“Why is your father king?”
She smiles, and it absolutely transforms her face. “Now that is the right question.”
“Your mother was Queen.”
“She was, yes.” Kestra nods, something old and painful flickering behind her eyes. “My father spent a long time manipulating her from the sidelines. Until...”
“He killed her.”
Interesting.
Which means Kestra is the rightful Queen of the Unseelie Court. Unless?—
“You said the power of the crown. A person must complete the trials to...what exactly?”
She adds more sweetener to her tea. Takes a sip. Making me wait.
“In your case,” she says finally, “you came to Faerie. Woke quickly. You claimed the Wilds. You claimed court space at the Academy. The power already recognized you.”
The bond pulses. Gold. Desperate.
Half of me is here, sipping tea, absorbing information that could save my life. The other half is with Finnian, wherever Amarantha took him, hoping he’s holding on.
Both halves are terrified.
“The first two trials rip you apart.” Another sip. “They just didn’t tell you the third begins immediately. It is the ending you must prepare for.”
I sit back. Processing.
“The ending.” I roll the words over in my head.
“Eventually you will start to see the magic of the trial swirling in your aura.”
I stare into my tea cup. Feeling as though this entire conversation is pointless.
“Finnian is with Amarantha.” The words choke out of me. “And I’m sitting here sipping tea.”
Because it hurts like hell. The bond pulses, gold, desperate, wrong, and I can’t do anything about it.
My teacup hits the table harder than I intend. My hands flatten beside it, fingers itching to grip the wood, to tear something apart.
Kestra reaches across and takes my hands in hers.
“I know this doesn’t seem like much.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “But Finnian has been dodging Amarantha since he was a child. He knows her games better than anyone alive.”
I laugh, but it’s hollow. “She’s crazy.”
“Of course she is. She’s a queen of Faerie.” Now she grips both my hands. “As are you.”
“I don’t feel like a queen.”
“What does a queen even feel like?”
“You would know.” I meet her eyes. “You’re a queen as well.”
Her shoulders drop. A long breath in. “I am.”
“What are you going to do about it?” I press. “Because, Kestra, I can’t do this alone. I can’t take out Amarantha and take out your father. I can’t hold three courts.”
