The rejected crown (book 2)

The choice of a queen

Giovanna

The rebels' camp was quiet, a fragile stillness that felt unnatural after the chaos of battle. Smoke from scattered fires coiled upward, mingling with the scent of damp earth and blood. Giovanna sat alone on a battered log, her dark cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her hands, calloused and scarred, rested lightly on her lap, but her mind churned with doubt.

She had planned to leave after the battle. Balaric was dead. His forces were shattered, and with his death, the chains that had bound her to his cause had broken. There was no reason to stay. No reason to fight. At least, that's what she had told herself.

Yet here she was.

"You look like you're trying to decide whether to disappear or burn the whole kingdom to the ground," said a voice behind her.

Giovanna turned sharply, her eyes narrowing. It was Darrin, Ezra's second-in-command, a wiry man with a sharp jawline and eyes that missed nothing. He was covered in grime, his leathers still stained from the battle, but his smirk was intact.

"Maybe both," Giovanna replied dryly, though her tone lacked conviction.

Darrin walked closer, his boots crunching against the dirt. He stopped a few paces away, his expression growing serious. "If you're going to leave, do it quickly. But if you're going to stay, you need to know something."

Giovanna tilted her head, studying him. "What is it?"

"It's Ezra," Darrin said, his voice quieter now. "He's missing."

The words landed like a blow. Giovanna rose to her feet, her cloak slipping from her shoulders. "Missing? What do you mean?"

"After the battle, he went for a walk in the woods," Darrin explained, running a hand through his messy hair. "Said he needed to clear his head. That was two nights ago. We've searched, but there's no sign of him."

Giovanna stared at him, her mind racing. Ezra was more than the leader of the rebellion; he was its anchor. Without him, the fragile alliance of tribes, outlaws, and farmers might fracture.

"You think he's dead?" she asked.

"I don't know," Darrin admitted. "But until we find out, the others need someone to step up. Someone they'll follow." His piercing gaze locked onto hers.

Giovanna's stomach twisted. "And you think that's me?"

"You fought beside us," Darrin said, his tone firm. "You've survived more than most of these men can even imagine. They already look to you, whether you see it or not."

Giovanna turned away, her eyes scanning the camp. Tired faces stared back at her from the shadows, soldiers huddled around fires or tending to their wounded. She saw the fear in their eyes, the uncertainty. They had lost so much. They couldn't lose Ezra, too.

But she wasn't a rebel leader. She wasn't anything anymore. A queen in exile. A widow. A woman who had spent years running from the very crown she was born to wear.

"You have the bloodline," Darrin said, stepping closer. His voice dropped to a near whisper. "The name. The story. Richard stole the throne from you. People will fight for you. They already are. You just have to give them a reason to believe."

Giovanna clenched her fists. Her uncle, Richard, had done more than steal the throne. He had stolen her life, her family, her future. The years she had spent in exile, the battles she had fought, the alliances she had been forced to forge—they all led back to him.

She thought of Edweyn, the man she had loved once. His loyalty to Richard had driven a wedge between them, and yet she had never truly blamed him. Like her, he had been a victim of the king's cruelty.

But Edweyn wasn't here. No one was coming to save her.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "If I stay," she said, her voice low, "I won't just fight for the rebellion. I'll fight for the crown. For justice. For the kingdom Richard has broken."

Darrin's expression hardened into something like respect. "Good. Because if you didn't say that, I'd have dragged you out of this camp myself."

Giovanna almost laughed, but the weight of her decision stifled any humor. "And Ezra?"

"If he's alive, we'll find him," Darrin said firmly. "But until then, this rebellion needs a leader. You're it, Your Majesty."

The title hit her like a slap, but she didn't correct him. Instead, she turned to face the camp, her shoulders squaring as she prepared to address the soldiers.

Darrin stepped aside, his smirk returning. "Go on, then. Show them why they should follow you."

Giovanna swallowed her nerves and strode to the center of the camp, where the largest fire burned. The rebels looked up as she approached, their conversations fading into silence.

She raised her chin, her voice steady as she spoke.

"Ezra is missing," she began. "We don't know if he's dead or alive, but we do know this: the rebellion doesn't end with one man. It doesn't end with any of us."

Her eyes swept over the crowd, meeting their gazes one by one. "Richard stole the throne from my family. He stole this kingdom's future. And for too long, I let him. I ran. I hid. But no more."

The firelight danced in her eyes as her voice grew stronger. "This isn't just a rebellion. It's a fight for the soul of this kingdom. And I swear to you, I will not stop until Richard is overthrown, the crown is returned to its rightful place, and this kingdom is free from his tyranny."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, growing louder as her words sank in. Darrin stepped up beside her, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.

"For Ezra," he called, his voice ringing out. "For the queen!"

"For the queen!" the rebels echoed, their voices rising in unison.

Giovanna stood tall, the firelight casting her shadow long across the ground. She didn't feel like a queen. Not yet. But as the rebels cheered her name, she felt something stir deep within her.

For the first time in years, she wasn't running.

She was fighting.