Oh, the bas?—
Just teasing.There’s a smile in his voice, but when I dare a peek, he’s stone-faced in his white armour beside the dais. He’s … different in here. Chattier. A little lighter. Like he was in my room last night.Apologies, little queen. In the future, if I want to speak to you this way, I will knock first. Like this.
Tingling heat crawls across the top of my spine, right at the base of my skull. It’s a bit off-putting, like fire ants are foxtrotting through my hairline.
If you don’t want me in here, all you need do is ask. Should I leave?
While his intrusion is strange, it’s not entirely unwelcome.
No, I say.Not yet.
He huffs a gentle laugh.I thought not.
If you are done teasing me, do you mind enlightening me on the protocol? Aowen and Desmond have been a bit stingy with the details.
Fabric rustles and murmurs ripple; the hall is growing restless. Desmond remains kneeling before me, staring at the floor, gripping my clammy palms. Am I supposed to?—
He’s waiting for a gesture from you, Lachlan whispers; unnecessary since I’m the only one who can hear him.
I wrack my brain for what that could possibly be, and as the seconds slip away, I panic and pat Desmond on the shoulder. He glances up, confused and more than a little displeased, then rises with the box once again.
Lachlan rumbles back into my mind.Not that gesture.
What was I supposed to do? Kiss him in front of his entire court?
It’s what I would have done.
The way you two bicker, I daresay he’d have enjoyed that.
Lachlan coughs into a fist, and I smile, proud that I was able to make him slip his ironclad control.
Desmond folds my hand into the crook of his elbow, and Lachlan slips from my mind like water bubbling down the shore at low tide.
“You look lovely, Charlotte,” Desmond whispers. “Aowen did well.”
Behind his back, his sister rolls her eyes.
“Are you ready?” he asks me.
Ready for what?I want to ask back. I’ve been given very few instructions for a ceremony that’s ended in such catastrophic consequences at least five times already.
Before I can answer, he turns to the crowd. “Good people of Tír na Strelle, I must beg your forgiveness.”
Confusion quiets the room as Desmond looks down at the box, running his hand over the lid.
When he returns to the crowd, his lower lashes gleam. “I have failed you so many times. So many candidates. So many wasted Seasons. So many years living in a fractured, king-less kingdom.”
He flattens his palm against the box, then glances at me, a radiant smile parting his lips. “Our failure ends today.”
He opens the box, then pulls out what looks like a long golden pipe. The mouthpiece is intact, but the other end isjagged. As if it’s been broken off a larger instrument. In addition to stars, there are crescent moons and double-crossed arrows carved into it, similar to my ring.
Whispers ofthe Bannrhornandshe found itscuttle through the hall.
“For this year”—Desmond holds the piece aloft—“our candidate has found the Bannrhorn fragment on her very first day in the Otherworld!”
The hall fills with shouts and whistles, even louder than when Desmond arrived. Words likequeen,kingmaker, andmajestyare thrown around. I bask in their praise. Quite different than they were looking at me at the start of this ceremony.
Desmond tucks the fragment into his jacket, then squeezes my fingertips. “And not only is she clever, but she’s a spectacular specimen! Don’t you all agree?” He leans down to whisper in my ear, “Give them a twirl? A little show from their future queen. You really do look lovely.”
