Page 50 of The Shadowed Throne (Midlife Fairy Tale #4)

N umb, Beatryce stood at the windows of her new apartment. Behind her, footmen moved her things in, rearranged furniture, and replaced rugs according to her directions. The apartment was beautifully furnished, but she needed to put her own touches on it, despite what she was feeling.

The windows overlooked the gardens and, beyond that, the cemetery, although not much of it was visible due to the hedges that surrounded it. Somewhere out there, her grandmother, the woman who’d lived in these rooms, lay cold and decaying.

She hadn’t counted on that proximity when she’d chosen her new quarters, but it would be fine.

It would all be fine.

Her mother had shown no signs of improvement. No healer or new wizard had been found in Dearth or anywhere yet. Bea’s hand still throbbed. And she was now queen.

It would all be fine.

She had to believe that, or she might go mad. She knew something had happened to her when she’d taken hold of that blade and sliced her hand.

She hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but she felt something within her. Something … dark.

She thought about asking her uncle about it, but she worried what would happen if he knew. If only Nazyr were here. He would know what to do. Maybe she could speak to Wyett. He seemed loyal. At least to her mother.

Would he be loyal to her now that she was queen?

She watched a luminous blue butterfly dancing in the air. It came to rest on the blood ivy creeping up an old oak tree.

“There you are.”

She turned at the sound of Dren’s voice. She liked him a lot and was very pleased that he was to be her husband, but she was still getting to know him. As much as she wanted someone to confide in, she wasn’t sure he was the right one for that responsibility.

All the same, she mustered a smile for him. “Hello, Dren.”

He bowed, sweeping an arm out to the side before righting himself. “I have been informed about your mother and your sudden coronation. I am deeply sorry about her. How are you?”

She wanted to answer, but his kindness made her feel like she might cry. She struggled to get the words out, managing a soft, “I am … holding on.” She held up her bandaged hand. “I was injured, too.”

He came to her, taking her hands in his and kissing the bandages. “My darling Bea. What can I do? Just tell me and I will act.”

“Nothing, I’ll be fine. I’m just sad.”

“Of course you’re sad. It’s all right. You don’t need to be strong for me. Cry if you want.”

She shook her head. “I’ve done enough of that. I’m queen now. I have to be … different. I have to be strong.”

“You are strong. You are your mother’s daughter.”

She looked up at him. “Yes, I am.” Should she tell him about the darkness? Trolls had strong magic. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he’d even know something that could help her.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he asked, “What can I do to help you? Just speak the words. I am yours to command.”

“I don’t know. Just … be patient with me.”

“Always.” He let go of her hands and looked around. “I see you have moved. To be closer to your mother?”

“Yes. And nearer to where everything happens in the palace.”

“Very smart.”

“My choice of apartment in the West Tower was foolish. I only did it to spite my mother.” She sighed and sat on the window ledge. “I have not been the best daughter.”

“Even if that were true, it’s all behind you now. Today, you move forward. Already you have made your mother proud by taking on the crown when she cannot wear it.”

“You think she would be proud of me?”

“I know she would be.”

“Thank you.” Emotion clogged her throat. She looked away. How was she ever going to do this? She felt as if her skin was paper-thin, her nerves on display for all the realm to see. Like she might disintegrate if someone said the wrong thing.

She had to get past this, or she wouldn’t last another day. She exhaled and faced him. “It’s only until she’s better.”

“I know. And she will be. She will be there at our wedding.”

Beatryce nodded, again fighting tears. “I can’t think about that right now.”

“Of course not. Your mother and your new responsibilities come first. I am here whenever you need me, though. You have simply to call, and I will answer.”

“Thank you.” That felt like exactly what she needed. He was so good, not just at being royal but at everything. She stood and embraced him. “You really do understand, don’t you.”

“I try.” He kissed her temple, then stepped back. “I will let you rest. Unless you want me to stay? I was going to the stables, but I can send word that I am more importantly engaged.”

“No, go on. I have things that need my attention. But we’ll dine together tonight, won’t we?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for all the warhorses in Strongholde.” He bowed again and left.

She sank back down onto the window ledge. Maybe with him at her side, she’d be all right. So long as her mother could be made well.

“Your highness?” Her uncle’s voice sang out from the foyer.

“In here,” she called back. “The sitting room.”

He came in carrying a wooden box, darkened with age. Nothing of any value. “Do you have a moment?”

“Yes.”

He glanced around. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

“The office. There wasn’t much for them to do in there, as I’ve never had an office.” She got up and led him to it.

It was a fine space, and she liked to think that occupying the same office her grandmother had used would make her a better queen.

He shut the door behind him, his gaze going to the box in his hands. “I have been holding on to this for many years. The time has finally come to give it to you.”

“What is it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. This box was given to me by your grandmother, for you.”

Beatryce frowned. “How is that possible? She died before I was born. She never knew me. Never even knew of me.”

“But she did. She dreamed of you. Knew your mother would have a girl and that, one day, you would be queen. She gave this to me to give to you when that day finally arrived. And today, it has.” He held out the box.

She took it and started to lift the lid.

Ishmyel held his hands up. “There is another box inside, but it is locked. It was meant for you and you alone. I will leave you to it.” With a nod, he left, closing the door behind him.

She carried the box to the desk, set it down, and sat in front of it. She removed the wooden lid.

Inside, packed in straw, was a beautiful glass box, swirling with blues and greens and impossible to see through.

She took it out of the straw, pushed the wooden box aside, and placed the glass box carefully on the desk. She tried to open it, but as Ishmyel had said, the box was locked. She turned it over, looking for where a key might fit. There was nothing.

She grabbed the bottom and the top and pulled. Not a budge.

She peered at it, wondering how it was meant to open. The light from the window wasn’t enough. She needed more to see by. She glanced up. “Lights.”

The chandelier overhead flickered on. The glass box sparkled, the colors appearing to move, they were so vivid.

Script was etched on the lid. She ran her finger across it, feeling the letters where they marred the glass. She read the words out loud. “By the breath of my blood.”

What did that mean?

She was of Leda Blackbryar’s blood. On a whim, Beatryce leaned forward and exhaled onto the box, clouding the glass with her breath.

As the condensation cleared, she heard a soft crack, followed by a gentle sigh and the faint aroma of anise.

And saw the box was open.