Page 93 of The Crowned Queen

“Sleep, ael’sura,” he murmured. “I’ll guard your rest.”

Araya smiled, her eyes already heavy. She pressed one last, lingering kiss to his mouth before settling against his chest, the steady drumbeat of his heart lulling her to sleep.

This time, Araya opened her eyes in the garden.

She stared into the wild overgrowth for a long moment, trying to see the shape of what this place must have once been when it was the heart of the fae monarchy. But the thorn-choked hedges loomed over her, smaller vines shifting and moving like snakes through the undergrowth and curling around the bones. The magic here tugged on her, urging her forward.

Araya shivered, curling her bare toes into the soft dirt. No boots this time. Whatever waited in there, she’d be meeting it in only a thin shift, her hair wild and unbound around her shoulders.

It was nothing but residual power, she reminded herself. Just the echoes of old magic.

But Loren’s reassurance—so tempting to believe in the daylight—fell flat here.

Araya took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. It was time to get the answers she needed.

The undergrowth gave way before her without resistance, soft moss cushioning every step she took as tangled hedges gave way to a stand of trees. They were no giants—not compared to the towering monoliths that surrounded the palace. But Araya slowed all the same, unable to shake the feeling that she stood among trees far older than any she had ever seen.

And the magic⁠—

The air was alive with it, aether pressing in around her on all sides. It burst across her skin, the taste of it bright and metallic on her tongue. It thrummed in the ground beneath her feet, flowing through every tree and vine and blade of grass until the ancient pulse of it seemed to match the beat of her own heart.

Araya had never felt so small. Except, perhaps, when she stood before the Shadowed Veil.

She continued forward, nearly tripping when the crowded trunks gave way to open space. Soft green moss studded with tiny white flowers carpeted the ground, the sound of water trickling somewhere nearby.

And at the center⁠—

Araya froze. No. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible—not even in a dream.

The female tilted her head, silver hair rippling like a waterfall across the simple linen shift she wore. Her bare toes curled into the moss, the sweet scent of crushed wildflowers filling the air. But it was her eyes that stopped Araya dead, achingly familiar even in a face she had only seen in paint and carved stone.

“Queen Araya Starwind,” the magic wearing Loren’s mother’s face said. “Welcome to the Eldergreen.”

“This isn’t possible.” Araya tried to step back, but vines curled around her ankles, rooting her in place. “She’s dead. You’re dead.”

“Queen Lysandiane is dead,” the strange power confirmed. It cocked its head, brilliant green eyes studying Araya without warmth. “But I thought her shape may be less frightening to you than my other forms.”

Araya’s heart pounded against her ribs, every instinct she had telling her to lower her eyes—to not draw the interest of this great power. But there was nowhere to go. No way to escape the weight of its ancient attention. Terrible and alien, but also somehow familiar. She knew this power. Not in this shape—but it had spoken to her before. She was sure of it.

“You’re the magic in the forest,” Araya said. “You saved me.”

“We opened the way.” The forest shrugged. “Your pain—” for the first time the forest’s expression changed, silver brows pinching together. “It woke us.”

Araya swallowed hard. The magic in the air pressed in on her from every side, heavy against her skin.

“Thank you,” she said carefully. “For saving me. But why did you?”

“You’re the queen, are you not?” the forest asked, a cold wind stirring the flowers into a snowstorm of tiny white petals. “You should know this already.”

Araya winced, shivering in the sudden chill. “Sorry,” she said hastily. “I don’t know the rules. I didn’t…I never learned.”

“No. You didn’t.” The forest regarded her for a long moment, considering. “But you wielded us all the same, little queen. Now you must pay the price. Come to us.”

“Is that what happened to Loren’s mother?” Araya asked. “Everyone believes the Arcanum killed her in the assault on Tirnavel⁠—”

“Queen Lysandiane upheld her sacred duty and paid for it with her life,” the forest snapped. “Which is more than can be said for you, little queen. You’ve led the very power she commanded us to destroy beneath our branches.”

Araya sucked in a sharp breath, her chest filling with ice. “What?”