“How bad has it been, Barrett?” I whisper as he leads us down the hall.
He doesn’t turn, but I can hear him all the same. “Marik keeps trying to force us to house witches in our court. Every time we say no, we receive fewer resources from the High Court to support our own. Not to mention, cambions and the Cursed haunt the forest. Every morning, there are more animals for us to bury.”
I wince. That’s worse than August’s report.
Torben and Artis are already seated on their thrones when we arrive, Torben in another set of brown pants and shirt, Artis in a loose shift dress the color of a fern. She gives Asmo and me a gracious smile as we enter. “Welcome back. Sleep well?”
No, I tossed and turned as I thought about undead animals ripping me and everyone I loved apart. I dreamed of Marik’s grin as he choked an innocent male with writhing wildfire. I dreamed Asmo held the flames next.“Yes. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Torben clears his throat. “Right, well. I think it’s best if we dive right into it, don’t you?”
I don’t miss the fact that Torben still looks at me with distrust, nor does the fact escape me that Asmo and I have not been offered a place to sit.
My palms turn clammy, but I nod. “Perfect.”
Torben leans forward. “You said yesterday that your friend is a prisoner on the throne. That’s how Marik and Cora are getting away with this, forcing an unwilling female to use dark magic to pretend to be you. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Her name is Elle. She was an advisor to the High Throne. To me and to my father. She was responsible for helping me escape the First Witch and Marik on the night of my wedding. Without her, I’d either be dead or chained in the dungeons. Although she is a prisoner, we’ve found a way to make contact with her, and we can use her imprisonment to our advantage. She can get us information on guard placements, shift changes, potentially even information on Marik’s plans.”
Sweat pools under my arms. We have no idea if Elle can do this. We have no idea if she’ll even agree to try. Telling Torben our hopeful plan, without telling him it’s not a concrete plan, is all a huge gamble. But Asmo and I agreed this may be our best shot at securing Ursidae’s support. And therefore, our best shot at getting Elle out and my throne back.
Torben raises an eyebrow. “And what happens when Marik realizes what she’s doing? She’ll be dead with a snap of his finger.”
“She’s careful. She won’t?—”
Torben laughs, but Artis’s smile is now gone. I bristle as I’m reminded of another male sitting on a throne of branches, laughing at me like I’m the kingdom’s biggest fool. Barrett straightens, jaw clenched as he looks at the stone floor.
“This is your plan? This is how you expect to get the kingdom back?” he asks, placing a hand on his belly as he leans back on his throne and snickers.
My lip curls. Months ago, I would have folded at the challenge, at the insulting laugh. Now, it just pisses me off. I will iceand steel into my tone. “I’m coming to you for help. I cannot do this alone. Marik and Cora have the Royal Guard, the Serpent House, and the witches to protect them. I have nothing. I need your court.”
Torben’s laugh dies. “This war might as well be over. Our court alone cannot help you, girl.”
Asmo bristles beside me, tension radiating from him.
I’m the fucking High Queen, not agirl.Inhale, exhale. When I’m back on my throne, I can be picky about the insulting pet names that grown males use to belittle powerful females.
“We also have the support of House Canis,” I counter. “I feel confident that House Panthera will assist. We have to get Marik and Cora off the throne.”
“No.” Torben’s answer is a sledgehammer to my heart.
“All due respect, Torben,” I say, intentionally refraining from referring to him by his title. Although he isaking, I amtheQueen, and he answers to me. “I do not accept your answer. If you refuse my aid, you’re dooming the rest of the kingdom to the same fate that your court will eventually succumb to. Make no mistake, Cora and Marik will succeed in starving your court or overrunning it. Either way, you will have to face them. Do it alone, or do it with me and whatever allies I procure. The choice is yours.”
Torben’s features grow taut, and the throne room goes silent, save for thetap, tap, tapof his meaty finger on his throne of branches. The one crafted after the High Throne. My throne.
“Father,” Barrett says cautiously. “She is our High Queen. She is coming to us for assistance, and she is right. If we do nothing, our people—innocent people—will die.”
Torben turns his head toward Barrett. His voice is low and grave. “Son, it is my responsibility to protect our court. I can protect them here, but if we send our young males to fight in a woefully understaffed army against witches, we are just signing their death certificates. The witches were responsible for the fall of the Fae Kingdom. They are strong and they are merciless, and they will stop at nothing. My answer is no. We cannot help. This war is lost already.”
My magic roils underneath the surface, as if begging to unleash onTorben. I swore an oath to protect. It’s in my blood to do so, and this buffoon of a male is denying me aid.
Artis clears her throat. “We will send aid if you can secure the support of Houses Canis and Panthera. However, we will not mandate our citizens to fight. We will provide them with the facts of what they will be facing and give them the choice.”
Torben’s face turns red, his hands balling into tight, angry fists. “Artis?—”
She holds a graceful hand up to her husband, her gaze still fixed on mine. “You are young, Your Highness. You have a hard road ahead of you, regardless of which path you choose to take. I hope you understand we are just doing what is necessary to protect our own.” She stands. Torben reluctantly joins her. “Our son will walk you out,” she says. Although her eyes are warm, her tone is firm.
My hands threaten to shake, and I clasp them behind my back tightly. I want to collapse, to beg, to offer anything for their help, for the promise of hope again. But I straighten my spine and say, “You said you would help us.”
