“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Reyna smoothed the soft material of Lorcan’s cloak along his shoulders before stepping back to take him in. One of the Wood Court’s seamstresses had fashioned him a new wardrobe, one fit for a dual king. He wore a new breastplate crafted from shadowsteel without a sigil stamped in the center. Instead, the steel had been beaten smooth, leaving behind a blank canvas as clear as a new summer’s day.
His robe was a mixture of deep greens and blacks with swirls of leaves embroidered along the edges. On one shoulder, he wore a pendant of twisting antlers. On the other, he wore the crossed arrows sigil of the Wood Court. His new court. The one he had somehow conquered despite all odds. Only a few weeks ago, he’d been thought dead by everyone, including Reyna.
And now, he was the most powerful fae in all of Tir Na Nog.
“This is the best way for the realms to move forward,” Lorcan said, taking Reyna’s hands in his and holding them to his chest. His skin was warm, like always. His was the only kind of heat that Reyna liked. “We need the wood fae to unite behind me. Some of them will never do that unless I take that Seat of Power as mine. Besides, if I don’t take it, someone else will.”
He had a point. As uneasy as it made her feel, Lorcan’s coronation was the only path forward. Not unless they wanted another fae to take his place on the throne. Unless, of course, they found someone worthy of the seat.
“Would that be such a terrible thing?” she couldn’t help but ask. “Surely there is someone else out there. Another ruler who could be good and kind.”
“I conquered their king, Reyna,” Lorcan said softly, his midnight eyes churning. “What kind of message does it send if I plop someone else on that throne? We’ve taken their realm. The shadow fae have left behind their lands to come here. I have no other choice if I want my people to survive.”
“You already hold the Seat of Power, by killing the king.”
“Not truly,” Lorcan murmured, tucking his finger beneath her chin. “Not in the way it counts. I need to go through with the coronation and say the vows. Otherwise, the power isn’t mine. I know you don’t like this, Reyna. But it’s what I have to do.”
Reyna blew out a breath and nodded, her stomach twisting. “You’re right. I don’t know why I’m so on edge about it all.”
Reyna had felt uneasy about the Wood Court from the moment she’d first stepped foot inside the Tower of Thorns, the home of the wood fae’s Seat of Power. There was something off about it. Something she could not quite name. Molt had been up to something, searching through Fomorian books. And he’d found something, though she didn’t know what. Not until she could find someone capable of translating the words.
For now, she’d hidden the book away, just in case one of Molt’s followers went searching for it. She couldn’t risk it falling into the wrong hands.
“Because after so many years of strife, it’s hard for you to imagine things going right for once.” Lorcan leaned forward and dropped a soft kiss onto her forehead. She leaned into him, breathing in the scent of leather, smoke, and steel. It settled over her like a comforting cloak. “So, what do you think? Am I ready?”
He stepped back once again, and Reyna could not help but appreciate how the ensemble highlighted the strength in his arms and chest. His broad shoulders flared like wings on either side of him, and the light from the rising sun cast shadows around his sharp jawline. She’d never seen him look so strong, so sure of himself. So powerful.
“You’re far more ready than I would ever be,” she said with a smile. “You look like a king.”
“Good.” He grinned. “Because it seems I’m about to become one a second time.”
Lorcan turned from her, strode across the silent, empty room, and knocked heavily on a thick wooden door. A moment later, it swung wide to reveal a half-empty throne room. Nollaig appeared in the doorway and motioned, with her gloved hand, for them to enter. Lorcan squared his shoulders and stepped forward.
A hush fell across the room as he made his way toward the throne, Reyna trailing just behind him. They passed aisles dotted with subjects of the two realms, all decked out in their finest attire. Some were clearly wood fae with their emerald hair and matching eyes. Others were shadow fae Reyna recognized from Findius. Banners hung along the walls, flashing verdant hues through the dimly-lit space.
Several guards stood clustered around the door that led outside into the courtyard. They were facing out instead of in, their swords raised before them. Reyna’s heart thumped. It was impossible to see past them, but she had a pretty good idea of what they were facing. Not every wood fae would be happy about Lorcan’s rise to power. Some would hate it. Rage would burn through their veins.
And some had come here to try to stop it.
Reyna continued down the carpet of grass that stretched across the floor. Flowers climbed the stone walls on twisted vines, transforming the hall into an enclosed forest. The throne itself was made up of gnarled branches and coiling vines that sprang from an ancient tree. Thorns grew like ivy around the base of it and stretched across the floor. One had to be careful not to step on them. A single pierce from those sharp, poisoned thorns, and a fae would never walk again.
Lorcan reached the throne, and Reyna dropped back to join the others in the front row. Nollaig stepped up beside her, face hidden behind the heavy folds of her cloak. Dread whispered through her veins as she watched Lorcan kneel before Druid Aric, a shadow fae who had followed him from Findius. The druid wore a drab brown cloak, and his bare toes curled on the mossy ground. He held a crown in his hands, one never before worn by a fae.
Brass-encased branches coiled around each other in a perfect circle, twisting together with black antlers, their pointed tips topped with emerald rubies. Another symbol of the joined courts. Another reminder that Lorcan’s vows would soon bind him to this place.
The sight of it spiked fear into Reyna’s heart, a knife stab of darkness she hadn’t felt since the Ruin had fled her mind.
The druid murmured the words of the coronation, ancient words kings had repeated for centuries. Lorcan repeated them, his voice a low murmur that echoed through the silent hall. When he was done, Druid Aric lowered the crown on top of Lorcan’s curling dark hair.
The High King stood, gazing out at his subjects. Tension pounded through the room like a war drum. His eyes locked on hers, and a small smile tugged the corners of his lips. Despite her unease, Reyna could not help but smile back. There was so much hope there, so much determined need for a better life, a better world. And they would build it together.
Slowly, Lorcan lowered himself to the throne.
A boom shook the ground. Lorcan stumbled to the side, his eyes flaring wide. The druid caught him with one elbow just as a chunk of stone crashed down onto the dais.
Reyna’s breath caught. The stone was the size of her head. If Lorcan had been standing there when it had fallen, he’d be dead.
A murmur swept through the crowd. Several fae cried out in fear.
