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For a moment, I imagined the beautiful Fae court in front of me hadn’t just killed a young man as casually as tearing the legs of a spider. But they had, and they’d have done the same to me if Bleddyn hadn’t intervened. These stunning creatures were dangerous, and I’d better not forget it.
The king was still standing, waiting for the murmuring to die down. When it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, he spoke slowly and loudly so the last of his audience would understand him.
“As the High King of the Summerlands, The Seelie Sovereign, the Lord of the Shimmering Veil, and the Green Monarch, I hereby declare that Lady Beth is my granddaughter, the daughter of the Lost Princess Arwen, and the rightful heir to the throne of Faerie. Let it be so.”
Then he sat down, smiling as the room erupted first in gasps and then applause and cheering. The sound was distorted, as if my head was under water. I stared at the first row of the Fae lords and ladies, the whiplash of emotions so intense, fear and relief running shivers across my arms.
With this speech, the king had welcomed me into his family while making it clear that nobody was to toy with me. But his words had changed everything. I’d thought I’d be able to talk to him some more and understand what I’d get myself into if I accepted the role. But apparently, nobody would ask me. I was now the heir to the throne, and I’d just have to deal with it.
There was a lead ball in my stomach, expanding, pushing against my lungs, making it harder to breathe. This was a responsibility I wasn’t born into. I wasn’t raised or trained to be a princess. All I wanted was to find out the truth about my parents’ murderer, free my friends, and get out of here. That was it. Instead, I’d just inherited a kingdom.
I went through the rest of the festivities like a sleepwalker. To me, the food was sawdust and my beloved spiced tea vinegar. I sat with a rictus smile on my face, accepting well wishes and smiling at the many Fae who wanted to curry favor with the new heir.
I didn’t know what to say to them. Soon, I fell into a standard response of “Thank you. Yes, it came as a surprise to me, too. I’m sure I can help you once I’ve settled in.”
After the meal, the music picked up again. This time, I was able to listen to the strange tune without any compulsion to dance. Which was just as well because my feet hurt like they’d been burned. I checked surreptitiously during a lull in the procession. My slippers had holes on the bottom, and the skin peeking through was red and sore-looking.
When the festivities died down, I barely managed to drag myself back to the small apartment I’d been allocated. The same two guards who’d accompanied me to the large hall helped me find the way back. If they hadn’t, I’d have lost my way several times.
When I knocked on the door, Margiad and Delyth took one look at the tattered state of my shoes and gasped. Quickly, Delyth fetched a bowl of warm water while Margiad sat me down and helped me place my feet into it. She kept my dress out of the way while Delyth gently washed the injured skin.
Then she applied some ointment from a decorated earthen jar. She drew a sigil in the air and mumbled in her strange language. Immediately, the cream heated the blistered skin until it became painful. I hissed, pulling my feet back, but just as quickly, the pain stopped. When I bent over the swathes of fabric to take a look, my feet were whole, as if they’d never been hurt.
Margiad got me to stand up, and while I swayed with exhaustion, the two women pulled the precious dress over my head and placed me in a night gown. Finally, I fell into my bed and was out like a light.
After a dreamless night, I woke up to the smell of chai. Margiad stood next to my bed, holding a jar of the hot spiced tea. “Your Highness, please rise. The king has called for you to meet him in the rose garden. The prince will be here soon to accompany you. May we get you ready?”
I scrambled out of the bed, taking the chai from her. Sipping it slowly, I looked around the room for my old clothes. They were nowhere to be found, hopefully burned. Instead, there were new items laid out for me. I handed the empty mug to Margiad and declined her offer to dress me.
After washing, I slipped into a simple, lime-green shirt with white embroidery along the V neck. It was paired with soft cotton pants, held at the waist with a leather band. Its wide legs made them appear like a skirt when I walked. A pair of fine leather slip-on shoes completed the outfit. It was simple, yet elegant, and highly practical.
I was barely dressed when the prince knocked on the door. To my astonishment, Prince Prys entered the room and bowed formally. He’d never treated me with courtesy or deference, but his father’s announcement had clearly put me above him in the pecking order.
He didn’t speak as we made our way to the gardens. The last time I’d been here, it had been full of Fae lords and ladies promenading. Now the gorgeous paths, lined with scented white rose bushes and purple lilac, were deserted in the early morning sunshine. In the distance, a peacock sounded its eerie cry, incongruous with the beautiful surroundings.
Prince Prys’s footsteps stopped crunching behind me, and I turned around. He glanced back over his shoulder, his expression apologetic. “Please forgive me, Princess. My father wanted to see the latest news from the borders. I left them behind. You must not keep him waiting. Please follow the path until you reach the rose garden. I will be right behind you.”
Chapter thirty-five
Istaredafterhimas he strode back the way we’d just come. I was relieved to not have him breathing down my neck. But maybe meeting the king by myself was worse. Whichever way I tended, Prys was right about one thing: I shouldn’t make the king wait.
The planting became more plentiful as I continued along the path. The sun was warm, bathing the gardens in a golden light. It would be easy to forget that none of this was real. That the bounty surrounding me was paid for with the lives of humans, both adults and children.
I didn’t know how far it was to the rose garden, but when I got there, it was easy to recognize. Before I reached the flowers, I could smell them. First, a subtle fruity sweetness, familiar to me from my dad’s garden. Then the scent grew heavier, more cloying, until it became a solid presence.
I kept walking until the roses formed a ten-foot wall on either side. The path was covered with dropped petals. My feet crushed them and released even more of the sickly sweet smell.
There was no sign of the king. Deeper and deeper I went, debating with myself whether calling his name would be considered disrespectful. There was so little I didn’t know about this realm.
Ahead of me, a brown blotch drew my attention. It looked like a boot, and above it was the outline of a shoulder. It had to be the king. Who else would be waiting for me in this place?
“Good morning,” I called out.
There was no answer. I waited until I was nearly upon the figure. “Hello? I’m looking for the king.”
I was so close, I could nearly touch the man before me. He stood in front of the roses, his arm raised to pluck a flower from the plant.
“Hello?” I said again.
