Page 16 of She Who Holds My Wrath

“That’s not what I asked,” I reply, eyes locked on hers. “What do you want, Lyvia?”

Her pale violet eyes shimmer, the question clearly rattling around inside her like a loose star. She chews her lower lip nervously. “I… I dreamed of working in Sovarith. The Council Spires. Among the scrolls and tomes. I love the history of this realm, and to be part of documenting it—to witness it firsthand as it’s written? That was always a dream.”

I smile at the way her face lights up talking about it. It’s the kind of smile that makes me feel warm. “And could it be possible? If someone gave you the chance?”

“For someone like me?” Her voice is a whisper, all signs of happiness that was there just moments ago, now entirely vanished. “Low-born? No. That door was never open.”

“Says who?” I ask, dreading that I already know the answer.

She hesitates. “Well… I guess now, you.”

I straighten, raising my chin slightly. “Then I say it’s bullshit.”

Her eyes widen and I can’t help but laugh. “If you want to work in Sovarith, Lyvia, in the council archives, then you damn well will. Let me help you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me. More than a servant, you’ve been a friend. So let me return the favour. Let me make your dream real.”

“Daisy, I⁠—”

“Please,” I interrupt gently. “Just let me get today over with. Let me face the kingdom first. Then I’ll speak with Aran, I promise.”

Tears shimmer in her lashes, her lips parting into a trembling smile. She pulls me into a tight hug, and I feel her whole body shake against mine. “Thank you,” she whispers. “You’re going to be an incredible queen. Korithax would be proud of you.”

The words hit me like an arrow to the ribs. But somehow, they don’t break me. Not this time. Instead, they leave behind a glimmer of hope, that maybe I can make him proud. I inhale slow and deep, blinking away the sting in my eyes.

Lyvia pulls back and clears her throat, sensing the shift. “Shall we?” she asks, her voice soft and steady as she reaches for the crown once more.

I nod. My heart drums a frantic rhythm, but I let her lift the crown. Its golden spires point towards the sky, and the moment it touches my head, it ignites—white flame blooming like a halo of fire, softly flickering on a phantom breeze. I glance once more in the mirror, at the woman staring back. A girl who used to be Daisy Sandoval. A queen who is now something so much more. I let a soft smile touch my lips. One that trembles, but stays.

And just like before, like thunder in the back of my mind, I hear him. “You look beautiful, my queen. Go show them who rules Zeriavoss.”

Two very freaking long hours after a painfully thorough meeting with Aran, I’m standing outside the throne room. My people—my kingdom—waiting inside. I stare at the towering doors, panic clawing at my ribs, each breath seeming tighter than the last as my entire body vibrates with anxious energy. The coronation plays behind my eyes like some cruel show on repeat. I haven’t stepped foot in here since that night. The night I lost everything. I don’t know if this is meant to be some twisted way of forcing me to confront it, but of all the rooms in this gods-forsaken castle, why this one? There are dozens of other chambers big enough for a gathering. Hell, I’d rather stand outside in a thunderstorm caused by Virena and Vor’Khar’s wrath combined, than give a heartwarming speech in the same place I watched my best friend and my husband get murdered.

I drag in a shaky breath, pressing my clammy palms down the length of my gown for what feels like the hundredth time in the last two minutes. The silk is cool beneath my fingertips, grounding me. Barely.

“Everyone’s inside and waiting, Daisy. You can do this.” Aran’s voice is quiet at my side, steady in a way mine will never be.

Velentha isn’t here. She’s in their rooms under watch. Even if she’s not my enemy, even if she stood with us now, her presence would split the crowd harsher than any blade could. She was there, beside the Divine Six when they stormed the castle. She stood by when they killed their king. My mate. Maybe she couldn’t have stopped it, but she could have warned Aran, and she didn’t. But I can’t dwell on the could-have’s or the what-if’s. Not when there’s a room full of people waiting for their queen to be strong for them.

I glance at Aran. He’s infuriatingly calm. But the look in his emerald eyes is betraying him. “Why here?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He gives me an apologetic look, his mouth pulling into an awkward cringe. “It’s the only room that can hold everyone. The only one suited for something like this.” His gaze softens as he takes my hands in his. “I’m sorry, Daisy. I haven’t been back in here since that night either. So, we face it together. I know you lost your husband, but I feel the loss too. I lost my brother that night.”

I swallow down that lump that never seems to leave my throat these days, giving his hands a soft squeeze, and force a smile that feels far too fragile for what’s ahead. “I know, I’m sorry. Please don’t think I believe I am the only person suffering from his death.” One more shaky exhale, “let’s do this.”

He releases me, straightens, and takes his place beside me as the massive doors groan open. The sound in the throne room dies instantly as every head turns our way. Every person rises to their feet, and the sheer weight of the attention presses down on me like stone. I step forward on unsteady legs. Each footfall echoes up towards the high, vaulted ceiling. The lone throne waits at the far end of the chamber, its onyx and silver colour catching the light like ice. Tears prick at my eyes—unwelcome and treacherous at the sight of the empty space next to where I have to sit. I blink them back and keep my chin lifted, schooling my face into an expression of utter calm. I can break later, when I’m alone.

The crowd is endless. Rows upon rows of faces, from farmers and blacksmiths, to the shadowfolk of Nox’Thraxis. Even the counsellors from Sovarith are here, no doubt ready to immortalise my every word—and every mistake—in the archives. ‘February 22nd,’ the future record will read, ‘the day the Queen of Hell spectacularly embarrassed herself.’

I exhale slowly and mount the dais, turning before the throne to face the sea of eyes. Thousands of them, all watching, judging, waiting. I catch sight of Elyistria and Sariya near the front, their radiant forms unmistakable even among the throng. Pride glimmers in their eyes as they watch me with beaming smiles. I manage a small smile in return, and both inclin their heads in subtle encouragement. I’m truly grateful for their never-ending support. They don’t owe anything to me. Maybe Elyistria feels like she does, because of us technically being sisters. But Sariya certainly doesn’t. Yet here they both are, continuously in my corner, cheering me on.

Following Aran’s instruction, I lower myself onto the throne. The carved onyx is cold against my back, but just as before, the throne quickly alights with the same flame that flickers along my crown. Once I’m seated, the room sinks back into their seats as one. I nervously scan the room, trying to avoid every stare pinned on me, and I notice the stained-glass windows have all been replaced, the mirrors too. I remember the sound of them shattering over the scream that tore through me when Korithax took his last, shaky breath in my arms. Not here. Don’t think about it here. I silently chide myself for even letting those thoughts invade my brain right now.

Aran steps forward, his voice carrying easily over the crowd. “People of Zeriavoss, your queen is here to address your concerns and speak to you about the current state of the realm. When she is finished, you may ask any questions she has not already answered.”

He turns to me, offering the smallest nod and a smile steady enough to hold me in place.

Well. Here goes nothing.

I clear my throat, forcing my voice to carry though I remain seated, just as Aran instructed. “People of Zeriavoss,” I begin, the words tasting strange and heavy with a responsibility I’m certainly not used to baring. “I understand these past weeks have been difficult for you all.” My voice hitches before I can stop it. “They have been difficult for me, too.”