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I smile like a shark at the smell of blood in the sea. “I live to make him fear us.”
The king spreads his arms. “By the fates, I’ll miss your killer instincts more than you know.” He hugs me, taps me on the back, lingers a bit before releasing me. “I expect an invitation to your wedding,”
“Is that an order?”
“The last one.”
37
CHLOE
At this point in the spring heat, my wings drape over my back like worn rags. They’re not even clear green anymore, but have taken on the color of moldy bread. I wish they’d just fall off.
Miserable-looking wings aside, my first spring season ruling as the spring queen and holding my own court is turning out rather enjoyable for my people. While they laugh, eat, and live their best life, copulating at will, I grow fond of making them happy as I once was fond of making my father happy.
Once they noticed I indulged most of their requests, even some of the most extravagant and ridiculous ones, like hosting parades every three spans, the people started favoring me over the old royals. I’ve gained a few friends too. Not that I can share good times with them. My siblings don’t allow anyone near me later in the evening.
But that doesn’t stop my suitors from trying to invite themselves into my chambers after the dinners I host every night.
The court’s courtiers are descending into halls ready for another night of mingling and partying, while I very much feel as if I still have a curfew. All chatter revolves around guessing whom I’ll spend the last night of the season with, the one night I swore I’d take a lover.
They’re betting on Kostya.
The other topic at the table this evening is the summer season. Everyone expected invitations to the Golden Palace for the summer season, and the summer solstice is one of the biggest events in the world. To be honest, I hoped for an invite myself since I long to spend at least a few nights inside the Golden Palace I’ve heard so much about.
Whatever the reason for not sending out the invitations, I’m sure the fates and the Summer king have their people’s best interests in mind. It’s just that I had also looked forward to seeing one particular male who would surely not miss the season’s opening event. Perhaps he would even invite me to dance.
Perhaps I wouldn’t burn my dress.
Since we didn’t receive invitations to the Summer Court, I sent King Et’enne a letter asking him if everything was well, helplessly hoping D’Artaron would respond.
Nobody replied.
Tonight, with Kostya sitting on my right at the end of a long royal table filled with the finest fae aristocrats and all their glamorous hats on display, I smile as if I’m present with them all. The truth is I spend most of my time in my head or away from court, on the streets, in the markets, dressed not as a queen, but as one of the people.
I do this so I can hear their chatter. The palace aristocrats and council listen to themselves, rarely hearing the plights of the people. I want to hear the people. Frankly, I learn more about governance from Lauren at the fish stand than I do from the council. Lauren also taught me how to haggle with my brother-in-law, who is always finding ways to tighten the court’s purse.
Kostya leans in and gently places his hand over mine.
I slide my hand away and into my lap, cutting him a look that signals that I’m at the end of my patience with his public display of familiarity.
Kostya’s pursuit of me never wavered, and neither has his ambition. The outpouring of love he professed when he proposed to me, turns out, was a lie. He isn’t interested in me but the crown. Hence, my resolve to keep the crown over in the throne room and away from his head is now unwavering.
“You are not in the mood again?” he asks, an edge of annoyance in his tone.
I suppress an eye roll. I’ve been told that queens don’t roll their eyes, but I highly doubt that’s true. The amount of fake affection I receive all span long from people like Kostya and his mother would make one have permanent eyestrain from the rolling.
Trouble is, the fast-approaching last night of the spring means I must take a lover. I promised I would.
If it were up to most of the aristocrats, I’d marry Kostya immediately.
If it were up to Claudette, I’d simply sate the heat.
My brother hasn’t an opinion, but the way he observes my suitors while sharpening his dagger makes me think he wants to murder them all. Except, perhaps, one male, the one who’s not here. The one we avoid talking about.
“…the venues for the celebrations,” Kostya says.
“Hm?” I realize he’s been talking for quite some time.
