She lifts her dirty, bloodied face toward me, and the devastation on it hits me in the gut. She quickly explains what happened when it shattered, the way she could feel her power corrupted and throttled.
“It’s the bracelet,” she says quietly. “Whatever kind of Siphon blood magic is in it… it’s fucking everything up. Will anyone listen to my commands without the Dire Blade?”
I shrug. “We know the Dire Blade existed during the reign of the Sturmfrost Queens, but we don’t know how it was used. Regardless, the people will follow your lead because they’ll come to accept that you’re the rightful regent.”
Her mouth twists in skepticism, and I don’t blame her.
“Things will be under control when the Sovereign Alpha arrives,” I continue. “No one can deny the power you hold, and no one would dare move against Siegrid. She’s too respected and feared by the Bonded.”
“Okay.” Meryn glances down at the ruined gown she’s still wearing. “Ugh, I need to clean up and find something else to wear.”
I sigh and reach down a hand to guide her up. “I know someone who can help us with that.”
Cratos and Anassa leave to deal with the rest of the wolves, and I lead Meryn through the twisting bowels of the castle. Eventually, we reach a huge wooden door, and I knock.
“Come in,” says an aged, elegant voice.
We enter an office that overlooks the snow-covered front gardens through a wall of ornate windows. It’s richly decorated but not ostentatious, and at the center of the room is a beautifully carved wooden desk. An older woman with a tight gray bun and a shrewd gaze stands behind it.
“Your Highness,” the woman says to Meryn, bowing deeply.
“This is the Castle Matron, Alienor Bernard,” I tell Meryn, gesturing for her to take one of the plush cobalt-blue chairs in front of the desk.
No one’s sure exactly how old Matron Alienor is; she’s been in charge for long enough that she must be in her eighties, but she looks like she might be in her early sixties. I’ve known her peripherally since I was a child.
She’s never been warm, but she’s always kind.
Meryn looks up, a little perplexed. “Castle… Matron?”
Matron Alienor tilts her head. “Yes. I am the head of staff and facilities here.”
I scoff, taking the chair next to Meryn’s and gesturing for Alienor to sit down, too. “That’s a very basic description of what you do. She’s in charge of everything that happens inside this place, from overseeing the castle servants to repairs to keeping the royals and nobles in line.”
“And now I serve at your pleasure,” she smoothly tells Meryn. She may have been the right hand of the Valtieres for decades, but Alienor is sharp enough to know how to keep her job and her head.
I quickly fill Alienor in on Meryn’s needs: rooms, clothes, attendants.
“Have you considered your Council?” Matron Alienor asks Meryn.
Meryn shakes her head. “I’m sorry; I’m not sure what that means.”
Alienor’s glance to me is so quick that I hope Meryn missed it. In that silent millisecond, she said everything that I know is true: This woman is to be queen, and she knows nothing about the role. Not even the very basics.
It’s one thing to have the crown call to you. Or to ride the most powerful direwolf in centuries. Or to have royal lineage coursing through your veins.
It’s another thing entirely torule.
We all have our work cut out for us, most especially Meryn. I really fucking hope she’s ready to learn this time.
“The Council Palast are your royal advisors,” Matron Alienor says smoothly, no trace of judgment in her tone. “Former King Cyril’s Council comprised myself, the Councilor of Sturmfrost, Sovereign Alpha Siegrid Therion, and then several of his relatives.”
Meryn’s brow furrows. “What purpose did the relatives serve?”
“They advised on relations with commoners, relations with the Bonded, and oversaw the planning of any major events or ceremonies at the castle.”
“Okay,” Meryn says. She quiets, and it’s clear—to me, at least—that she’s getting advice from Anassa. “I’ll keep you and the Sovereign Alpha on the Council. The Councilor of Sturmfrost… well, I suppose I should keep him, too. Get rid of the Valtiere relatives; I’ll replace them with interim advisors.”
Matron Alienor folds her hands in front of herself on the desk. “Which method would you prefer? Beheading? Imprisonment? Dismemberment by wolves?”
