“High Queen Barbara was beloved by us all, and I was proud to be her subject!”
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, I remind myself.
“Yes, hurrah! Hail Barbara! Good rest!”
“However, we now struggle. Leaderless, cut off from Gorok’s Arken light, wandering in darkness like our ancestors,” he says, voice heavy and dramatic. Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Some sigh, others wipe their eyes. More than a few heads turn towards me. Curiosity. Expectation.
“BUT NO MORE!” He bellows, throwing his hands high, and the crowd explodes in response.
“Give honour to your best,” Jestin declares, then bows before me. The assembly follows suit. General Riven, his Dragthrall brothers, Aidon, those who wept, and those whose faces are carved with horror all pay homage.
He leaves me no choice but to obey, though at least he draws enthusiasm from the crowd before forcing me to speak. What am I doing? What now? My power responds to my emotions, and I fight to contain it.
Not. Fucking. Here!
I meet Jestin’s gaze, and it holds so much undeserved faith. I stand on wobbly legs, almost tripping on my robe.
“Rise,” I command, using the strongest voice I can summon. Slowly, they stand, but the easy-going atmosphere Jestin brought is gone. The silence is deafening.
Recite the blessing, you must know it, suggests Aidon.
Right, I know.
“May the Solstice Night be fruitful for you, may the rest of the year bear fruit, double your crops.” I hesitate. Can I fucking say it? Am I overstepping by speaking on Gorok’s behalf? Please, don’t smite me. “The Great Architect blesses you. Now go with peace.”
“Hurrah!”
“Yes, thank you!”
“Hail the Queen!!”
“High Queen!”
They are celebrating. Dancing, grabbing arms, some crying, some laughing.
I was definitely not prepared for that reaction.
Jestin walks to me with a stunning grin, offering his arm, and I take it. “Wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“It was terrible,” I whine, but I grab tighter, letting him lead me out of here.
“We should go to them,” Jestin offers, and I don’t protest. It is easier with him. Like he walks a path for me, so I can follow.
I know it should be the other way, but I will take any help I can get. I am not strong enough to do it on my own.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Riven steps between us, wings folded, gaze sharp. “We’ve shown our cards today; the market is the most obvious place for an assassination,” he states firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
“None would dare,” I say, ready to argue, but when I look at Jestin, worry paints his face. Clearly, he disagrees.
“Risk,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What was that?” Jestin asks softly, his tone gentle this time
“Nothing”, I reply.
“I am sorry, My Lady, I don’t want to risk losing you,” says Riven, no humour in his warrior face. He wants to keep me safe above anything else.
It’s not like I am dying to go. Am I?
