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“Frederick and I had a disagreement. I went to see you. He called the council, who called for his coronation.”
“They’re supporting him, then.”
“He gave them land and riches, promising them even more power over the farmers.”
“That’s not right. We’re struggling in the villages as it is, paying high taxes to the landowners and the crown and whoever wishes to impose themselves on us.”
The commander remains quiet.
I nudge him with my elbow. “Say something.”
“You must take the throne, and you must do it now.”
I stare at the red carpet and the myriad petals thrown all over it. “I’m terrified of what’s at the end of the walkway.”
“It’s the same throne from yesterday.”
“But the glass broke. Surely, we can fix it before we hold the coronation. That should give me time.”
“Once you sit down, I’ll fix the glass and mold it into your portrait.”
“That’s a little excessive.”
“I don’t care.” D’Artaron turns me around, this time by my hips, and hauls me up against his body so that our heads are at the same level. Teal eyes burn into my soul. “You were not born as royalty. You’re not as refined as they are. You don’t even know which fork to eat with, which would mean you’re one of the people, but you’re not. You’re pure of heart, your magic arguably as powerful as those of the fates.”
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s because you haven’t wielded all your power.”
“Ouch.”
“Sometimes truth hurts. You will adjust, for it is the way of the fae. The unspoken laws that govern our people state that only the strongest of us sit on the throne. You’re that Spring fae, the strongest among us. As such, you, Chloe Belomore, shall take your place on the Spring throne.”
I cup his face again. “I’m only strong because you’re with me now, and you let me borrow your strength while you borrow my magic.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is, D’Artaron. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t dare any of this.”
“If it weren’t for me, Frederick would have spared your life and married you and maybe even made this easier for you.”
“When I’m queen, will you stay around?”
“When you’re queen, you will get whatever you want.” D’Artaron puts me back on my feet and fixes my dress. The green ribbon I placed on his shoulder interlaces with the thick, short piece of rope that hangs on either side of the armor. It’s such a sexy accessory that I can’t help but grab it and tug.
D’Artaron’s eyes flare along with the mating light bugs inside the bulbs. People look up at the chandeliers and then gasp as the petals lift on the red carpet and levitate. They’re still, so very still, causing the people to think we’ll emerge from the entrance. They rush to line up on either side of the carpet.
But we’re already inside. It’s another display of power without showing force. The commander seems to favor that approach. It’s no wonder he commands the largest naval force in the world, which keeps growing and strengthening but has never shown its might anywhere, not since he’s been in charge.
The sigil tingles on my palm, and I sense the moment the commander collapses the cloak of light (that’s what I’ll call it) we’d hidden under.
The guards turn, weapons drawn. When they recognize him, they sheathe their swords.
Behind me, something creaks, and I turn to see a massive bar sliding through the brackets on the door, effectively locking everyone inside. The scent of fear floods the room.
The people fear being trapped with me, and I fear being trapped with them. This is happening. I’m ascending the Spring throne.
D’Artaron presses two fingers at the middle of my back and pushes me forward. Not gently either. It’s forceful enough for me to stumble and have to catch myself on the pair of guards who then start walking toward the throne. My escorts, I presume. Well played, Commander. Well played.
