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MY FATHER AND I ate our sandwiches hastily, digging in as soon as they arrived. I was halfway through mine before I froze mid-chew at the sudden thought that occurred to me. What if my roast beef on rye had been poisoned? Oh well, too late. And if I died, at least I wouldn’t have to deal with trying to rally the Carraig around me. I inhaled the rest of my food. And all too soon, we were leaving the peace and privacy of Oliver’s quarters.

We went back to the Opal Room, where Maxen was already waiting.

“Nicole is home resting,” he said. “The medics said everything is fine with the pregnancy, and she’s in perfect health.”

My brows twitched up and then down. Home? Ah, of course. When we’d been in the fortress before, Nicole had shared my apartment. Apparently she’d relocated to Maxen’s quarters. It made sense that her home base was with him, but I supposed I still wasn’t completely used to the idea of them as a couple.

The three of us sat down at the conference table.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Oliver beat me to it.

“Petra needs a formal event, a sort of coming out as the monarch of the Carraig,” he said.

Maxen tilted his head. “You’re right. And the sooner, the better.”

Oliver leaned back and crossed his arms, nodding.

“We’re thinking something should happen before the day’s end,” I said.

Slanting a gaze upward, Maxen pursed his lips. “Yes. A coronation ceremony.”

I tried not to visibly cringe. But he was right. That was exactly the type of formality that needed to take place in our new kingdom.

“You’re the expert on courtly protocol, Maxen,” I said. “How does a coronation usually go?”

“Normally we’d want to invite foreign dignitaries to attend and make a week-long celebration of it,” he said. “But given the short notice and the state of things in Faerie, we’ll have to skip the pageantry. Pity, as it’s a good opportunity to establish yourself with other rulers.”

I shrugged a shoulder. “Eh, I’ve already crossed paths with a handful of them. Even made a couple of friends, I think.”

“That’s right,” Maxen said. “You met with several in the Summerlands.”

“Maybe we could host a party at a later date,” I suggested, knowing full well it might never happen, given what we were facing with the Unseelie and at some point the Tuatha De Danann.

“Sure,” Maxen said, and I could tell he was thinking the same thing. “For now, you should start notifying your appointees and working on getting their formal acceptances so we can get those jobs filled. Actually, let’s back up a little. The coronation is your first big step. Getting your court and staff set and in order while establishing authority and keeping the peace is your next step. And after that, your focus must be taking action to help your subjects and the kingdom as a whole thrive.”

I pressed the heel of one hand against my temple. I was starting to get a headache.

“But first things first,” Maxen said. “I’ll work on the coronation ceremony.”

He stood, looking down at his tablet and swiping across the screen. I rose, too. I needed to ask him something, but it was a question I’d been dreading. He turned as if to go.

“Uh, Maxen?”

He lowered the tablet and looked up at me.

“Where should I establish myself for . . . you know, work?”

His eyes hardened, but only slightly. If he suggested I take over his mother’s office suite, I was going to have to refuse. There had to be somewhere else.

Maxen shifted his gaze to Oliver. “Would you show her to the offices of the Head Administrator?” To me, he said, “It’s a good layout. We can have it redecorated to your liking.”

He didn’t wait for a response but absorbed himself in the tasks on his tablet and left.

“What happened to the head administrator?” I asked my father.

“She’s Raleigh’s wife.”

“Oh.” I’d known that, but somehow hadn’t made the connection.

Oliver, along with Emmaline and a dozen of her troops, escorted me to Raleigh’s wife’s former office suite. It had a small reception room with a desk, which led into a well-appointed sitting room with a fireplace, and beyond a large office furnished in oak. A skinny door revealed an attached private bathroom. Thank the gods, there wasn’t much in the way of personal items. And not five minutes after I arrived, three pages showed up, sent by Maxen, to clear out the desk and possessions of the former occupant. Ten minutes later, they were gone.

Another page, a young woman of maybe seventeen with a build too thin for a full-blooded Carraig, arrived with a tablet. “This is yours to keep, Your Majesty,” she said. “I was told to stay here. I’ll be your runner, should you wish to summon anyone. I’ll await your orders at the reception desk. Just lift that phone and press the large button at the top to ring me.” She pointed to the hardwired phone on the edge of the desk.

I nodded, eyed the phone, and thumbed the power button on the device she’d handed me.

“I’ll be in my office putting together a plan for security,” Oliver said. He slipped out along with the page and closed the door behind them.

I stood for a moment, alone in the inner office. Behind me, there was a glass-paned door that led out to a small courtyard with a hawthorn tree and a stone bench. Planter boxes were filled with brightly colored flowers. Birds flitted around in the warm Faerie sunshine, and for a moment I was tempted to go out and sit. But I couldn’t afford such a luxury.

The tablet booted up, and I plugged it into the cord that connected to a port. With a little notification ping, a document icon popped up. I opened it and found it was Maxen’s list of positions and possible candidates. I scanned the list, trying to decide where to start. I only had one formally filled—Oliver as Head of Security—and about a bazillion left to go. At least, that was what it felt like.

For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to think of Jasper—his golden eyes, the warmth of his hands, and the touch of his lips. I knew he had important work to do, but for a few selfish seconds, I wished I could look forward to seeing him. But I had no idea when we’d cross paths again.

With a stifled sigh, I faced the list on the tablet. I decided to start with Head Administrator, which was an important and broad-reaching position. Maxen had suggested Amalie, a distant relative of his on his father’s side. I didn’t really know much more than her face and name and that she, like Maxen, had been trained as a diplomat. He’d seemed confident she’d be willing to serve. I lifted the phone and asked my page to summon Amalie.

While I was waiting, I scanned the rest of the list, mentally trying to rank them in order of difficulty. Two appointments popped up, one with a tailor. The other was with Maxen. A moment later one more appeared, and my heart did a hard thump. It was a fortress-wide meeting, summoning all subjects to the auditorium at eight o’clock that night. The coronation.

I didn’t have much time to ponder it because Amalie showed up a few seconds later. With raven hair, large eyes, and great curves, she was strikingly pretty, though she didn’t look a thing like Maxen.

“Your Majesty,” she said, spreading the skirt of her simple A-line dress with her fingertips as she sank into a lovely curtsy.

“Please rise and join me,” I said. I indicated the seat across from me. “Your promptness is appreciated.”

I watched her, trying to gauge how she felt about me on the throne, as she sat, placed her hands in her lap, and looked at me with a pleasant expression. I stifled a sigh. This was probably her practiced diplomat-at-rest face.

“You’re related to Maxen,” I said.

Her brows twitched the tiniest bit, as if she was expecting me to say more. When I didn’t, she nodded. “Yes. We are distant cousins.”

“How do you feel about the death of Marisol Lothlorien?”

Her mouth opened and then closed. She swallowed. “I was quite shocked by the whole sequence of events, from the assassination attempt on your life to the . . . death of Lady Lothlorien.” Her eyes tightened, and I saw the faint pain there before she composed herself.

“It’s okay to be sad,” I said. “It’s okay to miss her. I did not want her to die. I had a great deal of respect for her, until she tried to kill me.”

Amalie blinked and nodded.

“What I need to know is, can you serve me with complete loyalty?” I asked, gazing steadily into her pretty, wide eyes.

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I’m of the same mind as Maxen, in that I want to serve our new kingdom. It’s vital that we get through these early days smoothly.”

Understatement of the year.

“But you’re not thrilled about me as your queen?”

“I would have thought that, in the absence of Lady Lothlorien, Maxen would rule.”

A polite way of saying she wasn’t stoked by the idea of the crown on my head.

“I’m sure you’re not the only one,” I said wryly.

She pulled herself up a little taller. “If I may speak frankly . . .”

“Please do.”

“You wouldn’t have been my first choice for the throne,” she said. “But I think I see why King Oberon insisted on you. And if the High King sees a ruler in you, I’m more than willing to assume those qualities are there. It’s just a matter of you demonstrating them, Your Majesty.”

I tilted my head. Had she just said she expected me to prove myself? Faint irritation prickled through me, but it quickly dissipated. She was being honest, and I needed straightforward people around me. I suspected every Carraig subject was waiting for me to prove myself, too, so I couldn’t fault her for the sentiment.

“Do you have the skills and knowledge to carry out the duties of Head Administrator for the Carraig Sidhe?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” she said.

I was fairly certain she’d been aiming for something much more in her career than the domestic position I was offering her. “But this wouldn’t be your first choice, would it?”

“Well . . . no. My more recent training was in diplomacy, and I was being groomed for foreign relations.”

“If you can help get things running inside the fortress, I would like to see you transition to a diplomatic role,” I said.

Assuming Faerie would be in a state where we actually had a need for ambassadors.

She gave me a careful smile. “I would appreciate that.”

“And I appreciate your willingness to serve,” I said. “Welcome aboard.”

I stood, and she rose, too. I extended my hand across the desk. She looked a little surprised but accepted my offer of a handshake.

After Amalie left, I flopped back, looked up at the ceiling, and let out a whooshing breath. Damn, but it took a lot of energy to be so formal.

I pushed myself forward and looked at the list. Two down. I scanned for more low-hanging fruit on the list. Ah, Royal Chef. That would be an easy ask—I planned to see if the current Chef would continue in his position—though of course there was no guarantee he’d agree.

I rang my page to fetch the man, who arrived in his white uniform and smelling of onions and fresh herbs. A man a bit younger than Oliver, he seemed a bit stunned to be sitting in my office. But he appeared to have no problem with me, and his greatest agitation was being pulled unexpectedly away from his kitchen. Our conversation was short and with a positive outcome. I dismissed him five minutes after he arrived.

Before I could summon another victim, the phone on my desk rang. I picked it up.

“Yes?”

“Your Majesty, it’s time for your fitting,” said the voice of the page, Jaci, who’d taken the temporary role of my receptionist.

“Oh.” I’d lost track of time, and an appointment had crept up on me.

“Your stylist is here to do final measurements.”

“Ah. Okay. Please send her—him?—in.”

“Her name is Vera,” Jaci said in a low voice, as if trying not to be awkward in front of the stylist.

I was already smiling when Vera swept in. She’d helped me get ready for a little voyage into the Duergar realm a few months back, and though she and I couldn’t have been more different, I’d enjoyed her.

“Your Majesty,” she addressed me, bending into a deep curtsy.

“Vera,” I said. “I’m happy to see you.”

“I’m pleased to see you as well, Queen Petra,” she said, and as far as I could tell, she sincerely meant it.

She’d come in wheeling a covered garment cart. She lifted the sheet and brought out a dress. It was a creamy-white gown that appeared to be sewn and embellished with bronze thread. The neckline was a halter style, and it had a narrow A-line skirt. It was unfussy yet incredibly elegant.

“I knew you wouldn’t want frills,” she said. “But obviously I wanted something regal for your coronation.”

I nodded, took the dress, and went into the bathroom to change into it. When I emerged, she’d placed a little square riser on the floor. She had me step up onto it, and then she moved around me, making little adjustments and sticking pins into the fabric here and there. There was a narrow mirror on a stand, so I could see how the gown looked. She’d selected a perfect shade of white for my skin tone, and the bronze details accentuated the tawny yellow in my eyes.

“It’s really quite lovely,” I said.

“Oh, this is nothing,” she said around a pin she held in her teeth. “Wait ‘til you see the robe that goes over it. And the crown, of course.”

She finished with the pins and went back to the cart. Pulling up a garment bag, she revealed a robe that must have been made completely out of the bronze-colored threads. It was edged with white-flecked brown fur. The upper part that draped from my neck to my elbows was positively encrusted with opals. The design was repeated around the bottom hem.

When Vera settled it around my shoulders, I swore it weighed fifty pounds. She slipped a bronze rope belt around my waist and cinched it.

I stared at my reflection. Even with my simple braid, no makeup, and no crown, I couldn’t argue that she had indeed succeeded in making me look regal.

“Once again, I’m in awe of your skill,” I said. “Especially on such short notice.”

She leaned in, speaking across the back of her hand as if telling me a secret. “I had these pieces started even before there was any mention of a coronation ceremony.”

I gave a short laugh. “Still, that only gave you, what, a couple days’ head start? It’s positively gorgeous.”

She beamed at the compliment.

“We’ll do a final fitting right before the ceremony this evening.”

She helped me out of the cape, and I changed out of the dress in the bathroom and tried not to think about facing the entire population of Carraig Sidhe.

“Your contribution is deeply appreciated,” I said.

She gave me a little bow as she left with her covered garment cart.

I didn’t have time to meet with any more candidates before my appointment with Maxen, so I asked my page to figure out where Oliver was. I wanted a moment alone with my father before the ceremony. While I waited, I stared at the list of positions that were still vacant and tried to ignore the uneasiness I felt about finding suitable people to fulfill all of those duties. Not just suitable people, but Carraig who didn’t have strong objections to calling me Queen.

I’d had a few victories, of course, and some who’d stepped up—like Emmaline and her student army—were a welcome surprise. But the little time I’d spent in the corridors of the fortress left me with the distinct sense that the majority were not with me. Sure, most of them bowed and curtsied, but I could see it in the hardness in their eyes: most didn’t want me in charge. I suspected there existed two groups within the population of my dissidents: those like Raleigh who saw me as a traitorous usurper and still felt loyal to Marisol Lothlorien, and those who could perhaps swallow the loss of Marisol but wanted Maxen to wear the crown.

My phone rang, and I grabbed it while the ring was still sounding.

“Oliver Maguire is here for you,” my page said.

“Please send him in.”

My father entered and bowed.

I snorted and waved a hand. “You don’t need to do that.”

He straightened. “Maybe not when we’re alone, but I need to follow protocol whenever there are eyes on us. Better to practice.”

Angling the chair across from me so there was room for his long legs, he settled into the seat, interlaced his fingers, and brought his palms to the back of his head, elbows splayed out. It was a casual posture on the surface, but his sharp-eyed gaze said there was nothing relaxed about this man.

“How did things go today?” he asked.

“They went well, all things considered. We filled a couple of posts.”

I picked up a pen and rolled it between my fingers, and Oliver watched my hands for a moment.

“I’m waiting for the but,” he said. “Things went well, but . . .”

I drew a long, measured breath through my nose. “I have a bad feeling about tonight. They’re not happy about this out there.” My eyes flitted to the closed door and then back to Oliver. “If I had to guess, I’d say there are very, very few New Gargs who think I have any business at all taking the throne. Emmaline and the youngsters like the idea of being rebels, of supporting a strong fighter but an underdog. But the rest? A handful of them are politely tolerating me. And that’s about the best I can say about my so-called support.”

He nodded slowly. “I’d say that’s about right.”

I tossed the pen down and flipped my hands over in a palms-up gesture of frustration and helplessness. “So what the hell do I do?”

“Like Maxen said. Stay alive through the coronation, assert your authority to keep the peace, get your administration established, make sure everyone’s needs are met, and figure out how to make the kingdom grow. The best you can. In that order.”

I grunted and gave him a long-suffering look. “I was hoping for, oh I don’t know, some specifics.”

He unclasped his hands from behind his head and shifted his weight forward, leaning toward me. “It’s my honest estimation that if you can do those things, everyone will accept you. Eventually.”

“I guess for the moment I’ll just have to focus on getting through tonight, then,” I said. “How are things looking for security?”

His face tightened ever so slightly, and my heart dropped about a foot in my chest. Whatever he was going to say next, I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be great news.

“I’m challenged finding trustworthy people,” he said.

“Are you being too stringent in your selection process?” That would be like Oliver. He didn’t take any crap from people in general, and faced with the task of protecting his own daughter, well . . . I could imagine he might be a bit too rigid about who he deemed worthy.

“No,” he said bluntly. “I’ve loosened my expectations considerably.”

I leaned forward, my eyes wide with alarm. “You haven’t found anyone?”

“I’ve recruited two for sure.”

I didn’t know what to say for a moment. “I didn’t want to attend the ceremony with Aurora on my back, but I think I should.”

“Probably wise,” he agreed, which just made my stomach knot itself tighter. He rested his elbows on his knees and peered at me intently. “You’re right to be worried, Petra. I don’t want you to become sick with paranoia, but I think it’s a good idea to stay on your toes tonight. Make sure Maxen is near you. Use your baby battalion. Put them along the front of the stage. If someone comes at you personally, strike first. You have the skill. And of course I will do everything I can to back you up and prevent a shitstorm in the first place.”

I closed my eyes, pushed my fingers against my eyelids, and then pulled my hands down my face.

“Okay,” I said, digging for some resolve. “Guess I’ll be taking the throne with my sword drawn. Only figuratively . . . I hope.”

My tablet pinged with a calendar alert, and two seconds later my phone rang. “Crap, that’s probably Maxen.”

I answered, and my page affirmed my guess.

Oliver rose, gave me a nod of encouragement, and departed. Maxen stepped into my office as soon as my father was gone.

“We don’t have a lot of time, so I hope you’ll allow me to dispense with pleasantries,” Maxen said.

“No, please don’t make me skip the pleasantries,” I moaned, going for a little joke.

He didn’t even look up, let alone crack a smile. Okay, then.

He pushed one of the two tablets he’d brought across my desk. “This is a diagram of where everyone will be positioned.”

Maxen outlined what would happen at the ceremony. The most significant thing about it was that Maxen himself would place the crown on my head. Otherwise the whole thing was pretty bare-bones.

“I don’t think there would be much tolerance for pageantry,” he said, his voice tight.

My heart thumped uneasily. “I’m sure you’re right,” I said quietly. I waited for his eyes to meet mine. “I’m going to be wearing Aurora.”

His brow creased. “I encourage you not to.”

“I’ve already decided,” I said. “I don’t want to, but given the general attitude toward me at the moment, I can’t stand up there unarmed with the entire population of the fortress in the same room with me.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t try to talk me out of it.

I couldn’t help thinking back to when Maxen had prepared me for the opening ceremony of the Battle of Champions. So much had happened since then.

We talked through more logistics, and before I knew it, our hour was past. It was time to start getting ready.

Emmaline and her troops escorted me to my quarters, and Vera and a couple of stylists showed up a few minutes later. The next two hours passed in a flurry of fabric, last-minute tailoring adjustments, hair styling, and makeup application.

I slung my scabbard over the lovely opal-studded robe, and to her credit, Vera didn’t even wince at the eyesore I’d added to her ensemble. She helped me into the heels I’d have to endure for the ceremony and then rose and stepped back.

She curtsied solemnly. “You’re ready for the coronation, Your Majesty.”

My pulse kicked up. The moment had come. I was going to officially take the throne of the Carraig Sidhe kingdom.