Siege: A Borrowed Magic Novella

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

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Chapter One of Borrowed Magic

Siege

One

The ballroom was crowded. The kind of crowded that
made the room feel ten degrees hotter and so loud you wondered if
you’d ever hear again. But it was beautiful. Two huge chandeliers
hung from the ceiling, casting the room in a romantic glow. Gowns
in all shades, whispering their own stories as they brushed through
the room, made it look like a garden in bloom. Maren’s dress was
cream-colored silk and set off her chestnut hair to perfection,
like something from a dream.

Except that in beautiful dreams, Maren didn’t
have a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach, wondering when it
would all go wrong. Her father had left unexpectedly that morning
after whispered conversations behind closed doors. Something had
happened. Something that had to do with Lord Kern, the dark
mage.

Maren shivered, forcing all thoughts of Kern
away. Her father would make everything right. There was nothing to
be afraid of.

“Maren?” King Daric looked down at her as
they twirled around the dance floor, his brows raised in a
question. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you? Usually
when I speak, people tend to listen.” His words were belied by the
way his mouth quirked up on one side.

“Well,” she said. “We’re not all overwhelmed
by your king-ness. Especially when we had to endure your teasing
for years.”

He laughed. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You locked me in a broom closet for an
entire afternoon.”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled. “I truly am.”

She pretended to consider his apology.
“Well…you did let me
out
of the broom closet. I’ll forgive
you.”

He grinned and stepped away as the music
ended. “Good of you.” Then he brought her hand to his lips and
winked before being claimed by his next partner.

She glanced through the crowd, looking for
Philip. A dance with him was the only reason she’d even agreed to
come tonight. He’d been her best friend from the time they were
little, and now… Well, now, he was more.

She finally found him surrounded by a group
of young ladies. They were obviously flirting. Philip pretended to
flirt back. But Maren knew he was laughing underneath. He glanced
her way a second later, sharing a private joke. They had a bet as
to how many young women would try to win his affections tonight.
She’d guessed ten. He’d laughed, said he wasn’t
that
desirable, and guessed four.

To which she’d rolled her eyes.

He was that desirable. Charming, handsome,
titled, good with a sword, everything a young woman wanted.

“He’s much too attractive for his own
good.”

Maren looked at Queen Adare and frowned. “And
for the good of most the young ladies in the room, apparently.”

“How come he’s not dancing with you?”

“We’re not officially engaged so we only get
two dances together.” She couldn’t keep the disgust from her voice.
“Why do we even have rules like that?”

Adare laughed. “So parents don’t have to
worry about their children getting particularly attached to one
person.”

“Because that’s going to solve the
problem.”

“Sarcasm, Maren? I never would have expected
it.”

She smiled, unable to resist the queen’s
teasing. She was her closest friend, besides Philip and Daric — who
was like an older brother. But they were men. It was different with
Adare. The minute Maren had met the future queen, and despite their
four-year age difference, she’d known Adare was worth knowing.
They’d been friends ever since, only drawn closer because they were
each outcasts in their own way. Maren because she didn’t fit in
with the social elites. Adare because she’d been chosen over others
who didn’t like a queen who wasn’t beautiful or from one of the
best families.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked Adare.
“Pretend I don’t care that he has to dance with other stunning,
sophisticated young women who all want him to choose them?”

“No, but it doesn’t matter. He only really
looks at you. Everyone else he just tolerates.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, especially
when I want to be the one dancing with him.”

“Well, I have some news that might distract
you for a few minutes at least.” Adare glanced around to make sure
they were alone, and then a huge smile spread across her face. “I’m
going to have a baby.”

Maren was momentarily speechless. Then she
all but threw herself at Adare, wrapping her arms around her. “How
wonderful! When will you announce it?”

“It’s only been three months,” Adare said.
“But I’m not going to be able to hide it much longer. Probably in
the next few weeks, so we’d appreciate your silence until
then.”

“I won’t say a word,” Maren promised.

“I see you told her.” Daric came up behind
them and laced his fingers through Adare’s. “We wanted you to know
before we announced it publicly.”

“I’d hug you right here in the middle of the
ballroom if it wouldn’t raise the eyebrows of half the room,” Maren
said.

Daric laughed. “Well, we can’t have that.
Although I’d love to see it. But now, if you’ll excuse us, I’m
going to claim at least one dance with my wife.”

When they were gone, Maren once again looked
for Philip.

His current partner was Lady Kira, who Maren
had grown to…dislike – because
hate
was such a strong word.
Maren watched Kira lean closer and whisper something in Philip’s
ear. He smiled, his polite smile, formal and practiced. But Kira
didn’t know him well enough to recognize the difference.

They spun by her a minute later, and Philip
caught her eye. His mouth tilted up on one side and his eyes lit
up, laughing. It was one of the things she loved most about him,
that laughter in his eyes. It assured her the bond between them was
as strong as ever. It was something he let everyone see but only
truly shared with her.

The next minute, they were once again lost in
the throng of dancers, and Maren resigned herself to the fact she’d
spend a lot of time alone tonight. At least it was better than
having to be with Kira and her friends, who found every possible
opportunity to insult her. Her dress wasn’t stylish enough, she was
too educated for a young woman of society, she wasn’t
sophisticated, or elegant, or whatever enough.

Maren made her way to a quiet corner of the
room and sat on an empty chair, trying not to think about Philip
dancing with Kira. And trying not to think about her absent father
and Lord Kern.

“Do you really hate these nights so much you
refuse to dance at all?”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked up
to see Philip, devastatingly handsome in black and silver,
regarding her with a teasing smile.

She forced herself not to hug him, instead
allowing the tiniest lift to the corners of her mouth. “Maybe I’m
particular about
who
I dance with.”

He threaded her hand through his arm. “Well
you’re in luck. I am the perfect partner.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. He sounded
so formal, so unlike the Philip she’d known almost her entire life.
It was hard to take him seriously, and she tried to keep her grin
from spreading even further across her face. “I wasn’t looking for
the
perfect
partner,” she said with as much composure as she
could manage. “I was looking for the
right
one.”

He looked down at her, a warmth in his eyes
that still caught her off guard more often than she’d admit. “Oh,
I’m definitely the right one. How could you even doubt it?” He took
a step towards the dance floor, pulling her along with him. “So, I
saw you danced with the king. I guess you’ve forgiven him for
pulling on your braids.”

She smiled. “If I remember correctly, you
also used to pull on my braids. And more recently than Daric. He
hasn’t done that in a long time, since before…”

“Before Kern killed his parents.”

She nodded.
Before
. That was the key
word. After, everything had changed. The kingdom had been thrown
into a state of constant fear. And although Daric had vowed to
avenge his parents’ death, it took two years and all the mages he
could find to hunt down Kern and seal him in a tomb to die. Or
whatever it was dark mages did.

That had been six years ago. Six years of
peace.

Philip covered her hand with his – as if he
could read her thoughts. “We don’t have to worry about Kern
anymore.”

“My father wouldn’t have left so unexpectedly
without a reason.”

“He’s being cautious,” Philip said. “Can you
blame him?”

No, she couldn’t. She’d seen what Kern could
do, the power he had. She’d watched Daric’s then sixteen-year-old
heartache as he tried to piece a kingdom back together after the
murder of its king and queen. Not many saw that heartache – or knew
how desperately inadequate Daric felt. They only saw a young king
who was strong and ferociously committed to his kingdom.

Maren had seen. She’d caught Daric alone,
staring out over the kingdom, before he could hide his tears.

“Maren.” Philip squeezed her hand. “Kern is
still in that tomb.”

“But for how long? I wish Daric would have
had him executed instead of trapped.”

“It was your father who advised him against
it.”

She sighed. “I know. I’ve never understood
why.”

The music started, cutting off any further
conversation, but when the dance ended, Philip didn’t let go of her
hand. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

She nodded, still amazed he’d chosen her.
They’d always been friends, but a year ago, he’d told her he loved
her. It was the first time they’d kissed. Six months later he’d
asked for her father’s permission to marry her – permission that
was denied, even though Philip was like a son. Her father wouldn’t
tell them why, and Maren didn’t want to fight about it. She was
only seventeen. There was time.

Philip offered his arm, and they headed for a
side door that led to the gardens.

He guided her down a path, to a small bench
that overlooked the castle’s ornamental lake. Even after they sat
down, he didn’t let go of her hand. He just leaned back, crossed
his legs out in front of him, and let out a long sigh.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, just enjoying the
moment. The moonlight, the view. The company.”

She smiled and leaned her head on his
shoulder, allowing him to wrap an arm around her shoulder, pulling
her close.

“How is your training going?” she asked.

Although he was young, only twenty, Philip
was gaining a reputation for himself as a rising star in the Guard.
She’d seen his name mentioned more than once in reports that
crossed her father’s desk. She’d even snuck out of lessons to watch
him train with the other soldiers. Her favorite was the swordplay.
Philip was fast and light on his feet. He nearly always won, even
against more seasoned fighters.

“It’s even better than I could have
imagined,” he said. “Like I’ve found where I fit. I’m good at it,
Maren. Really good.” He paused, and she could sense his
embarrassment. “And now you’re going to laugh at me and say I’m
conceited.”

“I would never laugh. Or say you’re
conceited.” She snuggled a little closer. “Mostly I’d just smile
and be happy for you.”