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“We should leave,” D’Artaron says. “Before the Unseelie think we’re invading.”
That snaps me out of my stupor. “What do you mean?”
“We’re in the Winter Court,” he says, offering me his elbow. “My royals are all still here.”
I take his elbow, hoping my knees don’t buckle as I walk. “You used my magic to breach the Winter Court. My circumstances keep getting better and better.”
“Come, come, Queen,” the Summer king calls. “Let me offer you some fresh winter fruit.”
A chair pulls out at the other end of the table. Normally, this is where his queen or an equal would sit, but D’Artaron is walking me there. Dutifully, I sit down. All this is very surreal. In fact, it’s so surreal that I develop nausea.
“The fate who sees all that will happen left you a paper bag,” the king says.
There’s a brown paper bag over the place setting. I grab it, open it, and breathe into it until my belly settles.
D’Artaron goes to stand beside his king.
Once my belly is somewhat settled, I ask the king to tell me what his queen told him. The night I found the Spring prince dead, a group of paid mercenaries snuck into the palace and murdered the entire royal family. The king, the queen, and the prince. They would’ve killed me too, but when they walked into my chambers, and I hid inside a closet, the male who looked for me spared me.
I ask D’Artaron, “How long have you known?”
“Almost since you arrived. The male who spared you served with me and your brother. He sent me a covert message.”
From the basket that D’Artaron’s magic offers me, I pick out a passion fruit and cut it in half. It’s as sweet as honey in my mouth. “I can’t be the Spring queen.”
“But you are,” the Summer king says.
I want to rebuke and tell him off, but he’s the king, so I hold my tongue. “Surely there are others more qualified for governing the court.”
“Oh my dear, there are, but none of them would work with me on behalf of the prosperity of two courts, and from what I’ve sensed, none of them are as powerful as you. There is an interesting new light magic in your blood.”
“The Spring king’s brother might object to my rule.”
“Most definitely.”
“He’s next in line for the throne.”
“Not if the Spring princess survived and is caring for a powerful heir.”
I swallow. “We never consummated our marriage.”
“Who knows of that?” the king asks.
“Only the servants.”
“Good.”
“Good?” I repeat.
“The baby only needs to be royal and powerful. I recognized you as the reigning queen, and so will the Unseelie king, which makes you a royal. All you need is a powerful baby.”
“But she doesn’t have one,” D’Artaron says.
“So put one inside her,” the king answers.
I gasp. It sounded like an order. Will the commander obey? I can’t read his expression, but every object on the table lifts and hovers in the air.
“You swore an oath,” D’Artaron says. “You swore you would never force a marriage on me.”
