Page 48 of The Shadowed Throne (Midlife Fairy Tale #4)

B eatryce stood nearby as her mother was carefully laid on her bed. “Watch the blade. It’s already done enough damage.”

“Yes, your highness,” the guards carrying Anyka responded in unison.

Galwyn perched on the headboard, his head tipping from one side to the other.

Jenny moved in to fix the pillows around Anyka, mindful of the blade, careful to keep the queen propped so it wouldn’t cause further damage. Grylan stood on the other side of the bed, chanting something. Hopefully, keeping Anyka from feeling pain.

Beatryce’s stomach was in knots. She felt on the verge of nausea that had nothing to do with the sea. This was the most awful thing that had ever happened to her mother and the most awful thing that had ever happened to her.

And it was entirely her fault. If only she hadn’t thrown that blade. But what was she supposed to do? Let Queen Sparrow win? If her mother hadn’t moved at the last moment, everything would be different. Then the blade would have flown true and buried itself in Queen Sparrow instead.

As the guards left, she twisted a linen handkerchief in her hands, replaying the instant over and over in her head.

Ishmyel came in. “Dr. Lockhart is on his way, and Wyett has sent a squad of guards into Dearth to find a healer and a wizard, with a second squad to carry word of the search throughout the kingdom. We will have both soon, I am sure.”

Beatryce nodded, feeling less than confident that anyone could do anything. Her mother was so pale, blue veins were faintly visible through her skin, her breathing barely audible. She looked as though she were standing at the doorway of the Beyond. How could anyone survive such a thing?

Beatryce cursed herself for not being a better daughter but most of all for refusing to do anything about the small bit of power she had. How many times had her mother tried to get her to practice her skills? When Beatryce had turned sixteen, her mother had offered Nazyr as a teacher.

Beatryce chewed her lip as she remembered how she’d told her mother she had no interest in or intention of improving her magic.

How she’d argued that she was a princess and had no use for such common things.

When she was queen, she’d told her mother, she would have people to perform whatever spells she needed.

Her mother, understandably enraged, had sworn never to mention it again and that the day would come when Beatryce would be sorry. Anyka had been true to her word. She hadn’t mentioned it again.

And now that day had arrived, and Beatryce was sorry.

How Beatryce wished Anyka had nagged and cajoled until she had given in. What she wouldn’t give to be able to mutter a few words and heal her mother. To bring her back from the brink of…

Beatryce sniffed, eyes hot. She glanced up, forcing the tears away. She didn’t want to think the word, lest that give it strength and form it into being.

But the word hung there in her mind like an unholy wraith, impossible to ignore. A sob shuddered through her. This was her fault. If her mother succumbed, Beatryce would become queen by her own bloody hand.

That was not the way it was supposed to happen.

Ishmyel, misunderstanding, took her in his arms again. “My darling girl, we will get her through this. I promise you that.”

Beatryce could only swallow and nod against his chest. He hadn’t said a word about where that dagger had come from, but he wasn’t blind. He knew. He’d been right beside her when she’d thrown it.

Wyett and Hawke knew as well. They’d seen it. Yet neither one had mentioned it. Or even alluded to it. Why? They’d never shied from being truthful with her before. Certainly not Wyett, who’d chastised her numerous times at Willow Hall.

Ishmyel kissed the crown of her head. “But until she is better, you must take over as queen. And we must do that now.”

She looked up at him. “Now?” It was too soon. She wasn’t ready.

He nodded. “The kingdom cannot be without a ruler. It leaves us weak and vulnerable. I have already sent word to Minister Guidewright that he needs to perform your coronation as soon as possible.”

“Yes, of course.” That was why they hadn’t said anything about throwing that dagger. She was about to be queen. And none of them dared upset the woman who held that much power.

The cold, intoxicating reality of that sluiced through her. That was the real power of the crown. Fear .

She’d seen her mother wield it. Beatryce had just never understood that it came with the crown as much as it came with the person.

She wasn’t sure she could handle the responsibility as well as her mother did. There was so much to take on. What would happen if the court stopped respecting Beatryce? When they realized that she was not her mother?

These people who surrounded her mother, they did what they did out of fear. Once they realized Beatryce did not have her mother’s ability, then what? Would they abandon her? Leave the court? Or, worse, try to overthrow her?

Anything was possible, at least in Beatryce’s mind. After all, the worst thing she could imagine had happened today.

The only solution she could think of was for her mother to wear the crown again as soon as possible. Until then, Beatryce would do her best.

It wouldn’t be good enough. She had no idea what to do as queen. But as long as nothing too important or difficult had to be dealt with, she would muddle through. Maybe Wyett would help her. He had always helped her mother.

Dr. Lockhart arrived, coming straight in. He bowed when he saw Beatryce. “Princess, I am deeply sorry for what has happened to your mother.”

She sniffed. “Thank you. Do everything you can for her. I mean everything .”

“You have my word.” He went to Anyka.

Ishmyel guided Beatryce into the sitting room. “Why don’t you go clean yourself up and change. Have your hand tended to. I’m sure by then Minister Guidewright will be ready.”

She glanced down at herself. Smeared blood marred her gown, and her hand ached more than ever. “All right.”

“Someone should go with you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Beatryce, you are about to be queen. Certain considerations must be taken.” He went to the door. “Trog, accompany Princess Beatryce to her quarters. I’ll be here with Queen Anyka.”

Trog grunted.

There was no point in arguing. Beatryce let the troll follow her to her apartment. Her lady’s maids, Sylvia and Lysette, greeted her, horror in their eyes at the sight of the blood.

They had enough training and good sense not to mention it. “I have a cut on my hand that needs to be bandaged, and I need to bathe and change into something properly royal.” She took a breath, trying to find the courage to say the words. “I am about to be coronated.”

Sylvia and Lysette both sucked in air as if they were about to congratulate her, their eyes alight, their lips turning up.

Beatryce raised her hand and frowned. “I know you see the blood on my gown. Do you think this is a cause for celebration? My mother is gravely injured. I will only be queen until she recovers.”

Immediately, they nodded and hurried to do her bidding, Sylvia to fetch bandages and prepare the bath, Lysette to find appropriate gowns.

Beatryce went into the bathing room. Unlike most other apartments in the castle, hers did not have a bathing pool. Instead, it had a pump and a large copper tub with heating coils beneath it.

She’d moved to the West Tower to spite her mother, something she’d long ago realized was foolish. She was too far away from everything, but most importantly, from her mother.

That had to change. In fact, she would change it today. “Lysette.”

The young woman came in from the dressing room. “Yes, Princess?”

“I’m moving back to the East Wing of the palace to be near my mother.”

“Back to your previous quarters?”

Beatryce thought a moment. Her old quarters were fine, but there was a bigger, better apartment. It had once belonged to her grandmother, Leda. “No. The apartment across from my mother’s. I want it done today. Get as many footmen or guards as you need to make it happen.”

She nodded. “Yes, my lady.” She started for the door.

“Have you already laid out a selection of gowns?”

Lysette hesitated. “I started to.”

“Finish that first, then see to the moving.”

“Yes, my lady.” She went back to the dressing room.

Beatryce sighed. Being a princess was hard enough. How was she ever going to manage being queen?

She took her time bathing and getting ready. No more than she needed, but she didn’t rush. She was in no hurry to become queen, and part of her hoped that the longer she took, the more Dr. Lockhart would be able to do to help her mother.

Maybe they wouldn’t even need Beatryce to be queen by the time she got back.

But when she returned to her mother’s apartment, now dressed in a somber dark blue gown that seemed to befit the occasion, her mother’s condition was unchanged.

Minister Guidewright, Ishmyel, and Wyett were waiting for her. Ishmyel held her mother’s ceremonial crown, set with an enormous trillianite surrounded by black pearls, diamonds, and blood-red rubies. Wyett held the royal sword.

“Come now, girl,” Minister Guidewright said, his unkempt eyebrows and thick spectacles nearly hiding his eyes. “We must make you queen.”

Wyett held out Mourning Hawke. “Place your hand upon the hilt.”

Beatryce did as he asked, her heart fluttering in her chest. Her vision narrowed, almost as if shadows were closing in. She tried to breathe and focus.

Guidewright opened a small, leather-bound book and began reading. “Do you, Princess Beatryce Leda Blackbryar, swear that you shall perform the duties of the throne of Malveaux with your utmost diligence and unwavering loyalty?”

Beatryce nodded. “I so swear.”

Guidewright turned the page. “Do you also swear to defend Malveaux with your life, if so deemed necessary?”

Beatryce swallowed as her stomach twisted. “I so swear.”

Guidewright adjusted his spectacles. “Do you accept this crown of your own free will, understanding the duties and responsibilities that come with it?”

Beatryce exhaled and whispered what felt like a lie. “I so accept.”

With that, Ishmyel placed the crown upon her head. “By the power that lies within me as a descendant of the royal line and a servant of the court, I place this crown upon your head and declare you queen.”

He stepped back. “All hail the new queen of Malveaux, her majesty Beatryce Blackbryar. Long live the queen!”

They all chanted, “Long live the queen.” And then, in unison, they bowed.

Beatryce could only stare at them and hope she didn’t throw up.