Shadow Hand (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #6) by Anne Elisabeth Stengl Read Free Book Online

Foxbrush clenched his fists. “That’s always been your nature, hasn’t it, Leo? Even when we were children, you slipped out to play in the woods all summer while I labored over whatever task was given me. You shirk. You run. And when you can’t do either, you laugh! You were never going to be a good Eldest. You never deserved it, despite your birth. You never deserved the throne, you never deserved her, and you won’t have either now, and thank the Lights Above for justice yet in this world!”
    He stopped for breath, his body tensed, prepared for the verbal abuse bound to fall upon his head. Lionheart was always the lightning tongued, able to rip Foxbrush at the seams until he could scarcely stand.
    This time, however, Lionheart said nothing.
    He sat quietly in the chair that had once been his, before the desk that had once been his, in the study that had once been his. All smiles had fallen from his face. His eyes were open, but he had flinched now and then during Foxbrush’s tirade as though feeling physical blows. When Foxbrush shouted himself into silence, Lionheart remained in this attitude, making no defense, forming no attack. Foxbrush found he could scarcely breathe.
    At last Lionheart said, “Well, that at least I did deserve.”
    The world shifted and only Foxbrush’s grip on his desk kept him from falling over. “W-what?”
    “You’re right, Foxbrush,” Lionheart said. “I never deserved to be Eldest. It was all a matter of birth, not merit.” He raised his gaze to his cousin’s face but dropped it again quickly, and Foxbrush could see him battling with himself. Surely the bitter words would fall at any moment.
    It was too much for Foxbrush to bear. He sagged where he stood and groaned. “Of all days, Leo. Of all days! What possessed you to return now ?”
    Then a whole host of new, swirling, furious thoughts assaulted his brain. Foxbrush pulled himself upright once more, as masterful as he could be in his man’s livery, and pointed a finger at his cousin. “You did this,” he said. “You ruined my wedding day. You! You stole Daylily away, and now you think to intimidate me, and—”
    “Really, Foxbrush,” said Lionheart, his voice once more full of that cheek that always made Foxbrush want to smack him. “For a chap without a fig’s worth of imagination, you certainly can spin quite a yarn when motivated. Perhaps if kingdom ruling doesn’t suit you, you could take up penning romances for a living?”
    The former Prince of Southlands rose, and though he was no taller than Foxbrush, his presence somehow loomed. For the first time, Foxbrush saw the shirt beneath the groundskeeper’s hood and jacket. It was not something he should have noticed in that moment of tension and fury, but it caught his eye.
    In the place over Lionheart’s heart, there was a hole. And around this hole were dried bloodstains.
    “I have come,” Lionheart said, “to make peace with my father. I returned to Southlands with no other purpose in mind, and I certainly did not intend to arrive on your wedding day. But now that I’m here, you will find I am no longer a running man.”
    Lionheart leaned across the desk until he was nose to nose with Foxbrush. The intensity of his eyes made Foxbrush stagger. He would have sat down had his chair not been overturned.
    “I shall go to my father now, and I shall say to him what I have purposed in my heart. And then, Prince Foxbrush”—he spoke the title withsome bitterness—“I myself shall go into the Wilderlands and find your lady Daylily. I shall return her to you, and you will marry her, and you will rule my kingdom, and you will take my place. And then you will never see me again.”
    Lionheart was at the door before Foxbrush opened his mouth to speak. Even then he could find no words, so he stood there gaping when his cousin paused suddenly and looked back at him. Evening shadows hid Lionheart’s face, but his voice was clear enough.
    “I almost forgot. I have