Page 132

I gulped. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“It is a priceless bond, that of a mother and daughter.” Her face mellowed a little, and the princess glanced down to hide a similar expression. “We’ve heard your mother’s testimonial. She insists that taking the acorn was her doing, not yours.” She held up her palm, silencing my protest. “We have already surmised this to be a falsehood meant to protect you. She was the not the only soul who testified to us.”

To my left, Aire’s eyes met mine. While I fixated on him, the queen listed a string of accusations: trespassing into the castle, infiltrating the vault, stealing the legendary acorn—an intended symbol for the people.

A gift from the noblewoman who’d died to keep it safe.

That had been two years ago. The Crown had been withholding the acorn from the public for that long, waiting until now to unveil it. Not for the first time, I wondered why.

Maybe the queen could read minds. She didn’t disappoint, lamenting that they’d preserved this secret as a preventative measure, unsure whether the acorn might be cursed. Aire’s wife had lost her life after finding it, instead being granted the so-called improved life that our fairytale guaranteed.

Perhaps the world had gotten the tale wrong.

And the divinity of nature wasn’t to be trifled with. For the safety of their citizens, the Royals had bidden their time until they’d felt secure. If nothing had bad had happened to them, nothing bad would happen to the people.

Nicu hadn’t been aware of this. They’d kept him out of it, kept him from being put at risk, not wanting to expose him to the acorn.

At the time, they hadn’t known he’d been eavesdropping on their conversation. But they did now.

As for me, I’d not only offended the Crown. I’d robbed Autumn of this symbol shortly before the unveiling. This was my crime.

The queen slammed me with questions while the ensemble listened. They heard my story. Thewhatandhowandwhy. Nicu, the beloved Royal Son, was immune to retribution. But I made sure they knew that Mother had no idea. That Lyrik had no idea.

That Aire had no idea.

I told them about my acorn heart, earning murmurs and skeptical glances until I bared the scar under my neckline. I told them about Mother’s fears and ailing mind, which made her shuffle but earned a degree of empathy from the princess and jester. I told them so many things, almost everything, except for the everything that I’d had with Aire.

The queen took her seat on the throne, nodding to her daughter on the way, inviting the princess to oversee the rest. They were known to act as a unit, with the jester always at their sides.

Princess Briar traded glances with Poet, silently communicating with him in a whole different way. A private bond that needed few words. She gained the room’s center while his eyes followed her.

“Aspen’s kin and company have spoken on her behalf,” she announced, stunning me with the use of my given name, although I was a commoner. “Who else in this assembly will speak for her?”

I braced myself for silence.

“I will.”

And I wished I’d gotten it.

A scathing face emerged. I remembered him calling me a puppet, his fury drowned by a mass of people in the castle courtyard, after I’d dumped the marshmallows at his feet and left him to be arrested.

The stonemason’s son, who’d wanted to be part of my circle. His voice cracked like a whip as he recounted the initiation, my little stunt that had gotten him into trouble. He told them about the stick key, which Aire had also discovered in my possession.

Aire had warned me of this, that meanness bred grudges instead of loyalty.

The stonemason’s son exposed all the ways that I’d treated my minions, too. Humiliation seared my cheeks as my behavior littered the throne room. Listening to him, I hated myself. I hated who I’d been.

A bitch. A thief. A liar.

My woodskin never came up. My actions did.

The queen and princess and jester heard it all. Lyrik and Nicu heard it all.

Aire heard it all, and the more he did, the more he learned about who I was, who I’d been before I met him, the tighter his expression became.

When it was over, it took the last of my energy to hold my head up.

The contemplative princess regarded me, the very picture of Autumn benevolence, fairness, and resolve. “You do not make this decision easy.”