I had to show strength. And according to Faun, I had to show it soon, before the court. In Sylvanwild, Faun had told me, public displays of strength were in the chin and how high you held it.
She helped me dress. Fae servants came and went, bringing food and clothing, but Faun ushered them all out. Only two people remained near me. Faun and Dorian.
I’d asked him to leave, but he remained stubbornly outside my door. He fielded anyone who wanted to come in; I could hear his sharp interrogations through the wood.
I was grateful. I was irritated by my gratitude.
Most of all, I was overwhelmed. Even when Faun sent for the food and the clothing and gave me instructions to eat and drink, to step into this piece of clothing and to sit down so she could brush my hair, I still felt like a human from the Kingdom of Storms. A girl sneaking onto the wall. Small, breakable.
And yet I had somehow killed a queen.
“Lift your arm.” Faun tapped my left shoulder. “I know it hurts, but we need to get you in this dress.”
My gaze sharpened on the standing mirror before me, and the leaf-green dress we’d only gotten on up to the waist. Otherwise I wore a simple white slip. Beneath it, my bandaged left shoulder looked outsized and raw where the bandages didn’t cover.
“Rhiannon never wore anything like this.”
Faun, standing behind me with both hands on the dress’s waist, tilted her head at me in the mirror. She and I were of similar height; another likeness. “You think she wore britches to her coronation?”
“I think she wore whatever she damn well pleased.”
The ghost of a smile passed over Faun’s face before she redirected her attention to the dress. “Focus on talking. I’ll focus on making you imposing.”
Talking—another thing I wasn’t good at. At least, not in the ways these people expected. I had to sound like a queen, to make the Sylvanwild fae trust my worthiness. It was obvious to all of them I wasn’t of Sylvanwild, with my straw hair and blue eyes. And there had never been a Sylvanwild queen who wasn’t of their court. Even Queen Carys, a changeling, had been one of them.
Outside the door, Dorian’s sharp voice resonated through the hallway. Another would-be guest was about to be turned away. Thank the gods for that.
With careful, sure attention, Faun guided my injured arm into the long sleeve of the dress. It was beautiful, beaded with small pearls along the forearm up to the shoulder. “Have you given thought to a consort?”
I winced as she pulled the shoulder of the dress over my body. “Of course.”
“And?”
My lips tightened. “I don’t understand why a matriarchy requires such things. If we’re a queenship?—”
Faun extended the other side of the dress for me to slide my arm in. “Ancient history is never as ancient as you think.”
I guided my arm into the sleeve. “What does that mean?”
“Feyreign wasn’t always matriarchal.”
I glanced back at her. “How could that be? Women have more power.”
Faun directed my head forward and began tying my waist from the back.Tug.“Yes, but we didn’t always know it. That took eons of training to discover. And training your magic in secret isn’t easy when you’re always sweeping and cooking and pregnant, is it?”
I stared at her in the mirror, flinched when she tugged a cinch. “So the fae women were just like human women.”
“For a long time, yes.” Faun’s attention was fixed on my corset.Tug.“Until we discovered, through a great deal of fucking effort, that fae women are closer to the earth’s magic than men could ever hope to be.”
Now I understood. I sighed out, and Faun cinched higher. “Ancient history isn’t so ancient.”
She nodded. “Lots of king dick-swinging. So much of it.”Tug.
I burst into a laugh, which made my shoulder throb. It was worth it. “Glad I didn’t get to that part in the history books.”
“You will, and you’ll have to hold your nose. It’s worth it to be reminded of what every queen in Feyreign agrees on, and fights for.”
“And that is?”
