Page 121 of Reign

As we approached, the taller of the pair turned her head, her thick black braid swishing elegantly through the air.

“Welcome,” she said, offering a graceful curtsy. “I’m Isobel of Elphame.”

I copied her gesture while Fitzroy bowed his head.

Isobel’s large eyes brimmed with ancient wisdom, but her beauty was ageless, with radiant skin in a deep, earthy tone. From either side of her cone-shaped headpiece, elongated, pointed ears poked out, twitching as though she could hear something I couldn’t.

The petite woman beside her, however, didn’t look away from the flames to greet us.

“Mabina,” she mumbled, her tone devoid of enthusiasm.

As she spoke, I noticed something glistening on the back of her emerald gown: A set of transparent wings hung limply from her shoulders.

“My wife’s Queen of the Fairies,” Isobel said with pride, deftly tucking a stray strand of her mousy hair back into place.

“Leader of the fairies,” Mabina corrected sharply. “Leader.”

Fitzroy presented his hand to Mabina. “I am Fitz—”

“I know who you are,” Mabina interrupted, turning away from the blazing logs to pierce his gaze. “In my twenty years confined to the Isle, not once have we had a visitor. You and your mistress have been the sole topic of conversation since your arrival.”

Before I could correct her assumption that I was Fitzroy’s mistress, the grand doors groaned open.

Curls of auburn hair flurried over the threshold, coiling like flames—graying strands interwoven like fragments of ash. A woman, alarm burning in her eyes, rushed into the hall, clutching her headpiece with one hand and hoisting the layers of her skirt with the other.

Stalking after her came a tall figure cloaked in flowing black fabric, leaving an ominous trail in his wake.

“The Queen’s coming!” she announced, her voice as frantic as her hurried movements.

Goblin servants swiftly formed two orderly rows stretching from the main entrance to the fireplace.

Fitzroy took my arm and guided me to the far end of the hall, where we stood opposite Isobel and Mabina.

Wolver and Billy entered first, both donning lavish cloaks embroidered with the daisy-wheel emblem.

The goblin nearest to the door cleared his throat and proclaimed, “All bow for Queen Regina, sovereign of Annwn and rightful heir of Lyonesse.”

Regina’s presence was magnetic—I sensed her spirit even before she stepped foot into the Great Hall. As she entered, everyone bowed or curtsied. I bent my knees and ducked my head but peered through my brow to catch a glimpse of her silver locks.

Dripping in jewels and pearls, her golden crown gleamed blindingly. Her deep red gown—crafted from silk so luxurious it looked wet—drifted regally. Flowing sleeves, trimmed in white fur, added to her majesty, and a long train edged in golden brocade skimmed across the floor as she moved slowly down the center of the congregation.

Despite being the elder sister of the decrepit King, she didn’t look his senior. As she smiled warmly at her servants, the fine lines across her ethereal skin deepened, which only enhanced her grace.

“Welcome to my Unseelie Court,” Regina announced in a deep, commanding voice—reminiscent of Fitzroy’s.

“Nephew, I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, a warmth in her tone, as though she’d always known he would visit. “The last time I saw you, you were merely a boy. Now you’re a man.”

She looked upon him fondly, her kind eyes glowing the same purple hue as her ungloved hands—a clear testament to the magic that pulsed through her.

“And you don’t look a day older,” Fitzroy said, turning on his charm.

Regina smiled softly at his flattery. “I hope my guards didn’t frighten you or your companion. They mistook you for invaders and acted accordingly.”

Fitzroy inclined his head. “I understand. We weren’t harmed, and your subsequent hospitality has more than made up for the misunderstanding.”

Regina acknowledged his words with a nod before turning her attention to me. “And you are?”

“Niamh,” I answered, curtsying awkwardly.