The next person separated from the line. “Cade Lane,” the man said, voice smooth as the sea. “Next in line for Teriopa reign.” Then the next.
“Cattya Zelaya.” The woman spun in place, winking at Sol with burning baby-blue eyes. “Lady of Stone Ledge." And the next.
“Jonah Ketar, Princess.” He inched his chin down. “Eldest son of Dianese Nobility.”
There were more left, more introductions and announcements of places she didn't know. But when the next individual stepped forward, half the size of any of the others, Sol’s head spun.
The boy bowed, low and full. He had to be no older than twelve, his clothes loose around long, lanky limbs. “P—Phil Ketar.” His voice wavered. “Youngest son of Dianese Nobility.”
A thread snapped. The mask of poise she tried to keep well fastened at least for the night melted.
Evaporated.
Sol swirled on her heel, fists clenched and chest hot with fury as she followed Alix to the chaos below.
Nineteen
CORONATION VOWS
SOL STARED ATthe prospects.
By the foot of the stairs, all eyes shifted from her to Semmena, the silence so thick it felt as if she struggled against it as she stalked forward.
The eight of them immediately bowed and parted for her, and Sol’s blood roared in her ears. Semmena wore a careless smirk. Beside him, Hand Gina batted her lashes calmly, waving at a nearby servant to bring her another pitcher of wine.
Samara seemed impatient, her nails tapping on the throne’s armrest. When she met Sol’s gaze, she rolled her eyes. It was perhaps a combination of all those little things that made Sol continue walking until she was at the foot of the dais. A combination of those mundane gestures, of the disinterest with which the Rimemere officials regarded the occasion.
Behind her, Nina’s soft gait followed, the only sound other than the howling of the wind against the castle walls. Sol looked up at Semmena, tears of pure rage burning in her eyelids. It struck her then, Gaven had mentioned this tradition briefly when they spoke about Cas and his sentence.
Rimemere tradition has a sort of tournament to see who the Queens marry.
Screw this man.
And screw traditions.
She knew she needed to be here, to continue her mother’s work, but gods be damned if she was going down without a fight.
“I’m not marrying any of those people,” she breathed, halting in front of the King. “I don’t agree to this.”
He shrugged, his crown—her crown—shifting atop his black curls. “It’s mandatory for rulers to take a partner through the Coronation Vows. You cannot Awaken, therefore take the throne, without it.”
“Where is your partner, Majesty?” Sol crossed her arms over her chest. “You rule alone.”
Gasps fluttered through the room. Clearly, the crowd was appalled at her outburst, but she didn’t care. Even Hand Gina gave her a stern glare, but as soon as Sawyer stepped up next to Sol, even Samara seemed to tense.
“I can argue that was the plan all along,” her cousin said.
“Keep your theories out of facts, Sawyerlyn,” Gina sneered.
“Your mother befell a great tragedy.”
Sawyer scoffed. “Yeah, she befell, alright.”
“If you aren’t in agreement with the way we do things here, Princess, you are free to return to your life in Graniela and let us continue to prosper.” Semmena raised a brow. “You have my blessing to relinquish your right to rule.”
Sol let a small smile spread across her lips, fueled by the challenge. “Convenient.”
“We are wasting time. Leave or be fine with this, Yarrow,” Samara said, waving a hand. “If we don’t have to host the Vows, it gives us more time to do what actually matters, like kill the Jinn and all. Something your mother should’ve done.”
