Arienna’s coronation is in eighteen days.
I feared her becoming queen.
Now she never will.
Seventeen
A good little slut listens to her king.
Especially when he tells her to eat.
- Arienna
Beaming, I leave the Council Room with Richard. As soon as the door opens, I throw myself at Fabia. “I did it!” I squeal.
“You have to stop hugging me,” she whispers in my ear so Richard can’t hear. “I need my hands to protect you.”
“Oh, right.” Releasing her, I step back. “Sorry.”
She smiles, then gestures for me to walk ahead of her. Richard pulls me down the hall, but I crane my head around to talk.
“I finally helped someone!”
“Was it about sex?” Her eyes skirt around us, checking for any danger.
“Nope! Though I did offer my toys to Bailey – Oh, that’s her!” I point at the teal-haired woman stepping out of the Council Room. She nods at me, making the stud piercings in her cheeks twinkle in the light. “She needs help getting off.”
She coughs, blushing hard, but my attention moves to Marrabel. A smile is gracing her lips, and my heart aches with relief.
“How’s Saragese?” I ask, so happy that she’s made it through the night. I wasn’t sure at breakfast this morning –Marrabel still looked so sad– but someone must have told her that her sister was okay while we were in the Council Room.
“Oh! Can we go see her?” I ask, turning to Richard. “Do we have time before dinner with the ladies and lords?” When he told me what our duties for the day were going to be, he mentioned we’d be eating with them after we met with the Court. It would be a time for me to mingle with the nobles and gain their support.
“No,” he says softly.
“Can we see her after?”
“Your Majesty,” Marrabel says, and I turn to her with a smile.
Only to have it fall.
Gone is the humour that lit her eyes earlier. Now there is a wetness. The same wetness, it seems, that is clawing its way up my throat.
My lip wobbles.
Richard grabs my hand.
I squeeze him for all I’m worth.
My heart aching, I stumble down the hall, waiting for her to speak. To tell me that what I’m fearing isn’t true.
“Saragese is dead,” she says flatly, no emotion in her words. And I realise she carries that same shield inside her that Richard does. That Jace did as he held me in his arms last night, telling me he did not cry because he was too familiar with death.
Is that what we’re supposed to do here? Wear armour so heavily inside us that swords of grief can’t cut us down?
I look at my king. He doesn’t look at me.
I look at Fabia. She glances away.
