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“We areRoyals, Amara. Your mother and I are the King and Queen of Windhelm, of the entire Kingdom of Winter. Far more is expected of us than has ever been expected of you.”
“No,” I snapped. “Notthis. The Royal Selection casts a deep, dark shadow over me. I feel choked by it. I don’t want it, but I’m forced to sit through it and endure. You cannot know what that’s like.”
“I disliked the Royal Selection as much as you do.”
“Then why didn’t you disband it? It’s a silly, old tradition.”
“It is not simply some silly, old tradition. The people clamor for it, they yearn for the entertainment it brings them, but the Royal Selection is also an important part of our culture for another, crucial reason.”
“And what’s that?”
“The Selection breeds warriors and generals, people who spend years—decades—training, honing their skills simply for the right to participate. But it also breeds artists, tailors, custodians, and many, many other Fae of varying professions. The Selection makes them experts, and those experts help Windhelm and all of Winter flourish—and that is to say nothing of the tourism it brings. Without the Royal Selection, we would be weaker as a people.”
“I’ve heard all of this before, and I understand it all, but why can’t I hate it as much as you did?”
My father took a deep breath in through the nose, then exhaled. “I did not hate it.”
“Aha, that’s a lie, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not.”
“You have said many times, you didn’t want to take part in the Selection—it bored you.”
“And it did, Idislikedit, but I sat through it, and I was prepared to accept the result.”
“That’s also not exactly true. You and mother shared a bond before the Selection even began. Am I to believe you would’ve marriedLady Aroniaif she had won, despite your bond with my mother?”
“Amara, we have been through this many, many times. Must we go over it again?”
“Every time we go through it, you deflect at exactly this point. It’s because you don’t have an answer, do you? You would’ve married whoever you wanted to because you’re a man, and that’s that.”
King Cillian’s blue eyes narrowed, he straightened his back, and lowered his head. That was how I knew I had crossed a line. “There are very, very few people who have the privilege of addressing me the way you do,” he said. “But do not speak to me like the dirt you scrape off from under your boot. I am your father, King of this Kingdom, and you will do as you’re told.Is that understood?”
More than the Royal Selection, I hated the effect my father’s cold, dark stare still had on me. I felt like a scolded child whenever he did that. I could feel my entire body shrinking into itself. There was one cloud that loomed darker and heavier than all others, and that was fear of my father’s authority. It alone had the power to crush the fires of rebellion that had been burning inside of me ever since I first took the wolf’s form.
It wasn’t that I was afraid of him; my father had never and would never hurt me. I was afraid, most of all, of disappointing him. Of giving him any reason to think I was ungrateful for the life he and my mother had given me. I wasn’t. I had everything I could have ever wanted. I lived in a palace, on the most beautiful city in all of Arcadia, surrounded by droves of Fae ready, willing, and eager to ensure I was as comfortable as possible.
What I didn’t have, the one thing I yearned for, was freedom. Freedom to make my own choices, freedom to decide my own fate, freedom to make my own destiny. My father didn’t understand that, or maybe he didn’t want to, but I would’ve given up every single comfort I had to get it. Maybe that was why we clashed as much as we did these days.
The rest of the carriage ride was spent in silence. I didn’t dare speak, and my father didn’t have anything else to say. I watched our carriage cross the long bridge, smiling and waving at the commoners who stopped what they were doing to cheer and clap at us as we went past.
The drawbridge into the city was lowered, and an entire unit of soldiers was waiting for us, each of them standing at attention, forming lines of armored Fae on either side of the road. My father nodded at each and every one of them as the carriage rolled through the drawbridge and went into the city proper, where even more Fae stood waiting to cheer for us.
They were everywhere, and they were all so excited to see the Royal Carriage move down their streets. The way their eyes would light up, how they would run towards their partners, their children, and grab their attention so they wouldn’t miss a second of our presence.
The King of Windhelm seemed comfortable enough in his seat. He wasn’t too bothered to perk up and offer a polite wave to his subjects as we rolled past them. I, however, had been told to do exactly that, at all times, and my arm was getting tired of waving.
I lowered my aching arm once we made it out of the main streets, and relaxed until we reached the double-doors to the Grand Hall. They were massive, and white, and set into a wall made of pure-white ice. The doors themselves stood at the top of a set of wide stairs flanked on both sides by icy columns in the shape of lanterns.
By the foot of the stairs was a tall, thin man with a long face and pointed ears. His hair was wispy and grey, groomed neatly so that it framed his face. He was wearing fine, grey clothes, decorated with spots of teal and blue… and as ever,frills.All the frills. Tellren really did love a good, ruffled shirt. He normally looked down his long nose at the people he spoke to, but not to me.
For me, he was all smiles.
He was waiting for us by the side of the road, ready to open the carriage door as soon as we rolled to a stop. “Your Grace,” he said, with a polite bow. He turned his eyes up at me. “Princess,” he added, offering his hand to help me step out of the carriage.
“Tellren,” I said, taking his hand and exiting. “It’s good to see you.”
“Likewise, my Lady.”
