“Was that Rhiannon leading the attack?”
“The queen would never involve herself in such affairs.”
My chest inflamed, fingers pressing into the edges of the table. “Such affairs?”
Dorian’s eyebrows pulled together, but his face remained otherwise impassive. “We have warriors. Men and women we sent out.”
“Then the fae women supplied the magic,” I said. “When my kingdom was attacked.”
He shifted in the armchair like I had made him uncomfortable. He slid a book off the table between us and opened it. His eyes lowered. “Most of it, yes.”
So I sat inside a kingdom where women ruled, where men must step aside and bow. Where a woman’s magic could bring a man to his knees. Where you didn’t question your monarch’s orders.
But one thing didn’t make sense.
“You aren’t a warrior.” I stared at Dorian—at his face, his form. “Yes, you can fight. But you did a shit job of killing me. You hesitated.” I stayed leaning forward, fingers pressing harder into the wood. “What were you really doing in the Dip?”
As if I had said nothing, Dorian raised the book, turning it around to present an illustration of a woman on a bramble throne with a gnarled scepter in hand. Her hair flowed long and wild from her head to her feet.
“This is Queen Carys, the greatest ruler of the Sylvanwild Court. She was the fae who set the precedent for one court’s rule.”
I stared at him overtop the book, wondering if I should press him. No; already I knew Dorian couldn’t be pressed. I sat back. “Why did she set this precedent?”
He turned the book back toward him, gaze resting on the illustration. “She didn’t set the precedent because she was chosen,” he said. “She set it because no one could stop her.”
His eyes lifted, his voice stayed even, but there was something flint-edged beneath it. “The other courts loved to argue. Hesitate. Wait for consensus. Carys walked into the throne rooms of the courts one by one and made them bend the knee.”
I didn’t know whether to be impressed or alarmed. Maybe both.
“And did they?” I asked.
“All but one. Highmark.”
“What happened?”
“A queen’s beheading. One stroke.” My chest tightened, an image flashing to mind of a head dropping from a neck. “Rhiannon is of Carys’s line. The same blood that carved a crown out of thorns.”
A chill ran up my arms. Rhiannon Blackbriar. “And how long ago did Carys rule?”
“Four hundred years ago. Her bloodline has an unmatched connection to magic.”
“Even among the other courts?”
“Exactly. Which is another reason for the trials and picking of champions.”
“How did she die?”
“That’s a story we haven’t time for today.” He let out a breath. “It was an entire fucking war.”
A war to take down one super-powerful queen. Now I was beginning to understand. “The other courts would never ascend to rule if they didn’t implement the trials.”
He tapped the picture. “It was Carys herself who chose them.”
My gaze sharpened on him. “But you said she was killed in a war.”
“Yes, decadesafterthe trials were created.Though Carys was vicious, she was also wise,” he said. “She didn’t believe it was beneficial to a kingdom for one bloodline to rule for thousands of years.”
Instinct told me Carys was right. I thought of the regiment commander’s ruddy nose, his weariness after only thirty years of leading the guard in the southern district. He’d probably done a far better job as a younger, less proven man.
