The King's Marked

  The KIng’s Marked

  The Broken Kingdom Book 1

  Terina Adams

  Copyright © 2021 by Terina Adams

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edits by Amy Blue Otter

  Design by Jensen Adams

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  Hi dear read

  * * *

  I’m excited that you have joined Rya on her journey. I hope you are gripped and moved by her trial from a simple life to what she must become.

  * * *

  If you enjoy The King’s Marked, then stay tuned for the next in the The Broken Kingdom series The Wraith Rising.

  * * *

  Like to hear more…

  * * *

  You can sign up to my newsletter

  1

  I placed my hand to my thigh, grimacing with the pain as I applied pressure to the wound. Blood seeped between my fingers and under my nails, warm and tacky. The rip measured a finger long, the material jagged at the edges, the frayed ends now a deep rust color against the leaf green of my pants. I peeled the jagged tear open to see the damage, but the blood seeping freely obscured the wound. I pressed the material into my thigh once more, then moved it away quick enough to catch a glimpse of the cut before the blood seeped out again. Although it bled enough, the long gash looked shallow, even if the pain nulled my senses. I should never have been so stupid as to allow my guard down, but we were out of season for young, and most of the animals were preparing themselves for the long freeze.

  The mother hog had long departed with her near adult young, bearing my blood down her tusk. It was a good thing I’d not disturbed a male, whose longer tusks would have penetrated through to my bone. I glanced around for my herb bag, then groaned when I spied it across the small opening of the dense forest, but I had nothing in my pouch to aid in stemming blood flow.

  I pressed my hand firmly on my thigh again. I should get moving. The longer I stayed prone, the sooner my muscles would seize and make moving too painful. And if I didn’t tend to my wounds, fever would set in, but if I stayed put, the bleeding would slow.

  I looked to the sky. A heavy cloud obscured the sun, casting a gloom over the day, which was fast falling to dusk. A few hours was all I had left of the sun before it disappeared and the cold chilled me to my core. Time to get moving.

  I rolled to my good side, intent on pushing to my knees when a snap echoed through the forest, sending a flock of birds to flight. I froze and turned in the direction I’d heard the noise. Large animals and humans were the only things capable of making that noise. I had nothing to fear from foragers, but if the animal was a hunting wolf, drawn by the smell of my blood, I was in trouble.

  I felt for my hunting knife, but the strap at my waist was empty. I scanned the forest for the glint of the blade. Nothing but the green of the trees, fallen logs, and moss-covered rocks gave plenty of places a prowling predator could use as ambush.

  Another twig snapped behind me, and I scuttled to turn around, the flaring pain of my wound eclipsed by the fear of being eaten. The first noise had come from my left. Now it was behind me, which could only mean one thing—predator, and it was circling. The wolves around here were cautious of humans. Their numbers had dwindled after the last few harsh winters when farmers had turned to hunting for their meat because they’d lost valuable stock under the snow. Lost stock was hard to replace when the king’s men came calling for their taxes more frequently with each season.

  Cautious as the wolves might be, the smell of blood would alert any in the area to a potential easy meal. I cast around for a branch sturdy enough I could use as a weapon. The closest of any decent length was a good crawl from where I sat.

  This time I heard crunching leaves, close, too close, and yet I saw nothing. An adult, an experienced hunter would know how to creep so close without being seen. Nor could I smell its musky pelt over the loamy, earthy smell of the ground after rain.

  A low growl rippled through the air in front of me. I strained to see between the broad leaves and dense foliage. The creature had to be close, for it would not alert its presence if it did not feel assured of success. My fingers grasped through the dead leaves for the first stick I laid my hands on. A spindly thing not up to the task, but a weapon was better than no weapon at all. Sometimes a wolf could be persuaded to leave if faced with a human brandishing a weapon, however makeshift.

  It was then I saw the gray eyes peering through the shrubs. The face pushed through to include its snout as the large animal emerged yards in front of me. Its gray-blue face cleared the thicket, followed soon after by its body. The large wolf took its time approaching, eyes remaining fixed on me.

  “Harrrr!” I waved the stick in the air, yelling my war cry. The animal hesitated a moment, it eyes moving to the stick, then back to me. It sniffed the air, ripe with the scent of my blood. If the animal was hungry, a thin stick would be no deterrent.

  “Harrr!” I tried again, without success.

  This could not be my end.

  The wolf changed direction, circling around me. I tracked it as long as I could but lost the color of its gray-blue pelt as it wove amongst the thick trunks. The longer it stayed, the more of my blood saturated the cooling air. More wolves would come soon enough.

  I scanned the closest tree. No way could I climb its smooth trunk to reach the high boughs. Another snap, and I fell backward onto my elbows in my haste to turn. “Do it now or go away, coward. Don’t taunt me like this,” I yelled.

  The wolf emerged from the trees in front of me, its lips peeled back in a throaty snarl as it walked stealthily toward me. I shuffled backward, biting my lip through the pain of my left thigh, losing my stick, forgetting everything while I focused on the single drop of saliva dripping from its gum.

  A swoosh sound flew past my ears. The wolf yelped and fell sideways, an arrow piercing its side. I spun at the direction it had come from as Morick came striding into view, a ribbon of rabbits hanging from his shoulders.

  “Rya.” He rushed to my side, crouching in the dirt, eyes falling to the blood now covering most of my thigh.

  “It’s not a mortal wound. At least it won’t be if I make it back in time to treat it.”

  His eyes dropped to my belt. “Your knife.”

  “Lost when the hog attacked.”

  Morick’s eyes flashed to mine at the name of the animal that had given me the wound. I brushed his stare aside an
d continued on. “I tripped. That’s how she managed to slash me so high up my thigh. It was nothing more than a warning blow. The slash is shallow even if it’s bled like a gutted goat.”

  Morick lifted his jacket and tore at the hem of his shirt, one of the few shirts he owned. He ran a rip in a line around his waist, gathering some material for a tourniquet.

  “This will have to do. It’s sweaty, but better to keep your blood in than have it watering the ground.”

  He wrapped the linen cloth around my leg and tied it gently. “Good thing you don’t carry much meat on your bones, or I wouldn’t get as many wraps around your thigh.”

  I tried to smile but my focus was more on the pain. “Tighter.”

  “It will hurt.”

  “What does it matter? That will never stop the bleeding.”

  Morick undid his simple knot and eased the ends tighter. I knocked his hand away and yanked the ends across my thigh tight enough to cut the blood from running through to my feet. I couldn’t stop myself from uttering a cry.

  To the frown on Morick’s face, I said, “It’s done. Let’s get home.”

  “Can you walk?”

  I eyed the rabbits around his neck, blooding his clothes across his shoulders and down his arm. “Looks like I’ll have to. But can you fetch my herb bag? It’s over there.” I pointed to the brown sack, lying on a patch of cleared ground. “I don’t want this trip to be a waste. I’ll get a good price for the Ashwagandha leaves. They’re young and light green.”

  “No time to waste looking for the knife, I suppose.”

  I shook my head as I tried to stand, grimacing under the throb. A fresh wave of blood oozed from my wound and trickled down my leg. I kept my tongue. No point making noise unless there was something that could be done about it. And Morick would worry.

  “You sure you can walk?”

  “The bleeding will ease soon and the muscle needs work. That hog bruised it up good.”

  I slung my arm around Morick’s neck underneath the rabbits. He took my weight, pulling me to my feet. Once I was up, he left me to retrieve the herb bag but was back in moments, slipping an arm around my waist, taking my arm and threading it back over his shoulder. I ignored the dead rabbits close to my face and hobbled along beside him.

  “I don’t want Mother or Nellene to see me like this,” I said.

  “We can go to mine first and clean you up. I’ll loan you a pair of Jacom’s pants.”

  Morick’s younger brother was half a head taller than me and a hand broader. I’d swim in his clothes, but they’d look less ridiculous than if I wore any of Morick’s clothes.

  The sun was low on the horizon, the pinks and oranges already faded from the sky by the time we reached Morick’s house. He’d born my weight for most of the journey, but by the time his cottage came into view, I’d become immune to the pain and my muscles were warm and well used. They’d complain tonight, but for now I released his shoulders and headed in through the door on my own.

  “Sit,” Morick instructed, rushing around me and bringing one of the wooden chairs his father had crafted not long before he died.

  “Let’s do this in your room. I don’t want Jacom seeing either. Word will get back to Mother.”

  Morick hovered around me like I was an invalid at risk of falling. His hand cupped my elbow as I made my way to the only room that was separate from the rest of the house. It had been his parents’ room before they died some years back. The mattress had been burned to cleanse the house of the mysterious illness that had taken both their lives. Mother now slept with Nellene, so I’d given him my parents’ mattress with Mother’s blessing because she believed I would have need of the mattress at some point in the near future.

  I eased myself down on the corner of the bed. Morick crouched in front of me. “Tell me what to do.”

  “I’ll need hot water and rags. I need some of my herbs, but it would mean you heading home without me and poking around in my things. That will get Nellene and Mother asking questions. But first help me get out of these pants.”

  I went to stand, but Morick was there first, guiding me up with a gentle strength I’d always admired. He was a big man, broad chested, with large hands and feet, but he could handle the smallest bird who’d fallen from its nest without disturbing a single downy feather.

  He was the one who undid the knotted rope at my waist and lowered the blood-soaked pants to the floor. Morick had slipped my clothes to the floor many times before but never in order to see if I had a fatal wound. “Sit. We need to take the rag off so we can have a better look.”

  I did as told and my muscles protested. It didn’t take long for them to seize up again and the walk would not have helped the bruising, despite what I had told Morick.

  “I’ll try not to hurt you.”

  “Just do it.”

  Of course he would be gentle, Morick always was, but I worried more about the span of time from when the hog had gashed my thigh. Too much longer without treatment and I’d likely suffer fever tonight if not the next day.

  Morick freed the knot and unwound the makeshift covering, but found the last of the blood-soaked material had stuck to the wound.

  “Water will help remove it,” I said.

  He nodded and disappeared from the room. I would rip it off myself but that would restart the bleeding again and I needed to have a proper look at the injuries. I’d assured myself in the forest it was shallow, but the truth was there had been too much blood for me to see clear enough how deep the wound went. I stretched my head back, straightening the front of my neck, closed my eyes and thought of Father.

  He’d kept a fire burning in the hearth, the roof over our heads and fed us enough meat, so when he was killed two years ago, Mother collapsed in despair and never recovered. My three older brothers were long since poached by the king’s men and turned to slaves or sent to fight in a distant war. That left Nellene and me. Nellene, at ten, was too young to do much more than clean the house and tend the garden. So it was left up to me, and Morick, who took my father’s place in helping feed my family. Two of these rabbits were destined for our table and two for him and his brother.

  Morick would help me conceal this wound because Father had died of a boar attack while he was chopping wood. The boar’s tusks had gone deep, slashing his thigh and then, when he fell, gouging his stomach. By the time we found him after a night in the forest, he was cold and blue. From then on, Mother became fretful every time I entered the forest. Her fear increased over time and she pleaded with me to never leave the boundaries of the village again. I couldn’t keep a promise like that, not when selling the herbs I collected as tinctures, salves or teas gave us much-needed money.

  Morick returned with a bowl of water and a rag tucked under his elbow. He placed both on the floor at my feet, then kneeled before me. I gritted my teeth and prepared myself as he laid the wet rag over the wound. I would not make a sound. With tender care, he wet and worked the wrap until it came away. We both peered close at the large gash across my thigh.

  I placed my hands either side to spread the jagged flesh apart so I could have a better look, but Morick placed a hand on mine and shook his head. “Don’t hurt yourself any more than you have to.”

  I stared into his eyes. “I have to know, Morick.”

  He removed his hand and sat back on his heels, removing himself as far as he could without leaving me alone.

  I grimaced and bit my lip as I pulled the damaged flesh apart. Blood pooled to the surface but not before I confirmed for myself that the tusk had scraped close to the surface. The mess of ripped flesh was an ugly sight but not a mortal wound if I cared for it right.

  “It is shallow. It will be fine.” I released a heavy breath as my shoulders slumped.

  Morick rose up to his knees and wrapped his arms around me. After a moment, he pulled back, taking my chin with his forefinger and thumb, and turned me to face him. “You’re too stubborn to die that easily,” he whispered on my lips. I presse
d farther into him, deepening the kiss, taking the comfort his closeness always gave.

  2

  When I woke, the sun was already climbing up the horizon. I rolled over to find Mother and Nellene still tucked under their heavy blankets. The mornings were getting colder, making it hard to get out of bed, but I was normally up before dawn collecting the wood and boiling the water. I’d planned on tending my wound before Mother and Nellene woke, but after the previous day and the herbal tinctures I’d taken last night, I’d slept through.

  I threw back my blanket to find my nightshirt had crept up, exposing my bandaged leg. I pulled it down as Nellene stirred, then stared at me from across the small room we used as our bedroom, her brow knitting. I inched the blanket up, fearful I’d not pulled my nightshirt down enough.

  “What are you doing in bed?” she asked with the innocence of a child noting something out of routine.

  “Feeling lazy.” I eased myself to sitting, concealing my expression from her as I screwed my face up in pain. Jacom’s pants lay at the bottom of my bed, where I’d put them for easy access.

  Nellene continued to frown at me while I pulled the pants under the covers and attempted to dress.

  “What are you doing?”

  With three females living so close together, we rarely bothered with privacy.