Page 5 of A Courage of the Chosen

“Together,” Rach whispers.

The tears form quickly.

Together. That’s what we said to each other when we rode into Braemar to save the village from Dorche. It’s what we said when we were outnumbered four to one in the battle yesterday.

“Together, lass. We’re with you,” Reyne confirms.

They smile at me encouragingly, and the power in that innocent word soothes me.

Together.

Rach squeezes my hand tighter. “You’ve got this, Elsie. I believe in you.”

I let their affirmations steady that thing in my chest trying to claw free, and slip my hand from theirs.

This time, I don’t hesitate to grip the doorknob, knowing that if I stop now, I’ll never do it.

It turns easily beneath my palm, and where the room was filled with noise less than a beat ago, it falls deadly silent as all eyes rest on me.

Chapter 2

Elsie

The room isn’t grand. The walls are bare, and only the flag of Elfayne adorns the space behind the chair at the far end. There are no windows, the space lit by the flames of a fire in the hearth on the left wall, and a chandelier that hangs from the beamed ceiling, over an oak table with space for eight around it. Only two seats remain unoccupied.

My assessment of the chamber is only brief as the faces of six people focus squarely on me.

The Seelie council.

“You? What are you doing? Get out. Common humans aren’t permitted in here.” I hadn’t forgotten how his slimy voice matched his slicked-back auburn hair. Or the way his dark, beady eyes made a chill rise along my arms.

Hume is—was—Raghnall’s advisor, and disdain drips from him as he glares at me.

He made a point to be a massive pain in the ass whenever he was around last time I was in the palace, and had his nose so far up Raghnall’s ass I’m surprised you couldn’t see Hume’s smarmy face when the false king opened his mouth to speak.

He made my skin crawl whenever I got too close to him, and with his eyes locked on me in a questioning blaze, that feeling starts creeping in again.

But I’m not the same person he last took pleasure in mocking, or stared down the length of his crooked nose at.

“We apologize for the intrusion, my lords and ladies,” Reyne says, with the effortless grace of someone used to dealing with a royal court.

“What is the meaning of this, Reyne?” A lady asks. Her dark-blond hair is elegantly styled on the top of her head, and the way she holds herself is that of a noble woman.

“We’ll explain everything, Lady Calder,” Reyne replies, nudging me forward with her elbow as if to remind me of who I am and why I’m here.

Clearing my throat, I take a few more steps into the room, heading toward an empty seat. The one that’s mine by birthright and taunts me the closer I get. The chair at the head of the table is more ornate than the rest, and for a single moment, I wonder what my great-grandfather looked like as he ruled over the council.

I reach out for it, but Reyne stops me and pulls the gold-framed chair out, gesturing for me to sit.

The space crackles with tension, and I think of the letter Granny wrote to me. The one that Freya, Rach’s mother, stuffed into her sealed diaries. She told me to trust that my heart would lead me down the right path, and that she knew I was born to do this.

It’s with her strength that I take my seat and look at each of the six faces. One or two are familiar from my time here, most of them new to me.

“What do you think you’re doing? That chair belongs to our king,” Hume spits from his seat immediately to my right.

Silence falls again, and the words I know I need to say get stuck in my chest.

“Raghnall is no longer your king.” My voice comes out quieter than I want it to. And I hate it. I hate that it makes me look uncertain.