“Raelle Mansi, accompanied by her parents Abrum and Cassa and her siblings, requests an audience with His Majesty.”
The announcer’s words throw my world into slow motion. I open my eyes to find Abrum wearing his guard uniform, with Cassa’s slender arm looped in his. Her red hair is streaked with gray, and the curls bounce around her shoulders. Rowan walks behind them, his hands clenched at the back of his military jacket. Salone follows her brother while holding Ansley’s hand. The wild, fiery mane and playful spring in the youngest Mansi’s step is a sharp contrast to Salone’s graceful strides and sleek ginger locks. At the end of their family parade is Raelle. She focuses straight ahead, avoiding the curious stares of onlookers. Her golden-brown hair is tied at her nape, and she wears a long, dark blue coat, belted at her waist. Even in the simple attire, she takes my breath away.
Abrum and Cassa reach the end of the dais and bow, with Rowan, Salone, and Ansley following suit. Raelle walks in front of them and lowers to her knees. Her ponytail slides over her shoulder, brushing her round cheek. My fingers tingle with the need to sweep her hair back and lift her chin until our eyes meet. Even when I was crowned my mother’s heir, I always pictured our situation in reverse. I accepted my crown for her, and I had every intention of one day submitting to her rule.
Eager to get her off her knees, I say, “You may rise.”
Abram helps his wife to her feet and places his hand over hers in the crook of his elbow. The Mansi children stand, all but one. Raelle remains kneeling, her head hung in submission. Her father glances at her, and I swear I see uncertainty flash across his face. My relationship with Abrum almost spans two decades. I’ve watched him march troops to battles where he knew we were outnumbered, and he never showed half the worry he exudes in this one look.
I study Raelle, searching for a clue as to what’s going on. She’s motionless, her palms on the ground and eyes staring down. “Why are you here?” I ask, dropping my formal façade.
“I wish to publicly announce my loyalty to you as my king,” she says, her voice soft and submissive.
“That’s not necessary.”
She lifts her head, her eyes burning with certainty. “My father, mother, and siblings pledged their allegiance to you. All the people in this room have kneeled to you. I’d like to do the same.”
I don’t like whatever she is doing. She is my equal, yet she’s postured as if she is below me. As much as I want to pull her off the ground, I also don’t want to humiliate her.
“Your loyalty to me goes without saying, Raelle. But if this is what you want.” I’d bend for her a million ways, but the ache in my gut tells me this isn’t right.
“It is, Your Majesty.”
I lock eyes with her and tilt my chin, attempting to understand why she is doing this. Why does she feel compelled to voice her commitment to me as king? Micah abolished the old tradition when he took the throne. He didn’t want his people faithful to him, but to the kingdom. If he ever let those under his rule down, he didn’t want them to turn their back on Lucent. But the complexities of my rule and reuniting Pliris revived the custom. Many like Abrum and Borin felt it was necessary to make a public display and kneel before my throne. They believed by pledging their loyalty others would fall in line and accept my rule. My parah is clearly under the same impression.
Placing her hand over her heart, Raelle bows her head and says, “I declare before the Statera and those assembled here today that Kyron Niklaus LeFur is my sovereign. I freely choose to live under his rule and place my trust in him. From this day forward, I will honor him as my king.”
“May the Statera bind your vow,” the room says as one.
Until this moment, the vows of the Mansis, Borin, Greer, Terro, and most recently, Ulric were the most important to me. Having my friends declare their loyalty to me was strange. I didn’t need them to say the words. Their friendship over the years was testament enough. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in knowing each of them stood with me. As much as I hate seeing her like this, her vow is the only one I need.
I don’t care if it is against protocol or unbecoming of a king. My arms ache to hold her against me. I move to stand but stop short. Raelle pulls the belt holding her coat free. The navy-blue wool falls around her, leaving her in a plain white shift. She presses her forehead to the ground and every muscle in my body tenses.
No. Not this.
She wouldn’t submit in such an extreme way. Not the girl who fought for her father. Not the princess who went to battle without fear. Not the queen who sacrificed her crown for my life.
I sit in wide-eyed shock as her words join the mumblings coming from the crowd. “My family is whole because of you, but my rescue didn’t come without substantial risk to every person in this kingdom. I hear their unrest and mourn with those whose families suffer without their loved ones. I kneel before this court to let the people of Pliris know that they should not lose hope. The sacrifice you made to save my life wasn’t for nothing. I’m dedicated to serving this kingdom and doing whatever it takes to bring every Cyffred home. It doesn’t matter how my king calls me to serve. I place myself at your feet and dedicate my life to serving you and Pliris. I will go where you send me, obey what you require of me, and treat no task as if it is beneath me. From this day forward, I am your faithful subject.”
Pure rage ignites within me. It burns through my skin, heating my face. I gnash my teeth and dig my fingernails into my palms. Raelle can ask anything of me, and I’d happily do it. I’d steal, lie, and kill for her, but not this.
I push out of the throne and stalk down the dais, refusing to confirm her pledge to me and the kingdom. As I pass Raelle, I hiss, “Get. Up.” I don’t wait to see if she follows my demand. My self-control is slipping and words I’ll regret are threatening to spill from my mouth. I charge out of the sanctuary, and as soon as I’m out of everyone’s view, I plant my fist into the stone wall. My parah just tried to dedicate the rest of her existence to this kingdom and my crown as a servant.
What the actual fuck?
Sixteen
RAELLE
I’ve had my moments of upsetting Kyron. We’ve butted heads on several issues. Never have I seen him as angry as he was earlier today. I had a feeling he wouldn’t like the choice I made, but I didn’t expect him to explode the way he did. The impact of his quiet detonation was so powerful that it shook me to my core. I was left with scrapes and bruises, and he seemed to bleed out before I could save him.
The urge to run after him propelled my feet into motion, but my father caught me before I could reach him. He spoke reason into my frantic need to fix what I had done, talking me into giving my parah space. I tried, busying myself with unpacking and going through the motions of my nightly routine. When it all became too much, I resorted to pacing the corridor leading to the staircase to his room. Thousands of steps later, my legs ache, and I’ve plopped down on the hard bottom step. My back hurts, my stomach is rumbling, and I’ve shed quite a few tears. Still, I wait.
Footsteps echo down the corridor, and I sit up and smooth the soft pink skirt of my nightgown. My breath hitches as I wait for Kyron to round the corner. I have no clue what to expect, but my guess is that it will get worse before it gets better. I’m willing to face that if it means making him understand why I did what I did.
My lips rattle with a long exhale and I prop my chin in my palm as Leif and Wel come into view. The two look happy, walking hand in hand. Their clothes are disheveled—tunics untucked and Leif’s sandy hair standing on end. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they’ve been up to. They have never been good at keeping their hands off each other.
My best friend nudges me over with his hip, squeezing next to me on the step. Old habits appear to be hard to break for Wel because he bows before leaning against the wall across from us.
