With her, I can do this.
With her, I can do anything.
The doors open into the throne room, a mixture of visiting royalty, Emerald nobility, and a fair number of Wardens all gathered to witness the historic event.
I want to turn and flee.
Ingrid seems to know, hesitating with me before stepping through. She gives me an encouraging nod, and I take the first step.
Together.
The first to question me is Viscount Velmarch, stepping forward with a drunken swagger.
“By what right do you claim this throne?” he asks, watching me carefully.
“By the choosing of Crownwood,” I recite. Banishing the Calessevans didn’t win me many favors with the nobility, but they weren’t well-liked, so the harm has been relatively minimal. Many have held out for this day. I’ve even heard there are bets whether we’ll be rejected in the end after all.
Ingrid joked we could replenish most of what Farandir’s addiction drained from our coffers by betting on ourselves. Asconfident as I am that Crownwood has chosen us both, that feels like a step too far. The fates laugh at those who are led by hubris.
“Do you intend to rule, or keep?” asks Countess Fenrelle, doing an admirable job to keep a straight face considering the things she’s seen Val and I do in our bounty hunting days. At least without him here, she’s less likely to want to relive the glory days.
I’d originally been sad to think my best friend wouldn’t be able to attend my coronation, but I’ve had enough ‘I told you so’s from him for a lifetime. He can stay on his mission a bit longer as far as I’m concerned.
“I will keep what has rooted and tend that yet to grow,” I answer, enunciating every word.
Countess Fenrelle’s stony expression cracks, and she winks at me, flashing a smile to Ingrid.
Hilduin approaches in full armor, staring me down like I’m a new recruit rather than an old friend or the soon-to-be-crowned king. But it’s all part of the ritual. A king who can’t even handle a ceremonial interrogation is not fit for the throne.
“When the reach demands more than you have, what will you give?”
Of course that’s the question she chose. There are a number of possible options for each questioner, which means I had to study the expected answers for all of them.
I hold her gaze. “I will give my strength until the roots hold fast again.”
Hilduin’s steely eyes stay locked on me, a silent challenge I don’t back down from. Finally, she steps back.
“Against what do you stand?” Archdruid Iskra asks in her toad-like voice, beetle eyes glittering under a curtain of moss.
“I stand against rot, ruin, and that which would break Crownwood’s roots.”
Iskra flashes a jagged, yellow smile before scurrying back to the crowd.
I take a step back, no more relieved now that it’s over than I was before it began.
Ingrid steps forward and faces the same battery of questions. She’s magnificent. Effortless.
Absolutely radiant when she looks back at me after answering Iskra, extending her hand toward me.
Countess Fenrelle comes to the front again as I take Ingrid’s hand, finally feeling rooted once more.
“One final question, since this is an…unusual situation,” the countess says, still smirking.
I don’t share her amusement, only panic washing through me.One more? What?
There are supposed to be four questions.
We answered the customary four.
