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The dawn has come, and at dawn, I expect only guards will be in the throne room, so that when we enter, it will automatically lessen the number of casualties. Besides, if I can conquer easily and effortlessly, I don’t bother with more force. It’s the aftermath, the holding of the throne that will test our capabilities.
The queen’s magic heats my palm, and I grit my teeth against the burn. The gate I’m constructing needs to be large, stable, and also magnificent, so that whoever is on the other side will witness her mighty magic and spread rumors about it.
It’s so powerful, it’s painful, the burn spreads from my palm up my arm and into my shoulder. I suspected wielding her magic would hurt and placed the sigil on my less trained sword hand.
“You are drawing a lot of magic,” she says.
“I know.”
“It’s making me dizzy.”
“It’s only nerves. I will set the gate midway to the throne so you won’t have to walk far.”
“Why not right at the dais?”
“Because you have to show some force.”
Channeling her magic, I construct a white double gate under a black arch, reaching at least the height of the roof of a standard three-story home.
“First eight,” I say. Eight guards march forward and stand in front of the magical door. I walk in after the queen and position her between the eight and myself.
“The sides,” I say, and eight more guards join us, four on each side of her. The rest of my males line up, and my triangle formation is ready.
“Enter,” I order. Two males in the front open the gates and stand aside, while one male steps forward and blows into a trumpet hung with the green-and-purple flag of the Spring Court. He plays the court’s anthem while my magic sweeps the room and gets ahold of everyone’s weapons, as well as anything else I can use or that can be used as a weapon.
I also take hold of objects that rarely can be used offensively. When that doesn’t seem to steady my heart, I grab everything inside there. Chairs move, tables shake, curtains lift, guards groan under the pressure of their armor.
My males start marching, and when the queen hesitates, I give her a gentle push.
“I’m right here.” I whisper so nobody will hear that she needs more reassurance. This won’t work if she appears weak. The aristocrats will support someone else’s ascension to the throne, and she’ll make my job that much harder, if not impossible.
She starts walking behind the guards, and we enter the near-empty throne room. The floral vines that wrap around the thick pillars that hold up the colorful high ceiling emit a pleasant scent and give natural beauty as well as color to the otherwise beige marble space. Two green thrones made of glass sit on the raised dais at the end of the pathway. The throne platform is illuminated by the light from a massive, purple, stained-glass window, through which the morning sun shines.
The Spring guards start shouting and reach for their weapons, but my magic holds them all as we march toward the throne.
“Out of her way, and nobody gets hurt,” I shout.
Guards from elsewhere in the palace pour into the room. I notice they’re wearing a single ribbon at their shoulder. The purple color tells me they’ve sworn loyalty to a Spring Court royal male, presumably the king’s brother. Luckily for him, he’s still sleeping, or I’d have to kill him to put my queen on the throne.
Shouting comes from the left, and the queen stops.
“Keep moving,” I hiss, nearly running into her. “Time is of the essence.”
The queen’s magic takes hold of the natural light pouring into the space, and her power lashes out, the sound crashing as loud as a lightning strike. The purple stained glass behind the thrones shatters, and one of the thrones cracks, toppling over.
Before she shatters every glass object in the room, I grab hold of her magic, absorbing every drop. It burns inside me, making me wish I could get rid of it. Making me wish I could purge. Only the most powerful royals have the need to purge, and in the midst of all this, I find out she’s one of them.
“Forward,” I hiss, but she’s not moving. I turn to look behind us and, sure enough, I spot a small army of the Spring Court’s finest rushing behind a male with a crown on his head and a lavish purple robe. I recognize him as the king’s brother.
“Move!” I bark at her.
The queen sneaks her hand behind her and taps around my side, then finds my hand and holds it tightly as if for dear life. She can’t move. She’s scared. Poor thing.
I step beside her, but if I walk with her, it looks bad. Still, she leaves me no choice, for the slain king’s brother is shouting, issuing orders to “Kill all intruders.” They will stop once she sits on the throne and they recognize her legitimate claim.
I squeeze her hand and accompany her to the throne, our feet crunching the shattered glass.
The female stands before the throne and then looks at me. Something in my chest melts when I see how pale she appears. She looks terribly weak, uncomfortable, and every bit the humble female I know her to be. She doesn’t really want to be queen. Whoever the fuck thought it was a great idea to make her a princess should die. Maybe I’ll kill her brother-in-law after I’m done here.
