“At sea? But we’ll be at sea,” says Quinn. She has accepted a new position as one of Ronan’s naval ambassadors, working with Typhon to negotiate new trade and defense deals with our overseas allies in the wake of the market upheaval.
“It’s a big sea,” says Octavia, laughing.
“Not big enough,” says Adria. The three of them look at each other with an alarming amount of tension. Even in their feelings, the mixture of sexual and interpersonal pressures is so intricately tangled that I can’t tell who they want to fuck from who they want to kill.
Maybe it’s as Quinn said. Is there anyone hotter than someone who hates you?
Six weeks later, I follow Ronan into a carriage, my gown of white silk lifted inside by Elia of House Grana, my new personal bodyguard.
It’s day three of the royal wedding celebrations, and I’m so done with all of the pomp and circumstance that I’m about to suggest to Ronan that he abdicate the throne and give it to Seth, anything to avoid another blessing at another temple or another honorary luncheon with a member of court.
The church and the Guild and the court have all rallied around Ronan’s victory, claiming that they knew he would be restored to his rightful position. The church especially is keen to be in his good graces, having witnessed the power of the God-King’s ties to Vayla personally from within their ivory towers and regretting their choice to crown someone else in his place.
Ronan welcomes them all back into the fold, but he keeps one eye open.
We travel the road from the palace to the arena, almost one year to the day of the end of the Festival of Sport. There, Ronan placed a laurel wreath on my head and crowned me his Champion of the Bow.
This time, I’ll be wearing a different crown.
The arena roars as we enter, the great stone torches lighting up stands that are filled all the way to the sky. Queen Claudia squeezes my hand as we circle the stadium floor, smiling warmly. “A new queen for Selara. I had hoped I’d live to see this day.”
“Thank you. I hope I’m ready.” I peer from the carriage window, surprised at the wave of fear that overcomes me.
I’ve been addressed as “Queen Sylvie” by the servants and guards since we returned to the palace, but tonight, I officially become the queen in front of all of the people.
“You are more than ready,” says Ronan. He bends across the carriage and brushes his lips to mine, tucking a loose strand of my hair into place. “How many queens can claim to have saved their lands before their rule even began?”
“I just don’t want to let them down.”
“Of course you’ll let them down,” says Claudia. “No one is perfect. But if anyone looks at what the two of you did for us and isn’t grateful, you can send them to me, and I’ll tell them exactly where to shove it.”
“Grandmother!”
I follow Ronan from the carriage onto the stage, shamelessly ogling his ass in his black Selaran silks as he walks, which earns me a whispered, “Those aren’t very queenlike feelings, your majesty,” and the slow trail of a hand down my spine that makes me shiver with desire.
Quinn waves at me from beside the stage in the royal box. She’s siting between Taran and Typhon, the latter having arrived recently on a ship from Pyka. Beside them is Guild Mistress Hypatia and Xu Fushi, both found in a jail near the palace market in the week after the siege ended, and Karis Brennzeter as representative of the Orsa.
At the back, gossiping wildly are Octavia, Mama Adama, and Seth. Mama Adama has taken a strong and completely irrational liking to my brother since she joined us in the capital for Larus’s funeral, but given his experience at sea, I don’t think he’s in danger of taking her up on her offer to join her fleet.
At my request, a seat has been left empty for Larus and all of those who aren’t with us. I smile as I think of what he’d say about all of this, how he’d tease me for being the subject of yet another of Ronan’s speeches, but also how he’d tell me how proud he was. Ronan wipes a tear from my cheek, understanding without question.
I look up at Kira and Bitey flying overhead as the three of us—Ronan, Claudia, and myself—step to the front, joining the waiting priestess of Vayla, her white robes a mirror of my own, and the priest of Vahlo, his robes matching Ronan’s black.
Coronations typically take place in the Temple of Vayla, but this isn’t an ordinary coronation. Not just because it’s Ronan’s second one, but also because of how he intends to crown me.
An orchestra of Selaran and Orsan musicians plays a triumphant fanfare.
“Welcome Selarans, friends, and honored guests, to the coronation of the God-King and God-Queen of Selara!” Ronan’samplified voice is met by murmurs and gasps in the crowd. Selara has had many God-Queens, but it has never had two rulers share the title at once. Usually, the ruler names their consort, and that person is given the title of King or Queen.
But Ronan would not hear of me being treated as anything other than his equal. “Should anything happen to me, I want you to rule in my stead,” he’d told me on one of our first nights back in his palace chambers.
“Don’t talk like that. I don’t want to think of being without you,” I’d replied. I’d come too close to losing him to even consider it.
“I’m serious, Sylvie. I don’t want you to be a dowager when I’m gone. I want you to be a ruling queen, my equal in every way. You’re as entitled to the title of God-Queen as I am God-King. It was there in the prophecy. If I’m the embodiment of Vayla, you’re the embodiment of Vahlo. Why shouldn’t you rule?”
The church acquiesced to his demands relatively quickly, wanting to get back on his good side and likely underestimating me as most people did.
That was fine. I was used to being underestimated, and we both knew they did so to their peril.
