Page 47 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

Sixteen

Morning brought the first cold day of the autumn season and a reluctant return to my chambers.

When I found myself still barred from the rest of the castle, though, I grew listless and sullen. I only wanted to be back with him. I thought I might willingly run away and never see Windemere again if he only asked me to do it.

I could not seem to get warm even as the fire burned high in the hearth. Tatana complained that the room had grown stifling, but I could not seem to shake the incessant chill.

Servants came in and out all day to bring more wood, and each one left with instructions to tell my uncle that I needed to speak with him. Each time they returned it was with news that he had given no word for me in reply.

Io had people in the city looking for answers about who had hurt me, so he asked me to wait until he sent word that it was safe for me to venture out of the castle. By late afternoon, though, I was on the point of leaving to find him no matter how dangerous it might be to do so.

A knock sounded on the door just as I rose from my chair to go get dressed. When I opened it, a solemn-faced house maid informed me that I was wanted in the council chambers.

All ten eldermen besides my cousin were in attendance when I reached the room.

I stepped to the side to take my customary seat by the window, but Bryce Mandelian pulled out a chair that had been squeezed in between his and Lord Lunke's. "Sit here, Princess. You will need a place at the table for this discussion."

That sounded dire to my ears, and as I took my seat, I realized many of the eldermen refused to meet my gaze.

Markus, at the head of the table, stared back at me with near contempt in his expression.

My first thought was that they must know about the time I'd been spending with Io. I was here for a formal censure. Perhaps they were officially setting me aside from the throne. My heart...unexpectedly leapt at the possibilities that might present.

I stayed silent, but my pulse thundered in my ears.

After pushing the chair in for me, Bryce Mandelian took his seat at my side. He gave me a smile that was either sympathetic or encouraging. I couldn't decide which.

Markus cleared his throat. "We have called you here, Princess, because we have had two offers of marriage for you that we are considering."

"We are not considering two," Bryce put in shortly. "We are considering one offer and how to deal with the refusal of another."

"Offers from whom?" I asked, assuming that a seat at the table meant I could speak openly.

Markus looked at me as though my assumption was dead wrong, but he answered me all the same. "We have had an offer from Nightfall, and another from Penjan."

My heart leapt in my chest. An offer from Nightfall...

"We are not considering the offer from Penjan," Bryce said, again rather sharply, eyeing Markus with clear disdain. "Even if they were not elves, the King of Nightfall is offering a sovereign contract."

"The...King of Nightfall?" I asked, my heart seeming to pause its beating.

"Yes, Aelia," Bryce said solemnly. "The king has offered very generous terms for a marriage alliance in the form of a sovereign contract. It would mean you rule Windemere in your own right."

"Do you mean..." I began, feeling the cold now seeping into my very soul. "Do you mean I would marry the King of Nightfall?"

"Yes, Princess," Markus nearly spat. "You and the bloody King of the fae. Nightfall would get the first heir and Windemere would get second. You each maintain your sovereign nations, and he will send his armies to defend us from the elves."

My heart had simply vanished from my chest. I knew it must be in there. It must have been beating, since I was still alive, but I could not feel it. I could not feel anything.

"And Penjan—" Markus began.

Bryce cut him off. "To hell with Penjan. They offer nothing but to take Aelia to the Shadowlands and leave your fat ass on the throne while she breeds little elfling heirs for Prince Refaedon."

I could see that Bryce was extremely angry, but their words still made no sense. None of it made any fucking sense. I could not marry Behr Aldur. I could not marry Io's brother!

Bryce turned in his chair. "Aelia, child," he said, taking my cold hands in his.

"You have to know how sorry I am for this—to put you in this position, but we simply will not survive without the armies of Nightfall.

Windemere will fall. Penjan is nearly upon us with a million men.

You will be crowned this very day so that you enter the betrothal as a Queen.

You will be able to spend most of your time in Windemere.

Your life will be yours. It is the best you could hope for. "

The best I could hope for. The words still just made no sense. They had all lost their collective minds. "What...what if we refuse them both?" I asked, finally daring to use my voice and counting on myself to not start screaming and never stop.

"When we refuse Penjan, they will take it very personally," Baroness Adiala said. The other eldermen had been silent thus far, so her voice surprised me. "We will need Nightfall just to bear the brunt of saying no to the Shadowlands."

"And Nightfall made it clear that they will not send their armies if there is no marriage alliance," Markus said snidely.

"But there’s no time for us to wait for the king to come here so that we can marry!" I insisted. "It will be too late for Windemere either way."

"The betrothal contract will suffice. It is as unbreakable a vow as the marriage contract will be," Bryce added.

I shook my head. That was hardly true. A contract did not weigh against a vow sworn to the gods. "He will still need to come here to—"

"His brother is here to stand as proxy," Markus said.

"But—" I began again, desperately trying to order my thoughts, trying to find some way around it.

My heart had seemingly returned. The whooshing of its frantic beat in my ears threatened to drown out all the rest around me.

"But nothing, Princess. We did not bring you here to ask your opinion," the Duke of Divestra added coldly.

"This is the only path forward," Bryce said, gently placing a hand over mine on the table.

I felt bile rise in the back of my throat as I pushed back from the table.

"Are you alright, dear?" Baroness Adiala asked, scrutinizing my face.

I nodded, but I turned and strode from the chamber quickly, barely making it to the door before I lost the fight and vomited on the marble tiles.

I was crowned in a simple ceremony with the ten eldermen, seven priests and priestesses from the Presarion, and Markus. There were a few other nobles in the seats before the dais, but I could not have named them.

Markus looked close to losing his temper as he barked commands to the pages. They had been tasked with guiding the long train of my gold and white embroidered robes around the edges of the benches that lined each side of the aisle.

The ceremony should have taken place in the godsgrass on the great gilded throne that rose out of the fields like a sentinel. Instead, my coronation was held in the castle's smallest throne room, as though it was a shameful act done in secret.

Acolytes from the holy order, young boys of only nine or ten, walked ahead of me down the aisle carrying sheaves of godsgrass in their arms.

We followed the high priestess, the old priest who'd named me as a baby, Behret Bazalrid, and another priest I did not recognize. They all carried burning censures of godsgrass suspended from chains at the ends of long poles. The sweet, smoky scent filled the air, stinging my eyes and throat.

When I reached the dais, I saw that the godslion pelt that had always lain across the empty thrones, had been removed.

The last of the great beasts that had once ruled the plains, slain at least a hundred years before my birth, was always laid across the throne when the Windemerian monarchs were away.

It had been in place since my father had broken himself on the stones below the tower.

In place of the pelt, lay an ornate golden crown on the cushion of each throne. The smaller one, on the queen's seat, was intricate and bright. Gold formed in the shape of pointed godsgrass stalks tangled around delicate spikes that held milky diamonds.

The larger crown was similar, but the gold was older—tarnished and dulled from countless years of polishing.

The spikes were the points of swords supporting deep red, square-cut rubies.

It had been made for Edgeon, the first king of Windemere, and even to me, it seemed somehow more substantial, as though it carried more authority.

My heart lurched painfully as I envisioned the faceless Behr Aldur who would someday wear that crown and have the right to sit on my father's throne.

Even if he did not have the same authority as a rightful king would have with the sovereign contract, he would be my husband with rights to me.

..to my body. The thought was more than painful. It was devastating.

I stepped before my throne and knelt. It was a simple wood and leather high-backed chair—ancient and unadorned. It was the one my mother sat on twenty-one years ago.

As the high priestess began the long sermon that would usher in my reign, his face formed in my mind—his smile, that dimple, the touch of his finger tracing the edge of my lip, the sound of his laugh.

The thoughts caused an ache in my chest so fierce that it stoked the angry inferno inside me back to life again. Before it could do more than flicker, though, the emptiness inside me abruptly swallowed it whole—like cold water poured over my head.

I should have been filled with joy. I should have been proud to be standing before those chairs, eager to take the place that godslion pelt had been saving for me.

Instead, there was only the emptiness; dark, endless, emptiness.