Royal, p.1
Royal, page 1
ROYAL
PARA-MILITARY RECRUITER™ BOOK 13
RENÉE JAGGÉR
MICHAEL ANDERLE
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This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2023 by LMBPN Publishing
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LMBPN® Publishing
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Las Vegas, Nevada 89119 USA
Version 1.00, November 2023
ebook ISBN: 979-8-88878-677-2
Print ISBN: 979-8-88878-678-9
THE ROYAL TEAM
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Christopher Gilliard
Zacc Pelter
Dave Hicks
Wendy L Bonell
Diane L. Smith
Dorothy Lloyd
Kelly O’Donnell
Jackey Hankard-Brodie
Paul Westman
Jan Hunnicutt
John Ashmore
Editor
The SkyFyre Editing Team
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
Author Notes Renée Jaggér
Books from Renée
Books By Michael Anderle
Connect with the authors
CHAPTER ONE
Captain Jack Kaplan, currently in human form, prowled over the deep carpet of his office. Although his bulky frame was seven feet of sheer muscle, the captain’s well-worn combat boots were silent when they fell. A rumble that was almost too low to hear emanated from his chest, and he shot regular glances at the large screen on his desk.
“Can you quit pacing, Jack?” Bianca snapped. The succubus leaned on Kaplan’s huge desk, which was covered in claw marks, eyes intent on the screen.
Kaplan’s growl got louder, and he kept pacing.
Julie Meadows, whose title, for the moment, was “councilor,” interlaced her fingers and squeezed them together. The pressure was enough to prevent her hands from erupting into silver flames. The movement was automatic. Julie’s anger was glacial and abiding.
She leaned forward. “I think he’s getting somewhere.”
Kaplan stopped pacing to stare at the screen. Bianca slammed her hands on the desk, and her artsy red fingernails, which were decorated with tiny yellow flowers, dug into the abused wood. In the chair beside Julie’s, the well-groomed orc didn’t stir. She didn’t think he’d moved since they took their seats in Kaplan’s office to watch the interrogation, but his knuckles were white where his hands rested on his knees.
“The one true king’s wrath will be inescapable,” the warlock on the scrying screen hissed.
The screen showed a cold white room. The steel table and two chairs were its only furnishings. Stripped of the black harlequin disguise he’d worn when he’d gatecrashed Julie’s rehearsal dinner last night, the warlock was small and scrawny. His long black hair was streaked with silver, and there was something pitiable about the way his hook nose sagged toward a weak, dimpled chin.
“You bore me, warlock.” Sir Bedivere leaned back in his chair opposite the prisoner. The Woodland Fae wore a simple brown robe and a broadsword. “You keep saying the same thing, yet we both know it is categorically untrue. Clearly, you don’t know anything about the command structure in the cult. You’re merely trying to sound important.”
The warlock slammed both hands on the table. “Do not question my importance, fool!”
“Finally,” Kaplan muttered. “Thought the old man would never get him riled up. I could’ve done it in seconds.”
In Julie’s mind, a faintly British voice snickered. I’ll bet.
“Yes, Jack, I’m sure you could, but you wouldn’t be able to look into his mind after he got pissed off enough to lower his mental guard,” Julie reminded him. “We needed a Woodland Fae for that.”
Kaplan grumbled incoherently and resumed pacing. Droppelheimer, the silent orc, didn’t move.
Bedivere will crack him. The comment came from Julie’s black fedora, Hat, otherwise known as Merlin. He’s one of the most powerful Woodland Fae in the world.
I believe you, Julie assured him, but I’m with Kaplan. I wish he’d hurry his ass up.
Bianca flopped on the chair on Julie’s other side and huffed. “‘One true king?’ Bastards.”
“Yep,” Julie agreed. She smoothed the front of her pearlescent white dragonscale robe. Her anger felt like mercury in her veins. “But they’re bastards who aren’t under geasa and who haven’t set their own sorry asses on fire. If Bedivere can get past their mental safeguards, we might get answers.”
“Yeah.” Kaplan grunted. “I want to know who’s in charge of the cult now and who’s been keeping them going since Nimue’s death.”
“I want to know who placed the curse at Tintagel,” Julie growled. She clenched her fists, but there was no smoke. “Whoever it is, they’re working with Sol. Even Luna couldn’t prevent Morgan from collapsing. Worse, the curse was kept secret from Morgan. She never saw it coming, and Morgan saw pretty much everything coming.”
Nor did I. Hat sighed.
Bianca’s mouth turned down at the corners. She put a hand on Julie’s shoulder. “Morgan was the strongest mage I’ve ever known. I don’t understand how this happened to her.”
“Me neither, but I know the Mordred cult was involved.” Julie glared at the screen. “We need answers from these assholes. Most importantly, we need them to tell us how to undo the curse.”
On the screen, the warlock lunged to his feet, his arms straining against the chains that held him to the table. “I’ll turn you to stone, you senile old coot!”
Sir Bedivere’s hand shot out and clasped around the warlock’s wrist, as tight as a talon. The warlock gasped, but Sir Bedivere’s gaze was intent and invincible. The warlock sagged into his chair, his eyes rolling back in his head.
“He’s got it.” Julie leaned closer to the screen. “He’s connecting to the warlock’s mind.”
We’ll finally learn something. Hat warmed on Julie’s head, excited.
“He’d better wring every drop of information from that son of a bitch,” Bianca spat. “Then he should be drawn and quartered. I want my bestie to wake up.”
Julie nodded. “She should be celebrating having Arthur back, not trapped in an enchanted sleep, barely alive.” The image of her friend lying motionless in the glass casket at Tintagel flashed through Julie’s mind. “All I managed to do was switch their places.”
Droppelheimer finally stirred. “That wasn’t your fault, Your Highness.”
“I know full well that the responsibility for this isn’t mine,” Julie snapped. “The question is, who does own it?”
“Someone who’s going to get a faceful of molten magic when I find them,” Bianca snarled.
Kaplan stopped pacing, eyes fixed on the screen. “Something’s happening.”
Sir Bedivere snatched his hand away from the warlock like he’d been burned. For a moment, they stared at one another, both panting. Then the Woodland Fae scrambled to his feet and staggered out of the interrogation room.
“Let’s see if Bedivere got any answers from that magically maleficent toe rag,” Kaplan snarled.
I don’t know. Hat paused. Something about the way he moved... Something went wrong.
What? Julie demanded.
I don’t know, Hat repeated, but I know Bedivere, and he’s not happy.
A few moments later, the elevator across the hall from Kaplan’s office pinged. Bianca leaped up, rushed to the door, and shoved it open, then hastily stood back.
“Are you okay, sir?” the succubus cried.
Sir Bedivere staggered into the office, using the doorframe for support. The fae’s face was as white as his long, flowing hair, which was peppered with snowy owl feathers. His amber eyes were so wide that Julie could see the whites around the irises, and his long fingernails dug into the wood, trembling.
“Sir?” Kaplan sprang to his side.
“Whoo…whoo…whoo,” Bedivere croaked.
Droppelheimer stood. “Sit him down! He’s going to faint.”
“I’ll get wat er.” Julie hurried to the kitchenette in the corner of the office. She grabbed a glass from the counter and waved a hand over it. A fist-sized raincloud appeared above the glass and obligingly filled it.
Julie shooed the raincloud away and returned to Bedivere, now sitting in Droppelheimer’s chair. The old fae was ashen. He stared into the middle distance, shaking from head to foot. His pulse bounded in his wrinkled throat.
“What did he do to you?” Kaplan demanded.
“Give him a little space, Jack.” Julie nudged him in the ribs. “You’re looming. It’s not helpful.”
Kaplan grumbled but got out of the way.
“Bedivere?” Hat spoke up. “What happened?”
Julie knelt in front of the old knight and held out the glass. With difficulty, he took it and sipped, slopping water down the front of his robe.
The fae had fought beside King Arthur since the beginning. He’d seen more battles than Julie could dream of. He’d been at Arthur’s side when everything went wrong at Camlann, slew hundreds of enemies at Tryfrwyd, and cast Excalibur into the lake after Arthur fell into the cursed sleep that now gripped Morgan. Last night, Julie had seen him cut a warlock in half with one blow of his sword. She hadn’t thought anything could rattle Bedivere, but he was rattled now.
He sipped again, spilling more water. Julie lit a flame on the tip of her finger and held it to his robe to help it dry.
Droppelheimer leaned closer. “Sir, are you hurt?”
Bedivere shook his head. “It…it is not what was done to me.” He swallowed. “It’s what I saw.”
“What was that, sir?” Julie asked softly.
Bedivere set the glass on the desk, fingers still wrapped around it, and his trembling slowed.
“I looked into the mind of the warlock. Into his memories,” Bedivere told them. “I saw the last thing I expected.”
“What?” Bianca demanded.
Bedivere’s jaw clenched so hard that a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Mordred.”
Silence reigned in the office. Hat turned cold on Julie’s head.
“Of course you did, sir,” Droppelheimer murmured. “It’s obvious that those warlocks are working for Mordred’s cult.”
“You don’t understand,” Bedivere snapped. “I did not see a motif or a painting or a memory orb of the Knight of Death, nor a memory from the Golden Age.” He gripped the glass tightly. “I saw him.”
Droppelheimer straightened sharply. Kaplan stared, and wisps of red magic appeared between Bianca’s fingers.
Julie’s mouth felt like sandpaper. “You mean the warlocks found a way to get into the prison realm without all the magic getting sucked out of them?”
Bedivere shook his head, still trembling. “No. Mordred found a way out.”
The words landed like a cold blade in Julie’s chest and she froze, heat flashing through her palms.
It can’t be. It can’t be! Hat spluttered. He was imprisoned in a realm that consumes magic. He’s gone. He’s as good as dead! There’s no way out of there!
“That’s impossible,” Bianca blurted.
Droppelheimer was pale. “That cannot be.”
Orange and black fur sprouted on Kaplan’s hands and spread to his forearms. “No. No, no, no. There’s no way to escape from the prison realm. You must be mistaken.”
He can’t get out, Hat wailed. We made sure he couldn’t get out!
Julie took a long breath, calming the tremor in her spine that threatened to spread to the earth below. Actually, it makes sense.
Sense? Sense? Hat roared. It can’t be done!
Look at the facts, Hat, Julie shot back. Nimue lived in Avalon Town in peace for centuries. Why would she suddenly act? Why would a cult rally around Mordred’s name thousands of years after he was vanquished unless someone came up with a way to get him out of the prison realm?
He’s a talisman to them. A symbol of their evil purpose! Hat muttered. He can’t be free.
Can’t he? Julie challenged. Then why have the schisms in our society been growing despite our best efforts to unite everyone? The Eternity Throne has never worked so hard to protect paras, Hat. We’ve gotten better at it. There’s got to be someone hugely powerful on the cult’s side. They barely slowed down when they lost Nimue, so there has to be another leader. Someone even more powerful than she was.
Hat was silent, his brim icy against Julie’s forehead.
I can only think of one para with that kind of black magic. Julie swallowed. Mordred.
“I know what I saw,” Bedivere snapped, the color slowly returning to his cheeks.
“It had to be an altered memory to throw us off the trail of what’s really going on,” Bianca suggested.
Bedivere shook his head. “I’m certain of it, Major Hartshorn.”
“But it’s not possible!” Kaplan roared.
Julie stood. “Denial isn’t going to help us win this war.”
The room was silent.
Julie straightened Hat and inhaled. “We need to act. Now.”
Everyone stared at her.
Kaplan exhaled, and the fur receded from his arms and hands. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Meadows is right.”
Bianca nodded. “Whether or not it’s possible, it clearly happened.”
“Her Royal Highness is correct that we have to act quickly.” Droppelheimer smoothed the front of his dress uniform. “The announcement of her coronation as Eternity Princess is less than twenty-four hours away.”
Julie waited for a twinge of nervousness that didn’t come, then nodded. “We’ll need to handle that carefully.”
“Perhaps we should postpone it.” Bianca frowned, troubled. “News of Mordred’s escape will bring enough political upheaval without the addition of a lost heir returning. That’s without considering the security risk.”
“No. There will be no postponement.” Julie raised her chin. “We expected the announcement to bring the dissenters crawling out of the woodwork. Now we know who’s driving them.”
“I agree that the announcement of Princess Julie’s real identity is going to cause upheaval, but it’s also going to bring a feeling of security to thousands of paras in both worlds,” Droppelheimer pointed out. “The rumors of Mordred’s escape will spread quickly. We’ll counter them with our good news.”
Julie smiled. “Thanks, Sarge.”
“Aren’t we forgetting something?” Kaplan’s tone turned gruff.
Bianca chuckled. “Jack, we’re only now starting to come to terms with the fact that the greatest evil in the history of Avalon is in our world again. I’m willing to bet that there’s a shitload that we’re forgetting. We’ll need to summon the council and Tactical Command to even start to get a grip on what’s happening.”
“Not that!” Kaplan waved a hand. “Never mind that.”
“Never mind the whole-ass civil war that’s been devouring paranormal society for two years, which, as we’ve now discovered, is being driven by an evil fae who nearly destroyed Earth and Avalon the last time he went to battle?” Julie raised her eyebrows. “Pray tell, Jack, what should we mind, if not that?”
Kaplan threw up his hands. “Your wedding, Meadows!”
“Ooooh, the wedding!” Droppelheimer squealed, clasping his hands under his chin. Julie would not have been surprised to see cartoon hearts pop out of his eyes. Regrettably, that did not happen.
“Oh, yeah.” Julie smiled. “That.”
“What do you mean, ‘Oh, yeah. That?’” Droppelheimer grabbed Julie’s arms and shook her. “It will be the most beautiful and romantic day of your life. Nothing can stand in the way of it. Not even Mordred!”
Julie laughed. “I don’t plan to let him, Sarge. Chill.”
