Page 14 of Queen of Legends and Lies (Dragons of Tirene #4)

Chapter Twelve

Hours later, I lean against the cool marble in the center of the palace just outside the throne room. Guards line the hall, waiting for the proper cue. My head’s spinning, and my entire body aches after fighting the corrupted army. Especially my bruised wings.

Though the healers worked wonders for my injuries, what I really need is rest. But I don’t have the luxury of time.

I was already late to my own coronation, and the council had to postpone the event by several hours so I could bathe, visit the healers, and get ready.

As tempting as it was, a nap wasn’t on the agenda.

Pretty certain the vicar would birth a baby dragon if I forced the council to wait any longer.

I adjust the skirt of my gown, mesmerized as the silvery gossamer material cascades to the floor like liquid moonlight. Thousands of tiny gemstones are sewn into the fabric, twinkling like stars in the night sky.

With each movement, the dress glimmers with shades of silver and icy blue. The bodice is fitted, and the neckline dips just below my collarbone. Sheer sleeves stop a few inches below my elbows, masking the purples and blues of the bruise on my left bicep.

Mother always said that armor comes in all different varieties. She believed firmly in the power of dressing the part.

I have to hand it to Rhiann. She knows how to make a statement.

I don’t know how she had this dress designed for me so quickly.

Maybe the seamstresses have been working on it for weeks, in case a special occasion arose.

Hells, knowing how prepared the Lady of the Bedchamber is, she probably has a dozen gowns of this caliber in the works.

Though I hope I’m not expected to dress like this every day once I’m queen.

After fleeing from the corrupted army and drachen, Agnar and I flew to the Tír Ríogan capital to warn them. Then we had to fly back home. By the time we arrived in Tirene, we were late for the ceremony. Annoying the council was one thing, but I hated the disappointment stamped on Alannah’s face.

“Your Majesty?” Rhiann’s stern, concern-laced voice drags me from my thoughts. “It’s time.”

“Right.” I straighten up, letting go of the wall that’s been my crutch. “And, please, just stick with Lark. It’s so odd hearing that moniker.”

“You may as well get used to the formalities. It’s a sign of respect.” Rhiann’s black, gray-streaked wings stand out against her royal blue gown. I’m happy she’s no longer wearing the white of mourning.

Now that I think of it, no one’s worn all white for, oh, probably the last few days. “It’s nice to see everyone wearing colors again.”

“Isn’t it? While you and the others were at Flighthaven, Queen Alannah insisted that we resume wearing our usual clothing.

She said it was time we remembered what we still have to live for…

who we have to live for. Who we need to fight for.

That although we’ll always love and honor and miss those we’ve lost, we must cling to hope.

And we must live for the living.” A small smile plays at her lips. “Anyway, shall we?”

“That’s beautiful.” I swallow the small boulder that’s just lodged itself in my throat and roll my shoulders, squaring them and lifting my chin. “And, yes. Let’s get this over with.”

With a resounding thud, the guards open the doors.

Showtime.

I step forward, my wings unfurling under the glow of the moon that filters through the tree canopy above. The path before me is a mosaic of flower petals and fir branches, nature’s carpet rolled out for royalty.

The moon hangs high in the sky in a silent rebuke for my tardiness. The council’s displeasure is almost palpable, their hushed murmurs and disapproving stares mingling with the night air.

With a deep breath, I prepare to face the crowd, to embrace a future fraught with uncertainty and war. Tonight, under the vast expanse of stars, I’ll don the mantle of a queen. And, maybe, just maybe, I’ll live up to the expectations.

I move carefully, the eyes of countless Tirenese upon me. Nobles line the walkway, their finery glimmering like a river of gems against the darkness. Behind them, the peasantry strain for a glimpse, faces alight with hope and curiosity.

Some have even taken to the skies, their silhouettes floating amid the stars. Guards occupy the land and the heavens, ensuring that tonight, of all nights, nothing goes amiss.

Russet gold flames dance atop stakes hammered deep into the earth. Their flickering light casts long shadows that seem to sway to an ancient rhythm only they can hear. A wave of scents rises up to greet me. Pine, rosemary, jasmine.

With each step, my knees tremble.

Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t fall.

I will my legs to steady as I focus on the path ahead. At the end of this midnight gauntlet, the throne awaits.

The crowd presses in on both sides, a sea of faces searching for strength, guidance, and safety.

My heart clenches.

They need a ruler who can lead with wisdom and courage. Someone with the knowledge of their customs. Someone with experience. Doubt gnaws at me.

Do I have what it takes to be a good leader?

Gods help me. Whether I’m ready or not, this is happening.

A shiver runs through me as memories of the mountain ambush flood in. The unending waves of black-eyed attackers who nearly swarmed over us. Just Agnar at my back to fight alongside me. He was only there because of me.

He could’ve been killed.

Others have died, either directly or indirectly, because of me.

When does this stop? How many others have to lose their lives because they’re dragged into my battles?

Xenon wants me. Sure, he aims to dominate the world with his army of corrupted people.

But, ultimately, I’m the one he needs to resurrect Narc. I can’t endanger anyone else.

Gambling with the lives of the people I love has to stop.

And from this day on, I have to be everything Tirene needs me to be. Even if the weight of it all threatens to crush me, even if my soul quakes with the uncertainty of what’s to come.

The council’s doubt is like a physical weight on my shoulders, heavier than the crown I’m about to wear. Most of them think I’m not up to this, that I’m too young, too inexperienced.

“Unbelievable,” Councilor Serle had snapped, voice sharp enough to slice through the tension in the room. “To think you’d be so careless on the day of your own coronation.”

“Your duty is to Tirene,” Vicar Moise had added, his stern face chiseled with condemnation. “Not gallivanting across the ocean to help other kingdoms.”

Their words reverberate in my head as I walk the path to the altar, which looms ahead like a promise. Or a threat. The people deserve better than an errant, soon-to-be queen who’s faltering before her reign even begins.

However, once I take the throne, I can start enacting changes…beginning with who sits on the royal council.

Overhead, dragons swoop and hover, their presence bolstering my courage. They know I’m to become queen, and they want to be present for the ceremony. I see the recently rescued Aclarian dragons standing at a distance. Though I’m glad they’re here, dampening their emotions is an additional strain.

Each step is measured, deliberate. Though the long, flowing gown hides my trembling, my shoes are another matter. They’re new, stiff, and utterly unforgiving.

One misstep, and down I go, a spectacle for all of Tirene.

I keep my eyes glued to the petal-strewn path. I can sense the anticipation in the air, the collective breath held by a kingdom awaiting its new ruler. Their aspirations, their dreams, their fears are all mine to shoulder now, whether I’m ready or not.

I’m halfway up the aisle when a flash of gold catches my eye. Not the gleaming adornments that many of the nobles wear but something far more precious.

The golden curls of Agnar’s niece shine like a beacon among the sea of people. She’s barely tall enough to peek over the crowd, but she’s impossible to miss.

I deviate from my path just enough to reach her. “Rose.”

She beams up at me in her pale pink dress tailor-made just for her. A leather satchel lays over her new gown. It’s a tiny replica of my own travel-worn one. I stretch out my hand and give hers a reassuring squeeze.

Her fingers wrap around mine, small but fierce.

A guard inches closer, eyes sharp with protective intensity.

I swing around, fixing him with a glare that could scorch even without my magic. “Don’t you dare.” He pulls back, dipping his chin to acknowledge my warning. I turn back to her. “Rose, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She touches the skirt of my gown, hero worship lighting up eyes that are the same shade of blue as her uncle’s. “You’re so pretty!”

Her admiration cloaks around me like a warm shawl, bolstering my courage as I continue my path to the altar.

For her, for all of them, I have to be more than I fear I am.

Alone, I finish the walk to the throne where the priest awaits me, along with priests and priestesses from all the temples. Every god and goddess represented.

They watch with rapt attention as I kneel, careful not to tear my gown. The high priest holds a magnificent silver crown with too many diamonds to count over my head as I repeat the vows.

Though he doesn’t smile, his kind, grandfatherly air puts me at ease.

“I, Lark Axton, do so swear to govern the people of Tirene justly, that in all judgments I will enjoin equity, justice, and clemency, so that the gods and goddesses may grant us their mercy, and that all persons may enjoy a firm peace through my commitment to protect the sovereign lands, to promote the blessings of the gods, to uphold the good laws and customs of Tirene, and to provide sanctuary and provisions for the people to the best of my abilities.”

The crown is heavy on my head, a tangible reminder of the burden I carry as I stand. Careful of the new addition to my wardrobe, I slowly pivot to face the crowd.

The people’s cheers rise like a tide, washing over me in waves of expectation.

My people.

My gaze settles on Alannah. Her eyes light up as they find mine, and I am certain, in that moment, that she understands everything I have only just realized.

Elation, fear, hopelessness, joy, and a protective nature I’ve never felt before all rise up in me. I push them all down, stamping them flat with an iron will.

Holding back tears, I lift up a whispered prayer. “Gods and goddesses, please, help me live up to the responsibilities you have placed upon me today.”

Musicians strike the first chords, bonfires crackle to life, and dancers find their rhythm.

“Well said. It seems we have chosen well.” The high priest rests his hand on my shoulder, pride radiating in his amber eyes. “Come, it’s time to celebrate.”

He steps forward and offers me his arm. Inside the palace, the ballrooms are already set up. Outside, tables stretch across the courtyard, their surfaces piled high with food and drink.

In the distance, I register movement. I turn my head in time to see a dark shadow slither over the palace walls.

It hits the ground like an earthquake. Black, oily wings emerge from the growing blotch of darkness. Then another pair. And another. Dozens more.

Icy fear crawls down my spine.

The drachen are here.