I would give him a mercy.
I held his eyes a moment longer, then turned away, back toward the corridor where Faun had gone.
“Eurydice—” he said softly.
I paused with my back to him, straightened my spine, and said without looking:
“You’re forgetting, Dorian, that I’m now ‘my queen’ to you.”
I walked on.
There was nothing here for me. I’d never trust him again.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
I cameto the landing atop the throne room with a wrenched heart. Part of me imagined he’d told me everything I wanted to hear—how desperately sorry he was, how he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me—and part of me lived in the truth.
Dorian hated changelings. He’d volunteered for the slaughter of everyone I loved.
I had to stand alone. Well, almost alone.
Faun stood there, waiting. She gestured toward the staircase. “After you.”
I let out a sharp breath. Below, I heard the sounds of many voices.
She stepped close to me, taking my hand. “Make them fucking see you.” Her voice was steel.
I nodded, squeezing her hand.
Before I started down the stairs, I bent down and, one by one, removed my heels. I set them aside. When I glanced back at Faun, both her eyebrows were raised. I gave a half-smile. “I’d rather not die on the way down.”
A glimmer of amusement appeared in her eyes. “A barefoot queen. Like the old way.”
I straightened and turned toward the stairs, looking down over the mass of Sylvanwild fae in the throne room, and realized I didn’t know the old way. Not at all.
I had won a duel, and that made me their queen. But beyond that…
Faun was right. I needed an inner court—badly. And yet the person who was most equipped to teach me about the old ways was the person who now stood in the hall he had guarded for three sleepless days.
Faun’s words from before the Thorn Rite floated back:Think. Improvise.
As applicable at a crowning as in a mud fight.
I lifted the front of my dress and started down the stairs. I sensed Faun following behind. The wood was cool under my feet, and as I descended, I kept my chin high. The sounds of voices below grew louder, and then they quieted.
I reached the bottom of the stairs—and was met by a thousand sets of fae eyes. Many more than I had ever seen. Not just highborn and servants, but fae from around the court’s lands. They wore simple clothes, not ragged but not fine. These were the workers, the laborers, the villagers Faun had told me would be here.The backbone of this court, she’d called them.
Just like in the southern district.
They stood at either side of the path to the throne, all of them but the children—and even some of the children—bigger, sturdier, more rugged than me. Their skin was warm-toned, their hair brown and black. I truly was not of this court.
I thrust the thought aside.
I was the queen; I had claimed the crown.
Forward, and forward. I kept my spine as straight as that first night on the wall, meeting fae eyes as I walked. Faun had given me an hour of preparation—“stare like you see them, like you know their secrets”—and I clung to that. Icould not lower my chin, could not avert my eyes. I had to walk like the tallest person in the room, or else they would be on me like serpents.
The Sylvanwild fae respected the strongest in the room, and she alone.
