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Not then, not now.
When I was crowned High Queen, I would have this crown melted down and scattered to the winds.
At least I didn’t need to worry about what to do with my brother and father’s sword. Excalibur had disappeared in the minutes after Arthur’s death.
I had real worries, I reminded myself.
I would not look at the Dowager, not even a glance. She’d be positioned near the throne—my throne—but luckily, the ceremonial Offering would take place in the center of the room, so I would have my back to her for most of it.
My eyes would be scanning the terrestrial delegation. Not for the Brutal Prince—there would be no missing him, I was certain. But for the terrestrial brute I’d met in the forest. The one who held my secret. The one who must be silenced.
Ancestors, how I hoped he was nothing more than a lowly scout.
I could fake a slight and sever his head from his body. It would be unfortunate, but some things were more important. Namely, revenge.
A knock rang out on my door.
My time was up.
Cyara murmured something to Gawayn as she opened the door. Charis and Carly fell into line behind me, their white gowns and neat plaits lovely and perfect. I felt like a trussed-up chicken. At least I wasn’t wearing white.
Gawayn’s face was stoic as he held out his hand to motion me forward. Lyrena winked as she took her place on my other side. Evander fell back to guard my back; though I wondered if he would rather stab me in it.
Together in procession, we made our way to the throne room.
The halls and courtyards of the goldstone palace were empty, every courtier and servant gathered to watch the once in a generation moment. Palace guards lined the goldstone walls at regular intervals, only a few feet separating one from the next. So many more than usual.
Had Gawayn or the Royal Council been responsible for the change?
It didn’t really matter. The message was clear. They’d lost one Pendragon heir. They would not lose another.
We walked past the Dowager’s wing. I didn’t let my stride falter. She wasn’t there, anyway.
Then we were there. I could see the dais we’d been seated on that night all those months ago. Unlike then, the hall was empty of tables, cleared of all furniture except the two thrones. Courtiers lined the walls fifteen deep, crowded together to leave a wide swath of empty goldstone tiles in the center of the room.
A lone priestess waited there to perform the ceremony.
I could not see to the other side of the throne room, where the Brutal Prince no doubt waited. But someone must have sighted me, for a murmur whipped through the already buzzing crowd.
If I’d tried harder, I might have been able to make out some of the words. But I didn’t care what my courtiers thought of me any more than I did the royal council or the Brutal Prince I would be forced to join with. All of this was a farce, to buy me time.
This will end. This will end.I’d chanted that to myself so many times in the last six months.
I forced my hands to relax. A dagger hung on each hip in the bejeweled scabbards. I could handle whatever happened next.
The priestess in the center of the hall raised her hand, signaling silence.
High among the arched columns, an owl hooted.
My heart clenched, my eyes rising, searching.
Father.
I’d never seen another creature grace this hall. Only him, gliding down from the rafters, shifting into his fae form in a flourish as he landed before his throne.
But there was no flap of white wings among the goldstone arches.
I slowly exhaled, my gaze falling to the crowds, wondering what the crowd made of it. But they were all staring at the priestess, eyes transfixed as she began her show. She possessed water magic and was using it to tell the history of the offering. A brilliant display of forms and bodies created out of water.
