Page 23 of Tale of the Heart Queen

“Who’s waiting?”

“You’ll see.”

I don’t care for that answer, and I make my displeasure known with another narrowing of my eyes, but it fails to make an impression. “Come along.”

We pass the guards standing outside my room and march down marble halls covered in white tile striated with hints of blue and gold and silver. Floor-to-ceiling arched windows line every available space, making it almost feel like we’re outside. Most are devoid of glass, covered with a network of lattices constructed of blue pearl carved into whorls meant to look like rolling waves. The effect is magnificent.

As we pad through the wide halls, I wonder where we are in relation to the throne room and the tank with the Alluvion Coral. Can I sneak in there tonight? How can I convince Cyan I’m not a threat and dispense with my guard?

“How are you feeling?” Cyan asks as we walk. “That was quite an impressive display last night.”

“Sorry about your bathroom. I didn’t mean to destroy your palace.”

He waves a hand as if it’s of no consequence. “It’s fine. This place has been through worse.”

I nod, and we continue walking. I can practically hear the questions he must be screaming in his mind. It’s very suspicious that I have so little control over my magic. I know that’s not normal for a High Fae of my age. Even if I hadn’t just come into my full power, I should have more control.

Cyan opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t want to answer whatever comes out of it, so I deflect his questions with one of my own. I hate always lying about everything, but I’ve spent so many years hiding who I am that the truth feels impossible. As long as no one knows too much, they can’t use it against me.

“So what’s with you and my aunt and Anemone? Doesn’t that get complicated?”

Okay. That wasn’t really what I was planning to say. Foot, meet mouth.

Cyan’s eyebrow arches as he gives me a cool look. I can’t tell if my question angers him or if he sees right through my pathetic attempts to hold on to my secrets.

“That’s perhaps a discussion for another day, Lor,” he says in a way that sounds like he’s speaking with a child who just asked where babies come from.

“Right,” I say. “Sorry.” I am sorry because that was kind of rude.

Cyan doesn’t reply as we round another corner and are greeted by a set of translucent crystal doors embedded with a design of pearlescent shells. He hauls one open and then ushers me inside. We enter a room that serves as a library and study, with shelves lining the walls and a large white table in the center.

I take two steps and then freeze, recognizing the two visitors seated at the table.

“No,” I say, and back up. This is an ambush. I’ve been tricked.

Cyan circles his large hand around my arm and holds me in place.

“Come, Lor,” he says. “When they heard you were here, they just had to meet you.”

“Heard?” I ask.

“Well, I sent a message. They’d just returned home from the chaos in Aphelion.”

I glare at Cyan and then at D’Arcy, the queen of Celestria, and Bronte, the queen of Tor, who are both eyeing me with a curious mixture of intrigue and distrust.

The Star Queen, with her pale skin, long silver hair, and eyes so dark they’re inky puddles, is draped in a silvery dress that looks like it’s been literally sewn from moonlight.

Bronte is the Star Queen’s complete opposite with her dark, gleaming skin, and waist-length hair that’s also silver but in an entirely different way. It’s like iron and layered with streaks of black, like she was chipped from the heart of a mountain rather than scooped from a falling star.

She wears a set of grey leathers that look soft and supple and obviously designed for ease of movement. She’s the epitome of a warrior queen if I ever saw one, and I already love her. Even if she’s looking like she wants to pick me up and toss me over the balcony. It’s a love borne of admiration, not warmth.

“What’s going on?” I ask as Cyan drags me towards the table. I voice my protest, but I’m surrounded by royalty, by three of the most powerful people in Ouranos, and I’m still the wild girl they stole from Nostraza and stuffed into a golden dress.

“We just wanted to say hello,” Bronte says, sitting forward, scrutinizing me from head to toe. Despite her fierce exterior, I see a softness reflected in her eyes. “Is what Cyan says true? Are you really Serce’s granddaughter?”

I nod. The secrets I’ve kept for so long have been spooling apart for months now. Pieces of cotton teasing away on the tips of thorny branches. There was no keeping the lid on this. Do I even want to? If my goal is truly to reclaim my legacy, that task is impossible without proclaiming the truth out loud for everyone to hear. Whatever happens, this was always inevitable. At some point, the mask had to come off.

“It’s true,” I say, a tight stitch releasing in my chest at the admission.