The Eden Series: The Complete Collection

THE COMPLETE COLLECTION

OTHER SERIES BY JANELLE STALDER

NEW WORLD SERIES

SWITCH

~ BOOK ONE ~

MASKED

~ BOOK TWO ~

TABLE OF CONTENTS

EDEN

~ BOOK ONE ~

EDEN-WEST

~ BOOK TWO ~

EDEN-SOUTH

~ BOOK THREE ~

EDEN-EAST

~ BOOK FOUR ~

PROLOGUE

The bells in the tower rang through the silent night. Darkness had crept over the land, as hours passed, turning the day into night. A crowd of people stood motionless, filling the courtyard in front of the palace to its limit. No one spoke, and each pair of eyes was pinned on the balcony that rose above them. The High Priest had been expected hours ago, yet no one had come out to speak to them. The crowd grew restless, but no one dared to leave the spot where they stood. News like this only came once in a lifetime, and everyone there wanted to remember it firsthand.

What the townspeople didn’t know was that the High King still lay in bed, a small amount of breath still working its way through his lungs. It came out in short gasps, but he clung to life as best he could, as all who stood there with him waited for
their
arrival. Speech was almost impossible for the elderly King. The pending matter was one of such great importance that he seemed to refuse to waste what little energy he had left on those who were there.

“Drink some water, my eminence,” said Arthur, the small priest who had remained beside his bed since the morning. “Your lips crack from the thirst.” He supported the King, as a few drops slipped through the thin opening between his lips. The once great figure that was their King was now merely a shadow of his former self. “I will go speak with the High Priest and find out what progress has been made,” he whispered.

Rising from his knees, Arthur walked out of the room and into the large hall. The marble floors reflected the flames from the wall sconces that were lit everywhere. The cherubs that were painted on the high ceilings looked down with pity at the grief that filled every crevice of the palace. No one stood out there, except for two soldiers who were stationed beside the doors to the King’s chamber.

“Have you seen the High Priest?” he asked one. The fellow just shook his head.
Typical
. He sighed inwardly. The King’s men wouldn’t speak to anyone except each other. Arthur always found them quite rude and arrogant, and that was in no way affected by the fact that he hadn’t been able to get into the army when he was younger, or so he continually told himself. The church life had been much more suitable for him, in any case. Walking briskly down the corridor, Arthur frantically looked into each room, praying he’d find his master searching for some solitude from the rest of the palace. Finally, he saw him staring out of one of the thin windows on the outside wall.

“My lord.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Have you heard anything? The High King clings to life, but very weakly.”

“We are still searching for them,” he replied, not even turning around to acknowledge Arthur’s arrival. “I can only pray that it won’t be much longer.”

“I’m not sure how much longer he can wait,” Arthur pressed.

The High Priest turned around abruptly, interrupting him before he could continue. “The severity of the situation is not lost on me, Arthur, I assure you. That being said, however, I can only do so much. Unless those two numbskulls are deaf
and
stupid, they will have heard the bells by now and already be on their way. Just to be sure, though, we have five units out there searching for them. All we can do is wait, so I would suggest you do so in
silence
.” He turned back around and continued to stare out into the black night.

Arthur could feel his face redden, as it always did when he was chastened by the High Priest.

“Yes, my lord,” he replied quietly, turning around to reposition himself by the King’s side.

The small man bustled back down the hall, causing a sigh of relief to escape the High Priest’s lips. Arthur was a good man, a good priest by all means, but his patience left something to be desired. He couldn’t help but get annoyed when the man pressed him like that.
Where are those boys
, he thought angrily.
Leave it to the crown princes to be missing at a time like this.
Jameson, he could understand. The boy might be the eldest, but he was by far the most foolish. Everyone knew he would rather sit and get drunk with his soldier friends than accept any responsibility around the palace.

Callum was much more reliable than his elder brother. The King relied on him heavily around the palace. Although he was the younger of the two, everyone knew the crown would most likely be passed to him. It was virtually unheard of to have the younger sibling crowned before the elder, but Jameson had made it clear over his years that he had no desire for the crown, and Callum was clearly the better candidate.

Rain began to fall outside.
Fitting weather for the mood amongst the people of the Capital
, he considered thoughtfully. All of Eden would be in mourning come sunrise. A messenger had been sent to all four areas. The Riders in the west, the Sand People in the east, the Sun People in the south, and the cold Mountain People in the north. He didn’t expect to see any representatives from the north, but they needed to be notified regardless. Every leader in Eden would realize the threat implied by the passing of the High King in the central Capital. A new leader sitting on the throne always created a risky situation. No one knew what to expect of a new ruler, or where their ideals and ambitions stood. A weaker man could be susceptible to the negative influence of those in the north; however, with Callum on the throne the High Priest had very few reservations. On the other hand, if Jameson were to sit on the throne, he could almost guarantee the Capital would slowly imitate the city found in the south, amongst the Sun People. It was a city filled with sin and desire, things that would be very enticing to the eldest prince.

Admittedly, what worried him the most was north of them. There sat a ruler known for his cruelty and lack of compassion. He was persuasive and ruthless in his recruiting of allies. It was said that he stood almost seven feet tall and was twice the width of any normal man. His face was covered by a wild red beard, and down his back lay a thick, long braid of the same colour. His men were trained in the mountains and were able to survive and fight in almost any condition. The King’s men were known throughout Eden as being the best of the best, even rivalling the Riders in the west, but the men from the mountains were a force to be reckoned with. Brutus the Red was his name, and his hand would undoubtedly reach toward the Capital when he heard the tidings. The news of their fallen leader would lead others to believe they were weak.

They didn’t know the prince quite like he did.

Walking slowly back toward the King’s chamber, the High Priest wondered what life around the palace would be like when their beloved leader was gone. The High King was one in a million, a man of great strength, yet great humility and compassion. There was not one person who met him who didn’t immediately take to him. That was what made his men so loyal. It would now be Callum’s job to continue that level of allegiance amongst the men when he took over. Without that, the Capital would surely be as weak and vulnerable as the outsiders would think.

A loud bang resounded through the palace, as the heavy wooden doors were thrown open. Rushing through them in an apparent daze of sorrow and fear was the eldest prince. His boots left puddles on the glistening floor where they landed as he rushed up the central staircase and toward the chambers of his father. The High Priest waited for him in the hall.

“Your Highness,” he greeted him solemnly. “I cannot begin to express my relief at seeing you here.”

The prince’s eyes were wild, his hair soaked to his head. At the age of twenty-seven, Prince Jameson appeared to be closer to the age of eighteen. His face was bare of any hair, and his skin was smooth of any lines. He had dark green eyes and full lips, both features that made him popular with the palace ladies. His wavy golden-brown locks were usually worn loosely around his face, like a halo around an innocent cherub. He was anything but.

“How is my father?” he asked in a hoarse voice. The scent of alcohol filled the air when he spoke. It was clear now why he hadn’t heard the bells sooner. Fighting down his annoyance with the prince, the High Priest tried to remain empathetic toward the boy. After all, everyone might be losing a leader that night, but
he
would be losing a father.