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“I doubt it. I meant what I said. Allow me to ask around about him before you say yes.”
“I already said yes.”
My heart skips a beat. “Then what do you need from me?”
The queen pulls back her shoulders. “Nothing at all.” She gives me her empty glass, takes mine, and walks toward the other male.
That a girl. A queen does what she wants.
Trouble is, I know what the queen wants, and he’s not it.
26
CHLOE
It’s been a turbulent span.
After socializing with the aristocrats I never got a chance to meet when I was a princess, since the queen deemed me too much of a simpleton (her words, not mine) and an embarrassment to the crown, I retreat into the queen’s quarters and close the door.
On the other side, Claudette’s soft steps approach.
“Not tonight,” I say through the crack in the door.
I imagine her pressing her lips against the wood. “Please tell me about Kostya.”
“I’m going to bed. Good night, sister.”
She sighs. “Good night, my queen.”
Claudette’s steps retreat, and I walk to the window. Parting the curtains, I peer outside. While the throne room faces the main palace gates, the queen’s rooms face the gardens. Yet, the protests of the gathered people demanding justice for the death of their royals reach me.
The people are unaware that the royal family doled out their own justice when Frederick decided to remove his brother from the throne and wipe out that side of his family’s bloodline. Historically, when princes took over the throne, the people championed them only if the defeated ruler was unpopular. Since royal bloodlines take many centuries to mold and grow into powerful magics, most of the time, people dislike coups.
Fae courts without great powers on the throne are at risk of attack by other fae courts. The Unseelie king rules both the Winter and Fallen Courts. Through me, the Summer king is taking over the Spring Court, which has always been the weaker of the two Seelie courts. I understand what’s happening and why at least three aristocratic families with important council votes tried to push their sons forward as choices to serve me while I’m in heat.
They’re pressing for a male ruler, saying without saying it that I’m too weak to rule alone.
They are correct. Magical power isn’t the only requirement of a successful ruling party.
But the Summer king won’t back off against a male like Kostya. The Summer king will want me to rule alone. It’s in his best interest. In return, he’ll protect me, and perhaps one span, when I am a real queen in my own right, I’ll become the sovereign my people need me to be.
And if not a sovereign, if I do marry, I want a king who dotes on me the way the Summer king dotes on his fae-ted mate. I want the forever, ethereal love. The fierce kind. The kind males would conquer kingdoms for. And while I require that of a male, I am unlikely to return the love, because I’m already in love with a male who can’t be mine. Not in the way I need him to be.
Outside, the people start shouting and banging on the gates. I scan the gardens for the intruders and catch sight of a group of four guards running toward the main gates. Bright flashes of light disrupt the dark night. Someone is using magic, probably trying to get onto the property.
I pick up my skirts and rush outside, the pair of guards D’Artaron posted at my door running behind me.
Two more guards stationed at the end of the hallway join us, then another pair, then another, and by the time I make it to the door of the throne room, an entire battalion of D’Artaron’s males arrives with me.
D’Artaron stands at the opening where the glass mosaic window used to be. The hem of his black frock coat, as well as the curtains, move in waves fashioned by an invisible wind. He once told me that all powerful royals purge their magic. While he’s not a royal, he’s certainly powerful, and I wonder if controlling the curtains and his coat, the gentle way he’s making those waves, is a sort of purge. A way to stay in control. A way for him not to snap when people provoke him.
Or perhaps he’s a lion, swinging his tail while lying in wait since D’Artaron could collapse this entire structure on top of the everyone gathered outside. Use his might. But he wouldn’t even if he could.
The people are growing louder.
A flaming projectile enters, and the guards step back, effectively shielding me within a wall of bodies.
There’s a flash of light, and D’Artaron steps into a portal. He’s gone in the blink of an eye, and all the lights in the room die out with him. In the pitch-black space, slowly, with a hammering heart, I cross the long, narrow space to stand in his place.
