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AMIRA
That same night, I met with the king’s emissaries who had returned from Ellohi. We talked in the council meeting room, as it was one of the few public rooms in the palace with an actual ceiling, which provided privacy.
It was late. The poor men seemed exhausted by the long journey. I felt tired and drained, too. But I needed to speak with them.
“How did Lord Bherlon die?” I asked.
“Lord Kyllen killed him.”
“That makes no sense,” I argued. “How could they both have killed each other?”
Another emissary stepped forward. “There was a duel…”
“The argument sparked over the succession to the High Lord’s throne,” the head of the commission explained. “It grew into a fight. Lord Kyllen was wounded in the back. Before Lord Bherlon delivered the final blow, Lord Kyllen stabbed him through the chest with a poisoned weapon. Lord Bherlon ended up dying the very next day from the effects of the poison.”
“A duel?” I scoffed. A duel would’ve been a much more dignified way to resolve the conflict than what had actually happened. “Who told you that? Udren?”
“Yes.”
Of course, the father would want to defend his son’s memory, even if that meant distorting the facts in his favor.
“Lord Udren wasn’t there when the attack happened,” I said.
“His account was supported by many eyewitnesses,” the emissary insisted.
I was an eyewitness, too. I had seen Kyllen getting wounded. Was it possible that he managed to stab Bherlon before being killed?
That very well could have happened. Udren had lied about how the attack started, but that didn’t mean its outcome wasn't the same.
If so, Kyllen had avenged his death on his own.
I spent that night in a fitful sleep with my fist pressed to my chest. My dreams were short and disturbing—a collection of dark images, backlit by an eerie green light with monsters lurking in the shadows.
Even Kyllen’s normally comforting presence couldn’t keep them at bay. Instead, it made me restless. I searched for him in the shadows, but he kept evading my touch. So close, yet forever out of reach.
Heavy and fragmented, the sleep kept me in bed well past sunrise. For once, no one burst through the doors with trays and towels that morning. The king was gone. And they had mercifully let me rest.
I sat up in the nest and unclenched my fist. The rumpled wings of the mechanical dragonfly sprang open, trembling in the sunlight. The rays broke in the facets of the beads Kyllen had used to make the barrette, bursting into a myriad of sparkles on my palm.
Crushed and crumpled, it was not broken.
And neither was I.
I drew in a long breath, then clipped the barrette into my hair. Next, I took the crown from where I had left it on the side table last night and put it on, over the veil on my head. Then, I got out of my nest and stood in front of the window.
The queen.
This was my kingdom out there. My people. I’d pledged my loyalty to them, and I vowed in my heart to earn their love in return. For once, my life had a true purpose, one I felt ready to fulfill or die trying.
It wouldn’t be easy. Everything Lord Adriyel had said to me last night was true. I was an outlander, a human—the species considered by many to be inferior to fae.
But dammit if I wasn’t going to try my hardest to make it. Where I lacked in strength and magic, I would make up for it in determination.
Not waiting on the maids, I changed from my nightshirt into another gray-brown dress. By tradition, a widow was not required to wear the mourning colors past the day of the funeral, but some did.
In my case, I didn’t feel ready for bright colors yet. Or maybe it was the security I felt when wearing the mourning clothes. As the king’s widow, I had more rights and power than I’d ever had before.
I opened the doors to the room, letting in the noise of the palace life.
“I’m up,” I announced to the sentries on guard in front of the royal bedroom. “Please send a maid up with my breakfast. Just one maid, not all of them. Uzyni,” I said the name of the most reserved woman of the bunch. Today, I couldn’t handle any idle chatter. “Let Councilor Delahon know the council meetings will proceed as planned. I’ll see them all in an hour.”
I was the queen. And I had a kingdom to rule.
* * *
“It’s unheard of for a woman to rule on her own!” Councilor Oharen shouted, his senties flaring into a halo of aggravation.
“Actually,” I stood my ground. “There is a record of at least two female queens in Lorsan’s history.”
“Queen Exear and Queen Utiya,” Councilor Delahon helpfully supplied.
I sat in the king’s seat at the round table with twelve councilors flanking me, six on each side. The table was shaped like a doughnut with a bite taken out of it on the opposite side of me. The person presenting a proposal would usually stand inside the “doughnut” hole in the center, so they could rotate to face any person sitting at the table if they so wished.
The space in the middle was currently vacant. The meeting had gone fairly smoothly, all the items on the agenda discussed and dealt with. The protests started when someone brought up the tournament.
By tradition, if a king died without a successor, the Council held a tournament. The High Lords competed with each other, the crown going to the winner. In theory, anyway, that was how it worked. Historically, however, some tournaments had resulted in full-blown wars.
“We don’t need a tournament,” I said firmly. “The throne of Lorsan is not vacant, and its crown already belongs to me.”
“The kingdom’s strength is in its political stability. But you are a woman. A human one, too,” Councilor Oharen pointed out.
“Are you saying I can’t give stability to my people?” I glared at him.
Councilor Delahon raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. “No one is contesting your right to be the queen, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, really?” I bristled. “Because it certainly has been implied I’m not suitable for the role.”
A man to my left, Councilor Azorin, shook his head. “Every woman needs a husband.”
