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“Where have you sent your feral feline?” I asked softly as we climbed the stairs of the dais.

He ignored me, turning to face the crowd.

They all watched, taking in the spectacular, regal sight we presented. I hated every bit of it. It was a lie, and a painful one at that.

I dropped myself down onto Arthur’s throne with no ceremony at all. As one, the crowd blinked in surprise. Arran’s eyes flashed with annoyance as he inclined his head respectfully at me and then took his own seat.

The crowd parted. The petitioners formed some semblance of a line. I stared into the sea of faces, hardly processing their existence as I said to Arran: “If she intends to come roaring in here again, I’d appreciate fair warning this time.”

Still no reaction.

“Will she maul one of the other courtiers this time? Or perhaps one of your airborne companions will come swooping down from the rafters instead of lurking in the shadows like last time we were here,” I said, recalling the shadowed wings I’d seen above our heads during the Offering.

That earned me a strange look.

“Perhaps she—"

“Would it kill you to act like the queen you are? Even for an hour?” he barked, black eyes burning with an intensity that would have melted any other member of this court.

Satisfaction flooded my chest. I turned to him with a lazy smile. “This is the queen that I am.” Then I faced the crowd. “Let them come.”

* * *

The afternoon wore away to early evening. Most of the concerns were easily managed—a complaint between neighbors farming the steppes beyond the mountains ringing the Effren Valley; a squabble between elemental courtiers about needing larger quarters for expanding families.

Esa watched it all with a void expression on her face. She’d never dare to sit in one of the thrones, but I could easily imagine her standing on the dais in her shimmering rainbow mist and doling out judgments. Arran had been right to take this away from her. She tried to hide it, but the frustration simmering off of her was delicious.

The sun had dipped below the mountains, bathing the throne room in shades of pink and gold, the goldstone walls shimmering, when three fae males approached the dais.

They looked vaguely familiar… something about the set of their shoulders, the proud arc of their chins…

To my surprise, Gawayn stepped away from his station at the foot of the dais to join them. Understanding flooded my brain instantly. Beside me, Arran shifted forward, resting one elbow on his knee as he considered the four brothers standing in line.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness,” Gawayn said, formal as ever, sinking into a bow. “I present my brothers: Agravayn, Gaheris, and Gareth.”

The resemblance was there in spades. The proud lift of the chin, the glint of the sandy brown hair. Agravayn was taller than Gawayn, but not quite as broad. Gaheris was shorter but wider. The one I assumed to be the youngest, Gareth, might have been Gawayn’s twin, minus the streaks of gray.

I couldn’t help but smile at Gawayn’s clear discomfort. He’d never made a request of me in his life. Yet here he stood with his brothers as if he was any other petitioner.

“You did not need to make your family wait in line, Gawayn,” I said, smiling at each of the three newly arrived brothers in turn.

Gawayn coughed uncomfortably. “It would have been improper to rely upon my position as the Captain of your Goldstones for favoritism.”

I rolled my eyes. Gareth chuckled. I felt the corner of my lips climbing higher. His brother’s twin in looks, but not in taciturn nature, it seemed.

“What issue have you brought to put before us?”

Arran’s stern voice drew all the eyes in the room, including my own. He’d hardly spoken all day, other than to murmur a few thoughts during certain petitions. Though I suspected that if he’d disagreed substantively with any of my decisions, he would not have hesitated to make it known to the whole damn court. My feelings had never been of particular importance to him.

I ignored Arran, knowing it would annoy him. “Welcome to Baylaur, brothers of Gawayn. You have come to me as petitioners rather than visitors. Let me hear your request.”

If a feral growl slipped from my betrothed at that word,me, I pretended not to hear it.

The male called Agravayn stepped forward. His face was as serious as his eldest brother’s. But where I often detected worry and affection in Gawayn’s sternness, I saw none in this male’s. He was not amused by his queen.

“We have come on behalf of our family and the surrounding villages. Our estate is situated on the edge of the Split Sea, beyond the mountains,” Agravayn said. He looked directly at Arran—as if I were not even there.

Ancestors. Was this going to be my entire life? The next thousand years spent being looked over in deference to the Brutal Prince who sat at my side?