“What’s the plan, Kel?” Ezryn asks as we convene outside the throne room.
Behind us, a host of guards stands ready, but I notice them shooting nervous glances at Cas.
Caspian hasn’t said anything since we left the room. He dressed, for once, in his own clothes instead of Keldarion’s oversize ones, and he looks much like the Prince of Thorns as I first knew him, expression miles away. Currently, he stands beside Ezryn, hands in his pockets. Kel wanted his wrists bound, but the rest of us refused.
You don’t have to come, I speak into Cas’s mind.I can meet you in the room after.
And miss all the fun?Caspian flicks his gaze to mine.Never.
With a sigh, I turn to Keldarion. My heart beats slowly and heavily, like it’s been punctured. We were so close to breaking the curse.
“Sira has invaded the Winter Realm alone,” Keldarion says. “We can’t expect the offer of a peace treaty, though she undoubtedly lost a substantial force with the destruction of the Great Chasm. Whatever she says, we should consider it a lie.”
“Do you have any idea what she could want, Cas?” Farron asks, placing a hand on Cas’s shoulder.
“I don’t know.” Caspian flinches from his touch. “She wouldn’t have come here without a plan. My mother always has a plan.”
Keldarion takes a long, hard look at him. There’s so much emotion in that look, part agony, part anger. But there’s love there too.
We step into the throne room, the air so cold it burns my lungs. My breath fogs before me. The only sound is the jangle of the guards’ armor following behind us and the heavy echo of the doors as Keldarion gestures for them to be shut. Shadows slither along the icy walls, the light from the torches dimming as if snuffed by invisible hands.
And then I see her.
Up on the dais, Sira sits upon the icy throne of Winter, tendrils of mist curling like claws about her. Her gown is alive, an ever-shifting thing of night. Her lips curve into a sly, knowing smile that makes my stomach twist, because it’s so similar to that of the man Ilove.
She leans back, one leg crossed over the other. Her hand lazily drapes over the armrest. “Ah,” she purrs, “you’ve finally arrived. And brought all the realms to greet your queen. Howquaint.”
Every instinct in me screams to attack, to lunge at her and wipe that smug expression off her face, but I force myself still. She’s baiting us.
“There is no queen here but the one who walks beside us,” Ezryn says.
Keldarion puts a hand on Ezryn’s chest and steps forward. “Sira,” he says, his voice sharp enough to cut glass, “you’ve trespassed into my realm. State your business, or face the consequences.”
She tilts her head, her dark hair cascading like a river of ink. “Oh, Keldarion, darling, so formal. And here I thought you might offer me a warm welcome.” Her sly grin widens, revealing teeth a little too sharp. “But I suppose warmth has never been your strong suit.”
Farron growls low in his throat, stepping up beside Keldarion. I sense the magic simmering under his skin. “Nomore riddles, Sira. Speak your purpose before we lose our patience.”
Her eyes flick to Farron, then to me. When our gazes meet, a cold shiver runs down my spine. There’s something almost playful in her expression, like a predator toying with its prey.
My mother always has a plan.
“I came,” she says, dragging out the words as if savoring them, “because I thought it only polite to congratulate you all on your…little victories. Destroying the Great Chasm? Clever. And the Autumn princeling’s newfound strength… Why, that surprised me. Truly, it’s all very impressive. But let’s not pretend you’ve won. You’ve simply delayed the inevitable.”
“You’re bluffing.” The words leave my mouth like a challenge. “You wouldn’t be here if you still held the upper hand.”
“Oh, Rosalina,” she says, my name dripping with mockery. “Always so quick to speak, so eager to play the hero. Tell me, how does it feel knowing the day will end in tragedy?”
I take a step forward, ignoring the cautionary glance Keldarion shoots me. “If you think you can intimidate us?—”
“Intimidate you? No, little one. I’ve come to give you a present.”
“We want nothing from you,” Keldarion says.
Her laughter fills the room, echoing off the icy walls like a haunting melody. “Oh, but you haven’t even seen it yet. I assume you’ll find it…difficult to refuse.”
The shadows around her gown writhe as if alive, and for a moment, the air feels heavier, the weight of her presence pressing down. I glance at Caspian, standing rigid and silent at the edge of our formation. His jaw is tight, his hands clenched.
Sira’s gaze drifts to him. “Isn’t that right, my son?”
