Again, he nodded, though it appeared as if it were more to himself than to her. Reyna merely stood with her hands clasped tightly together. She did not crave power over the realms and the kingdoms, no. But she did crave power overhim.
He didn’t deserve to sit on that throne, ruling over the ice fae. Neither did his scheming mother. Reyna did not know how she would get the High Queen off that throne, but Reyna would not rest until she did.
The massive oak doors cracked open, and Thane motioned her inside. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and strode forward. This day, the hall was not the bustle of activity it had been in the days before. The tables had been pushed to the side to create a single aisle down the center of the room, leading straight to the throne.
Where the High Queen sat tall.
Reyna sized up her opponent. Imogen Selkirk was not an air fae, and she did not look like one. Born in the Sea Court, she had an angular face, sapphire eyes, and blue hair that cascaded down her body, stopping at her waist. A small circlet of golden thorns sat atop her head, but she would have had a courtly bearing even without the crown. Her yellow gown dipped low between her breasts, forming the shape of a V that led straight down to her navel. Golden swirls were embroidered into the trim, highlighting her tanned skin. The arms of her gown were much like the ones that Reyna had worn so far, long and flaring at the ends.
The High Queen beckoned her forward.
Squaring her shoulders, Reyna took purposeful steps toward the thorny throne. Her slippered feet scuffed along the thin, golden carpet that stretched between a few rows of curious fae. There were about a dozen witnesses, and they all twisted to watch her, silence hanging heavily in the air. If she were a more timid fae, she might feel forced to cast her eyes to the carpet that passed beneath her feet. But Reyna would do no such thing.
Finally, she reached the end of the aisle where the dais rose up before her, the thorns of the throne curling up toward the white stone ceiling. Thane still stood by her side. Reyna waited. It was customary for a fae—low or otherwise—to defer to the High Queen in terms of conversation. She would not speak until Imogen addressed her.
“Reyna Darragh,” the High Queen of the Air Court drawled. Her voice sounded quite different to what Reyna had expected. Instead of high-pitched and soft, it was deep, commanding, and rough. “Princess of the Ice Court. Or should I say Air Court, as your court will soon be part of mine.Ifyou marry my son.”
Anger roiled through Reyna’s gut. That was the High Queen’s intent. Thane had not said it outright, but it had been suggested all the same. There was a reason the High Queen had avoided her until now. Imogen was not happy about the alliance. Reyna was not sure why, but she would find out.
Until then, she would have to rein in her emotions and not rise to the High Queen’s taunts. Reyna still did not know how she would get Imogen off that throne. She’d hoped to find some gossip to use against her, but she’d come up empty there. Killing her wouldn’t work. She didn’t even have a dagger anymore. So, for now, Reyna would play nice and ask for her assistance with something easy, make her think that they were friends. And part of the reason they had allied in the first place was so that the Air Court could help with the dark magic sweeping through the ice fae lands.
“Thank you for finally meeting with me.” Reyna bowed her head. “I wonder if I could speak with you about something that plagues my kingdom.”
“Not a fan of pleasantries, then, I surmise,” Imogen said icily.
Reyna shifted on her feet. She had chosen the direct route, as that was how her father preferred it, but it seemed this queen was fond of games. How extraordinarily tiresome. By her side, Thane cleared his throat.
“Apologies.Your Majesty.I am so eager to help my homeland that I forgot my manners. Indeed, I hope you are well. I am sure the brisk wind aides your health.”
Imogen waved her hand dismissively. “It is too late for all that now. Get on with it. You want something. What is it?”
Reyna steeled her nerves. Imogen was an interesting one. She was testing Reyna, seeing if she could knock her off balance. Reyna would not allow herself to fall. “As you know, my lands have been plagued by a cruel magic. We call it the Ruin. It destroys entire villages. It kills innocents within moments of its touch. And now it has blinded my sister.”
“So I have heard,” Imogen said, staring down her nose at Reyna. “That is why, is it not, that you chose to marry my son? Your far more capable sister is ill in her bed.”
“It is true,” Reyna agreed. “Glencora has spent her life learning the ways of the court, and I have not. However, I have much to offer the—”
“Much to offer?” Imogen spread her arms as wide as the thorns around her, and then she laughed. “Then, why are you here begging for your High Queen’s help against an enemy you cannot banish yourself?”
Reyna’s chest flushed, heat creeping into her neck. “It is not as simple as fighting an army. There is something magical in its nature. We need—”
“Enough,” Imogen hissed. “I have heard enough. You are either clever with your words or you have gone mad. Magic vanished a hundred years ago. I wished to ally with your court when it was Glencora who would end up standing by my son, but I do not approve of this ridiculous betrothal. You removed yourself from the line of succession. You are no princess in my eyes.”
Reyna drew herself up. A tense cough echoed from the courtiers standing witness.
“Imogen,” a soft, soothing voice spoke up from Reyna’s left. She turned to see the older version of Thane striding to stand beside her. The prince’s uncle, Lord Bowen, she believed. His shoulders were thrown back in determination, but his smile was kind. “Perhaps you should reconsider. The girl is pleading for the safety of her people. If there is a dark magic plaguing her kingdom—”
“Oh, dear.” Imogen tsked and shook her head. “You sound as though you believe her every word. The girl is clearly mad.”
Reyna stiffened. “I am not mad.”
Imogen leaned forward, baring her teeth. “If you are not mad, then your lands are cursed. Leave me. I wish to speak of this no longer.”
Reyna opened her mouth to argue, but Thane placed a soft hand on her arm. She almost jerked from surprise, recoiling from his touch.
“Come, Reyna,” he murmured. “You must go.”
Heart pounding, she fought to control her emotions. Princess Reyna—Thane’s betrothed—needed to behave herself as long as Imogen controlled the crown. As much as she wanted to scream and shout and wave her arms like windmills, she could not. All she could do was leave, the weight of the courtiers’ piteous gazes on her back.
