Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga #2)(100)

“Has anyone checked the treasury yet? Do we even have a treasury?” Lada realized how little of the actual running of a castle she had witnessed as a child. Mehmed had a legion of men employed to keep charge of his empire’s finances. Lada did not even know where her resources were physically located—or whether she had any.

“I can hunt for treasure in the castle,” Nicolae said.

“Me too!” Petru sat up, excited. Sometimes Lada forgot how young he was.

How young she was, too. She felt it more now, in the three days since she had taken the throne. She had focused for so long on getting here, that she was not quite sure what to do now that her only goal was behind her.

“I doubt there is much to find,” Daciana said. “Would the previous prince have kept his family wealth here? Our boyar”—she turned her head to the side and spit—“and his family kept their wealth on their own land. The Danesti was not always prince. His wealth would be held by his family.”

“You need taxes,” Stefan said. Lada noticed that his right hand and Daciana’s left hand were not on the table. Were they holding hands beneath it?

“You do need taxes,” a man’s voice said. “And for that, you need boyars. And for that, you need me.”

She looked up to see Toma beaming at her, his arms open wide as though expecting her to run to him. At his side was Oana, who shifted away from him with a look on her face like she smelled something foul. Bogdan stood and embraced his mother. She patted his arm, then looked Lada up and down. Nodding, she tightened the apron around her waist and walked toward the kitchen muttering about getting things in shape.

Lada was surprised at how relieved she was to have Oana here again. It felt right.

Toma, on the other hand …

He sat down in the chair Bogdan had vacated, the one to Lada’s immediate right. “Why are you meeting in here?” He looked derisively around the room. “You should be holding court in the throne room, or your chambers. I looked for you there first.”

Lada had been staying in the tiny barracks with her men. That felt more like home than this castle. “I have not taken chambers yet.”

“You must. And stop sitting with your men like a commoner. They should be standing at the ready near the doors, not treated like advisors. Appearances matter, Lada.”

“Speaking of appearances,” Nicolae interrupted—Lada suspected to spite Toma’s pronouncement that her men were merely guards—“why are you here?”

Toma smiled, showing all his stained teeth. “Before I deliver the good news to Matthias, we need to discuss finances. Castles do not run themselves, I am afraid. And we will have to extend quite a few favors to secure the loyalty of the remaining Danesti boyars after what you did to their prince.”

Lada sighed, making herself listen as Toma instructed her. The last time she had been forced to sit through tedious instruction in Tirgoviste, at least she had been able to demand to learn outside. Now she did not have even that luxury.



The castle reminded Lada of a tomb, heavy stones waiting to claim her as they had her father before her. She did not want to live there—already, she craved escape, thinking longingly of the mountain peak in Arges. But she was the prince, and the prince lived in the castle.

She took her father’s old rooms, throwing out everything that had belonged to the dead Danesti. Some of it might have been left over from her father. She did not care either way. Daciana took over after Lada had cleared the rooms, securing enough furnishings for them to feel livable.

“Are you sure you do not want curtains?” she asked, hands on her hips, her belly jutting out.

Lada stared thoughtfully at the empty space above the narrow window. “My brother and I once used a curtain rod to push an assassin off a balcony. Maybe we should add them.”

“Well, I thought they might be pretty. But, certainly, they can double as weapons. You are very practical.”

Lada shook her head. “I hate this castle and every room in it. I do not care what it looks like.”

Daciana nodded, not asking any questions. Lada liked that about her. She asked questions when she needed to and otherwise let memories lie where they would. Lada suspected it was because Daciana was equally reticent to talk about her own past. She seemed quite content in the present. She had appointed herself Lada’s personal maid, but, contrary to convention, she did not sleep in Lada’s rooms. Judging by the new expression of bemused happiness on Stefan’s formerly blank face, Lada knew where Daciana had settled.

Daciana had decided what she wanted and had secured it. In spite of carrying another man’s child, in spite of her circumstances, in spite of everything. Lada felt a pang of jealousy. To be able to want a man and claim him, heedless of anything else? She could have claimed Mehmed. She had claimed him. But it did not satisfy her. Why could Daciana find happiness when Lada could not?

No. That was wrong. Lada had decided what she wanted, and she had secured it. The throne was hers.

Mehmed’s face and the feeling of his hands on her body still haunted her, though. She wished she could carve out his memory with a knife. Trace the lines of him that would not leave her, then cut them free. She would bleed, but she would not die. Still, he lingered in places no knife could ever reach.

Daciana gasped, bringing Lada back to the present. She was bent over, hands on her belly.