Page 77 of A Courage of the Chosen

Lord Garside steps close, peers down at her from his height, and drops to one knee at her side. “All hail, Elspeth Darrow, Queen of Elfayne.”

Chapter 22

Elsie

I’ve long since forgotten the names of everyone who comes before us, one lord blurring into the next. Their perfectly curated wives carbon copies of each other, with preening daughters and overly-interested sons not too far behind them.

Reyne introduces each of them like she’s reciting a football team roster, as they bow to their new queen.

There’s a general air of distrust about each of them, but with the open support of the council, there’s nothing they can do. I just hope I can win them over.

Brodie has stayed with me, assessing each Seelie with a calculation that stops people getting too near after what happened earlier, and everyone else has slowly moved off the dais to chat with Seelie they know. Or, in Callahan’s case, hide in the same alcove I’d taken refuge in earlier and scrutinize them all while remaining relatively hidden.

Only Grandpa, Brodie, Reyne, and I remain on the dais now.

Finneus is the next to near the steps, with two women trailing behind him. He smiles at me lightly as he hitches forward at the waist. “Your Majesty.”

I hate the fact he’s bowing. He’s family. But it’s no use objecting, especially in front of the entire court.

“Hi, Finneus.”

“May I present my daughter, Arabella Gilday.” He gestures to the woman immediately on his left, who lowers into a curtsey, her shimmering brown hair and blue eyes a touch darker than his.

“And her wife, Jessie Reid.” Arabella’s wife greets me cheerily, also dipping the same way Finneus’s daughter had. Her hair is the most fascinating shade of cherry-cola, switching from brown to deep-red depending how the light shifts through it. Her features are petite, and stunning.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Your Majesty,” Arabella says.

“And you,” I offer sincerely.

“Hello, Uncle Lachlan.” She waves in Grandpa’s direction, and her use of his Seelie name takes me a moment to register.

Grandpa politely kisses her cheek. “Those kiddos of yours settling in okay?” he asks.

“Aye, they’re doing just fine,” she beams, and Grandpa joins me back on the dais.

Arabella takes a step in my direction, shifting her voice to a lower register. “I want to thank you.”

I blink a couple of times. “For what?”

“For saving my father.” Arabella’s eyes dart down, and her throat bobs beneath the pretty silver choker adorning her neck that matches the weave of thread through her pale-blue gown.

I don’t reply. Can’t find the words. But everything I need to say is written in my eyes, and Arabella curtseys a final time. “I hope we get to spend some time together soon.”

“I’d like that,” I croak, and the three of them disappear into the much calmer crowd.

Freya moves forward, arm-in-arm with Rach, as I’m still recovering from Arabella’s unexpected gratitude. Her brown eyes looking upon me fondly, wrinkles deepening as she beams and shows me the same respect as all those before her.

“Was the journey here okay?” I enquire when her and Rach rise together.

“A little bumpy, but for the most part, it was fine. We didn’t see any Dorche or Brollachan on the road. Thank Dhia,” she replies. “Please let me know if you need anything? I’m more than happy to help you in any way it’s needed, especially with running things in your new home.”

Her offer is sincere. Others might take it as her vying for favor with a new queen, and judging by the looks on the faces of the nearest Seelie, that’s exactly what they think. However, I’ve spent a lot of time with Freya, and lived in her home for months. I know just how efficient she is.

Technically, that role belongs to Lady Navin, but if I ever decide to make changes in that regard, Freya is the top of my list.

“Should we get a drink?” Grandpa asks her, offering his arm. He looks splendid this evening. The black velvet jacket he wears is trimmed in silver thread, and fitted to his new stronger form. I’m still not used to seeing him carry a sword, and the pommel glimmers under the soft lights of the throne room.

Freya takes it happily as she and Grandpa vanish, with Rach walking alongside them. I’d have liked them to stay and engage in a relatively normal conversation, where every word isn’t judged and dissected.