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As I near the throne, the chants of the people outside get louder. They’re demanding to see their king, although whether that’s the old king, the prince that once was, or Frederick, I don’t know. What’s certain is that I’m not any of those males, which makes me feel like an impostor.
Inside the room, it’s silent but not empty. The entire room is packed with aristocrats, who all stare my way.
Gulping, I climb the steps.
A male shouts a battle cry, and people start screaming. I turn, but can’t see a thing because D’Artaron stands before me like a wall. Horns protrude from his head, and his nostrils flare. “Move that ass,” he bites out.
I run up the stairs and stop at the throne, then turn and watch the battle between D’Artaron and multiple copies of Frederick. The terrified aristocrats spectate while plastered against the walls and hiding behind the curtains. D’Artaron fights physically with his swords drawn and not with his magic, but it seems each Frederick he slays produces three more. The multipliers push against D’Artaron, who retreats toward me, climbing the steps.
A dagger flies my way.
I scream and duck.
D’Artaron shouts, a sound something animalistic and pissed off. Light flares in the space as he sweeps his arm through the air, creating a portal that starts picking off all the copies of Frederick one by one, swallowing them into the abyss.
It’s so bright and hot in the room that it feels like we’re standing in the middle of a firepit. People are screaming at the top of their lungs, and I fear D’Artaron has lost control of the magic. My arm burns, and I hold it against me, watching it turn bright red.
A cold blade touches the side of my neck. I gasp.
Suddenly, the light disappears.
Two males stand in the circle below the throne: Frederick and D’Artaron.
D’Artaron’s blade is pressed against Frederick’s throat, while another Frederick holds a blade to mine. I can’t tell them apart.
“You have to kill both of us to reign,” D’Artaron says, “and after that, you have to kill my friends who are guarding that exit. The queen’s brother will come after you next. And even if you manage to slay all of us, the Summer king will arrive at your shores with all the might of the military I’ve spent my entire life building and training to succeed in battle against the Unseelie king. You’re not a quarter of the force of that one, so when the Summer king comes, he will end you and take your entire court for himself.
“Today, you have a choice to make while your people stand witness. Proceed and fail anyway and lose your court in the process or surrender. Your queen will likely act against my advice and spare your miserable life, send you off to live in seclusion with your riches and your whores.”
“She’s not my queen,” the male with D’Artaron says.
D’Artaron spins and extends his hand as if projecting something with precision. The blade at my neck leaves along with the screaming Frederick. His screaming sounds more and more distant as he falls down through the window of broken glass until it finally stops. The chanting outside stops with him, and the Frederick threatening D’Artaron vanishes.
In shock, I stand there unmoving.
Most people also stand, trying to understand what just happened, what they witnessed.
Not the commander, however. He secures his blades back into their sheaths, dusts off his coat, and climbs the steps. When he reaches me, he turns to the aristocrats.
“Anyone else?” he asks.
The room remains silent. “Good. Allow me to introduce Her Majesty, Chloe of Northorn, as your queen.”
When nobody moves, D’Artaron shouts, “On your fucking knees!”
Fairies topple as one like a house of cards, curtains lift off the ground, and the entire room feels as if it’s leaning toward him. When the stones start grinding and the metal inside the pillars holding up the palace groans, I slide my hand into his.
He side-eyes me and pulls in his and my magic, then moves to stand beside the throne. His magic lifts the large crown meant for a male from the seat and places it on my head, those pins my sister made me wear holding it so it doesn’t fall.
They knew this might happen.
The commander drops to one knee, his claw tapping the chair. “Take your seat.”
25
D’ARTARON
The coronation went as well as I hoped. Perhaps even better since Frederick showed up and tried to take the throne, effectively forcing my hand. I eliminated the threat and crowned the Spring queen. Two stones in one throw. Not a bad way to start my morning.
