The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) Read Online Free Page B

daughter and as capable as him at ruling Athesia, I am going to detain all of the Eracian and Caytorean guests for an indefinite period.”
    A blast of murmurs exploded in the crowd. Once again, Amalia let it subside before speaking again.
    “You will be treated as honored guests, but you will be kept under armed escort at all times. If you try to escape, you will be hunted down and locked in cells. Your freedom will reflect your willingness to cooperate. You will not be harmed or mistreated. You will merely be hostages until your realms can come to terms with Athesia under my rule.”
    A number of soldiers, wearing padded leather, swords, and crossbows, were suddenly there, blocking exits. The thousand guests had become prisoners.
    “Dignitaries from other realms are free to go,” Amalia added. “Tomorrow is the Spring Festival, and I expect all of you to turn out in your best outfits and dresses. We shall have the coronation, followed by a lavish dinner party. Now, we shall see my dear father interred.”
    Stephan grinned. He was a hostage now, and he had to piss like hell. But at least he was going to win his wager. Athesia was not going to crumble just yet.

CHAPTER 2
    K ing Sergei liked mornings in the desert. A perfect display of reds and pinks stretched across arid hills and plains, masking the harshness with a cloth of serene beauty. And they were cold, the crystal air tingling with icy purity, rubbing into the skin like a mint salve.
    It was the Spring Festival. Preparations for the celebrations were under way in Sigurd, three miles to the south of his position, with hordes of servants working day and night to festoon the city walls with banners. Around him, in his vicinity, a different kind of preparation was under way.
    Parus was getting ready for war.
    Eighteen years after orphaning him and his sister, the godless murderer Adam had died. But his death could not clean the slate of revenge so easily. Only war could lay Sergei’s demons to rest.
    His father had died in combat, like a true Parusite hero. And his mother had killed herself, smothered with grief, as befitting a noble lady of her status. Archduke Vasiliy had assumed the rule as the regent until Sergei turned sixteen, when he had taken the crown.
    In a way, Vasiliy was almost like a father to him. The old man had cared for him more than a steward should, offering help and advice, but never imposing. And he had never taken the stick to Sergei’s back, never taught him pain like his sire used to. No one had ever asked Sergei how he had felt about his parents’ deaths. They all assumed he was the brave prince and must bear the pain stoically. And he did, he did bear the pain.
    Had they asked him, he would have told them how relieved he was that he must never fear the beatings again. They would have heard a child tell them a story of terror, of the constant expectation of pain, regardless of what he’d done, good or bad. He was his father’s son, and he was going to avenge King Vlad’s honorable death, but he had listened to his mother, too. He was not going to repeat his father’s mistakes.
    And then, he had also listened to Vasiliy. The regent had faced a dreadful reign. With almost the entire army of Parus slaughtered in battle, the land had been left without able sons to defend it. Roaming hordes of bandits had attacked the realm like packs of rabid wolves, burning villages, raping women, and stealing children. Women had wandered the empty streets of Sigurd, hunting for husbands among the crippled and poor, because there were so few males left. And there had been no help from the gods.
    But Parus had survived. And the young prince had listened carefully, learning about the art of dominion from Vasiliy, and he remembered his mother’s soft-spoken advice. When he was crowned, he swore that Parus would never suffer defeat again.
    The gods must have heard his plea, for they had granted him ten summers of bounty. Rain fell every year, bringing