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“Rightfully so,” Garrick muttered.
Juniper guided us through a back orom and out another door, taking side streets and alleys to reach an abandoned shop. The building was long and low. Its door creaked on rusty hinges as she pushed it inward.
Aspen shifted back into her pixie form, and I settled her onto my shoulder.
The scents of blood and infection reached my nose and I forced myself not to cringe as I stepped inside after the shop owner. Garrick lingered outside where he wouldn’t be seen. Within was a single long room, dimly lit by curtained windowslining the walls. Countless cots occupied by wounded fae filled every available space, while healers walked among them, tirelessly working their magic.
“There are more wounded than the last time I visited,” Aspen muttered from her place on my shoulder.
“Can the healers’ magic can’t save them all?” I whispered back.
“Not always. Some wounds are too grievous. Even immortals can die.” The pixie’s voice was heavy with her sadness.
Hands shaking, I listened as Juniper murmured something to one of the nearest healers, who nodded in understanding before lifting her gaze to my face, awe in her expression. She dipped into a curtsey. “Could I tend to you, Your Majesty?”
At my nod, she strode forward, placing gentle, cool fingers on my neck. There was a flare of pain before a wave of weariness struck me. Slowly, the discomfort of my swollen throat eased. Then, she circled me, her fingers cautiously skating over my back. Her power must have been great, for even through the fabric of my tunic, I could sense the effects of her magic binding my skin, stealing the sting from both my Stormclaw mark and the demon scratches.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“I can sense injuries as well as heal them, my queen,” the woman said as she walked around to face me again. “The marks on your back will scar, but they shouldn’t cause you any further pain.”
“Thank you.”
She grinned widely, her pink eyes sparkling. “My pleasure.” She glanced about the room. “Feel free to walk among our injured and offer hope, Your Majesty. Thank you for taking the time to see us.”
My stomach churned. This was a place of suffering, of death, so close to the castle where Nerissa and Preston hosted garishfeasts and balls. No wonder a growing number of citizens were discontent with their rule, looking to me not only for salvation from the underworld creatures but also for hope and compassion.
Aspen stood on her tiptoes to hiss in my ear. “Remember, some of the healers are rebels, eager to see you prove yourself.”
Not terrifying at all,I thought.
Rallying my courage, I forced myself to walk among the cots, asking names of the more coherent patients and murmuring encouraging words. Anything to let them know I saw them, that I cared. Some of the fae studied me uncertainly, but others reached for my hand and grasped me as if I were their lifeline. As if my touch could heal.
All the while, I was conscious of the healers pausing their work, watching me with cautious curiosity. It was a constant reminder that even among the rebels who’d been waiting for me for years, I hadn’t proven myself yet. I had a reputation to withhold, and decades of hope and dreams to fulfill for them. I could only pray I lived up to their expectations and secured their loyalty and confidence.
“Address the room,” Aspen encouraged in her soft voice. “Give them a speech worthy of a queen. Their true leader.”
Exhaustion from the healer’s magic beckoned to me, but I knew Aspen was right. I needed to say something for the rebels to overhear. I needed to convince them I could lead—even if I was untrained and uncertain. I needed to at least appear willing to learn and try.
Swallowing thickly, I scanned the room, at first seeking the healers’ faces before glancing back to the wounded. Even though the rebels would be the ones to fight for me first, the patients, soldiers sent to suffer in a war the siblings had needlessly caused, held my attention. They were the ones who needed me most in this moment, the ones I hoped would recover andremember me later. They were as much my people as the rebels were.
“By now, I know word has spread of my engagement,” I began. Inwardly, I cringed. That wasn’t how I should have started. “I...” I cleared my throat, fumbling for words. Back in Altidvale, I had never been expected to address an entire crowd of people. I’d been trained to be a quiet, amiable woman and to communicate well at parties and other frivolous events. I’d never been taught how to soothe wounded soldiers or instill bravery in men and women I needed to fight for me.
“You can do this,” Aspen urged. “You’re their queen, Ren. Tell them who you are.”
I tried to start afresh. “That is, I know I may be human, and it’s true much of this world is strange to me...”
One of the healers, a man with antlers twisting behind his ears, turned away, shaking his head. Unimpressed.
My mouth was dry, and whatever I’d intended to say vanished from my mind. “I...”
“Who do you think you are?” one of the patients croaked from her cot.
Another scoffed. “Nobody.”
Murmurs broke out, doubt swiftly overtaking the room. Sweat beaded on my brow, and my weariness made me sway on my feet. I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t a leader. I was failing already. They’d never help overthrow Preston and Nerissa, and Aspen and I would lose.
The sound of the door creaking open shattered the growing conversations around the room. Garrick’s form hovered in the entrance, his eyes burning with unmasked fury. “Who is she? She is Ren Silverfrost, daughter of Prince Ashton and only surviving member of our royal family. She is your rightful queen, and she sees your suffering and refuses to sit idly by. She’shere to fight for you, and she is worthy of your allegiance and respect.”
