaked. Micah gripped the handle, starting to pull it shut, and that same creeping panic began to set in.

But we were back exactly where we started. Trapped. “You should run.” The words escaped me before I could stop them. Micah hesitated. His hand clenched around the iron bars. For a second, I thought he might listen, but when he looked back at me, something harder had settled behind his eyes. “Running is no longer a choice.” The door slammed shut.

The stale, musty air told me all I needed to know. I was back in the hidden city. Not as a leader. Not even as a soldier. As a prisoner.

I had been with Wren and Kai, barely standing after they dragged me from the sea. We hadn’t made it far. I had been in no condition to run, my body weak from exhaustion, my hands torn from gripping the oars for gods knew how long. Even Kai had been struggling under the weight of my near-unconscious form. And he had been in no shape to take them all on when they found us before we reached the outskirts of the coast. I had known the moment I heard the rustle of shifting bodies beyond the tree line that we were outnumbered. The torches flared first, illuminating the rebels who had become like family to me as they emerged from the dense brush, surrounding us. It was our men. My father’s men. And they were there for us. Wren had stepped in front of me, her bow half raised despite the way her hands trembled. Kai’s dagger was already drawn, his stance tense, protective. But we all knew the truth, it wasn’t a fight we could win. Not in my condition. Not against so many. Then, he had stepped forward.

Through the haze, I had heard Wren scream my name. Heard the sharp clash of steel as Kai fought back. But it hadn’t mattered. They hadn’t been who my father wanted. And I had already lost the one thing that he desperately needed. Everything after that was a blur. The journey back, the weight of the chains, the cold of the underground tunnels. Now, I was here. And Wren and Kai weren’t.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” he added, his voice taut. “Luck had nothing to do with it,” I rasped, my throat dry and raw. The healer snorted softly. “No, just sheer stupidity, then.” His words held no malice, only the resigned familiarity. I shot him a sharp look. “Where is my sister? Kai?”

Healer

“They are both within the city.” His magic thrummed harder as it moved over my ribs. “Your father isn’t charging them with treason. He’s reserved that honor only for you.” “They’re safe?” I asked the only question I cared about. “Yes.” He nodded. “Both were a bit roughed up from when you were found, but they are safe. Your father is just watching them heavily. He questioned them about what they knew, but found them lacking.”

The door pushed open with an ominous creak. The healer didn’t flinch, his hand remaining steady above my chest. The faint warmth of his magic faded as he pulled away, as if he already knew his time was up. The air shifted, weighed down by something heavier than just another visitor. My father. “Leave us.” His words weren’t a request. Without hesitation, the healer obeyed, his footsteps retreating swiftly down the corridor.

“So,” he said at last, his tone dripping with disdain. “The prodigal son returns. Dragged back in chains, no less.” I sat up slowly, the iron cuffs rattling as I shifted. “You better not have hurt Wren.” “Threats?” he asked, stepping farther into the room. “That’s bold for someone who needs my help.” I clenched my fists, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “I am here because your men dragged me here. I didn’t need your help.”

“Whose help is it that you need now?” I gritted my teeth, biting back the response that surged up my throat. “You were supposed to help me bring back the heir, help me save our people.” He shook his head. “You have defied me at every turn, and now you expect me to clean up your mess?” “It’s not my mess,” I snapped back, my words heated. “This is yours. This rebellion was supposed to be about freedom, about justice, but all you do is use people as pawns, sacrificing them for your own ambition.”

“You sound just like your mother.” The mention of her was a punch to the gut, a wound that refused to heal. I forced my breathing to remain even, my nails digging into my palms. “She believed in this rebellion,” I said, my voice steady despite the fury bubbling beneath the surface. “In what it could be. Not in what you’ve turned it into.” His eyes narrowed as his gaze met mine. “Don’t pretend you know what she believed,” he spat. “You were barely more than a child when she died.”

“And yet, I remember enough.” I looked down at myself, my clothes still covered in sand, dirt, and dried blood. “Verena is back in her father’s hands. Mother never would have let that happen.”

“She wouldn’t have been hunting her down and ready to hand her over as a bartering tool. She would have protected her,”

“You think she would’ve risked everything for the heir? That I should?” “Yes,” I answered without hesitation.

“You’re a fool,” he said quietly. “You think war is won with reckless emotions? That peace comes without a cost?” He stepped closer, his gaze pinning me in place. “How much more are you willing to sacrifice for her? Our resources, our secrets. Your loyalty to her has cost us more than you can imagine.” “It’s not about my loyalty to her,” I said, though the lie was made evident by the way I searched for our thread of connection.

“She’s the only way this war ends.” He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “What we’re fighting for comes at a price.” “And that price shouldn’t be her.”

“You’ll stay here.” He turned on his heel, his voice cold and final as he headed toward the door. “Until you remember where your loyalties lie. Until you remember that the blood in your veins has been spilled by the blood of the very one you’re trying to protect.”

This wasn’t a reckless emotion. This wasn’t some foolish attachment to a girl. This was about her, about what she meant to this rebellion, to this kingdom. To me. I had seen firsthand what she was capable of, the way she had fought even when everyone, including herself, had thought she was powerless. And I would not let that be for nothing. I would not let everything that she had suffered be for nothing.

But it wasn’t him who stood in front of me now. It was him. Dacre had come for me. My breath hitched, hope cutting through the fog of exhaustion. He stood tall, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he stared at me. “Dacre,” I choked out, relief flooding through me so quickly that my vision blurred with tears.

This doesn’t seem right

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered against my palm, his voice breaking. “I should have been here sooner.” “It doesn’t matter,” I rasped, clinging to him as though he were the only solid thing in a world threatening to shatter. “You’re here now.” His skin felt different beneath my fingertips. The lines of his jaw were softer, less defined. His lashes fanned against his cheeks, and he looked younger than anything I could draw from my memory. He felt unfamiliar. The warmth of his magic, the silent hum that cracked beneath my skin when I touched him, was absent. I felt…nothing. A hollow emptiness where there should have been a storm. Something was wrong. Doubt slithered through me, slow and cold, unraveling the fragile moment I had just allowed myself to believe in.

“Dacre,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rush of blood in my ears. His gaze flickered, too quick, too uncertain, and he didn’t look at me. My stomach dropped. “How did you get in here?” My voice was hoarse. “I had help,” he murmured, reaching for the cuffs at my wrists. “We don’t have much time.” We. “Who is with you?” I pushed, forcing my voice to stay steady. Dacre hesitated, just for a breath, but it was enough. “My father.”

I swallowed against the weight pressing on my chest. “And Wren?” The was a small flicker of longing on his face as I said her name, almost imperceptible, but I caught it. I caught it because this wasn’t Dacre. This wasn’t him.

I pulled away, my shackles rattling against the stone floor. “You’re lying,” I whispered, horror sinking its claws into my skin. His lips parted, but he didn’t answer fast enough. I saw it then, the subtle shimmer at the edges of his form, like heat rising from stone. A distortion. An illusion. This wasn’t Dacre. It was Micah.

“Stop it.” My voice wavered as I recoiled, rage and betrayal ripping through my chest. “How dare you?” The illusion faltered, and Micah was kneeling before me, his face grim and unrepentant. “You used him against me.” My voice trembled. “You…” Micah didn’t flinch. “You need to wake up, Verena.” I shook my head, my entire body shaking. “You…” “You’re losing yourself,” he cut me off, his voice calm, almost gentle. “Clinging to a fantasy that will get you killed.” My breath c...

“Even if he does, what then? You want to watch him be destroyed by your father?” His voice hardened. “You want to listen to him scream while you lay here helpless?” “Stop,” I rasped as a knot formed in my chest. Micah pressed forward, his expression unyielding. “You’re dying in this cell, Verena. And ...

“I don’t trust you.” The words were cold, unwavering, a fragile shield I refused to lower as I glared at him. Micah exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable, but his eyes, his eyes were tired. “But you trust him?”

“Even if he comes for you,” he said finally, his voice quiet, dangerous, “what then? Do you really think that you can win?”