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“How can you be sure?” I ask, my panic attack returning. “I’m supposed to walk in there and receive a crown I didn’t earn by blood, birth, or otherwise. Nobody will accept me.”
“Nevertheless,” a loud male voice says from behind me. D’Artaron is standing beside one of my portals. The portal doesn’t swirl, spark, or even move but rather appears as solid as any doorway. “The crown will grace your pretty head.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“You’ll die.”
I inhale sharply. “You can’t just say that.”
“I did, and you’ll get used to it. Besides, it won’t happen, so it’s not a big deal.”
“I need more time. Please, D’Artaron.”
D’Artaron watches me, tapping the hilt of his weapon. He looks from me to the giant double doors of the closed-off throne room. “All right. Come with me.”
24
CHLOE
D’Artaron extends a gloved hand, and I take it without hesitation.
We step through the portal, and even though I have no idea where I’m going, I trust he won’t lead me to the throne until I’m good and ready. The revelation of how much I trust this male makes me question my own sanity, but I have no time for sanity now because we stop in the bright center of the throne room.
“Holy fuck, D’Artaron,” I whisper-hiss and turn to run, but I bump into him. His arms come around me, and he holds me pressed against him.
I inhale the smell of leather and what feels like comfort and confidence. Instantly, I calm down and surrender, my muscles going limp and my body leaning against his.
“You’re fine,” he coos, and I think of the bird in the cage. “Nobody knows we’re here.”
“What do you mean?”
He spins me around by my shoulders. “Pay attention to the guards.”
We’re standing in the dead center of a large circle where people can gather to watch the royals sitting on the raised dais at the end of the space. People mingle on either side of the red carpet, yet they can’t seem to see us or even sense that we’re here. The guards’ backs are turned to us, and they appear none the wiser.
“Hey!” I call out, but the guards remain in position.
“How are you doing this?”
D’Artaron speaks above me and behind me, his body like a solid wall at my back. “There was this theory once that said that if the Unseelie used the shadows, the Seelie should be able to use the light.”
“We use the light. We travel via portals.”
“And that’s all the rest of us can do. You are the exception.”
“Ah. More exceptions.”
“Indeed,” he says, voice low, intimate. “You hide in the light. You use it the way the Unseelie use shadows. As a means of travel, spying, and as a weapon.”
“I’m not using any of it.”
“But I am, and once I’ve honed this magnificent magic of yours, you will too. It will be like walking in the gardens. Or, for that matter, the throne room. Something you do easily.”
His telling me I’m powerful does nothing to alleviate my fears of what’ll happen when I come in here on my own. “When we arrived only last morning, you said the people didn’t know. There’re people here, and they know.”
“The situation escalated last night.”
“What happened?”
