This is what I was waiting for him to say the moment he revealed who my father was.
What am I supposed to say to that? I don’t know anything about the royal court. I have no idea how to even be in the presence of anyone royal, let alone lead an entire nation.
I’m a bookstore owner, for crying out loud.
“I’m not quite sure what to say,” is all I can settle on.
He offers me a sad smile and says, “You’ll have help. You’re not expected to do this alone. Our success, the kingdom’s success, relies on you being the queen. You’ll undergo lessons before your formal coronation. You’ll have an entire support system to help you through this.”
“What if I say no? What if I don’t want to do this?”
He tilts his head and offers me that sad smile again. He reaches into his desk and places a document on the worn wooden surface.
“I wish I could honor that request. Your father’s will names you as heir to the throne. Aside from that, the moment you were born, you were born a High Princess. And the moment the royal family died, you became next in line to be the High Queen. The only way to stop this is to get married, birth an heir, and then abdicate the throne. You can delegate all the responsibilities to your council and essentially be a figurehead for the kingdom, or you can be actively involved in ruling. While there is some choice, there isn’t a choice on whether or not you are the High Queen.”
I take the document from the table. Despite the heaviness of the news, the white envelope is light in my hands. I slide a finger underneath the seal and remove the will.
Ivan is right. Should every other possible heir die, my name is listed as the next High Queen of the Woodland Kingdom and Queen of the Deer Court. My father’s signature is scrawled at the bottom of the page.
King Silas Fairbarn
I study the scrawl of theSand try to envision him sitting here, signing his will. Writing my name.
Queen of the Deer.
High Queen of The Woodland Kingdom.
I lift my head. Through the window behind Ivan, a doe dips her head to snack on the mossy ground. Sun filters through the treetops. It’s a beautiful day out, a stark contrast to yesterday and a welcome change.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” Ivan says, pulling my focus back to him.
“Yes. First one: Are you sure this isn’t a joke?” I ask, trying—and failing—to laugh at my own joke. Instead, I give some sort of awkward half-smile. Humor has always been my favorite coping mechanism.
He returns the smile, but it looks more like it’s full of pity.
“Of that, I am positive. I know this is a lot. We have a lot to discuss today, but first, I’d like to introduce you to the Herd and show you around the grounds.”
I’m not sure who the Herd are, but I nod slowly as I struggle to keep up with my racing thoughts and the questions that are fighting for space in my brain, fighting for the chance to land on my tongue, my lips, and out into the open air.
One question makes its way, though. It’s been stuck vying for space for the last twenty-five years, and I can’t help but ask it: “Who was my mother?”
Although my mother was her sister, Willa never spoke of her. Whenever I asked about her, Willa would either pretend like I didn’t ask, or she’d promise to tell me later.
She never did. I eventually stopped asking.
To my surprise, Ivan smiles at the question like he knew her. Hope blossoms in my chest.
“Her name was Orla.”
Orla. My mother’s name was Orla. I fight the urge to repeat the name, to feel the way it sounds coming from my mouth.
“Did you know her?” I ask, trying desperately to keep the hope out of my voice.
“I knew of her, but I didn’t know her personally.”
“What did you know of her?” This time, the hope comes through. I can’t help it. I’ve been yearning for information about my mother for twenty-five years.
Ivan nods, that smile of pity back on his face. “She was a High Fae Princess. A powerful one who was well-loved by the Fae Kingdom.” He nods toward me. “You have her hair.”
