Page 49 of Under the Lion Star

“Alright,” I said, pushing my empty plate away. “Let’s get this over with.”

I leaned back in my chair, my feet resting on the council chamber’s table as the lords entered. While all of them appeared surprised to see Atlas standing behind me, his arms crossed over his chest, none made any comment.

Lord Gamril’s face twisted into a disapproving scowl upon seeing his son, but he kept his mouth shut and took his usual seat. Lord Merhan was absent, but his son Ellor sauntered in with his typical pompous swagger and took a seat as if he were already a lord himself.

Ellor was closer to Orin’s age than mine, but as immature as it might be, I hated the entitlement that wafted off him like a pungent odor. His father, I didn’t mind, but Ellor was an asshole. All the same, he was the only one in the room with nothing to gain by my death.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” I said, removing my feet from the table and leaning forward to steeple my fingers. “I’ve chosen a wife.”

“Excellent,” Lord Corrin beamed from the end of the table.

“Who is the lucky woman? We can start planning the ceremony straight away,” Lord Kalerion offered.

“That won’t be necessary,” I held my hand up. “Princess Sanna will be overseeing the arrangements for the wedding. Once I meet with my intended’s family and square away any final details, she will start her work.”

“Time is of the essence,” Lord Gamril said. “Surely we shouldn’t rely on a fifteen-year–”

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “Sanna is capable. I have no doubts about her ability to pull everything together before I meet with King Doran. While you may all question my ability to rule in my parents’ stead, I assure you that I can manage to get married without your meddling.”

I could feel Atlas smirking from behind me.

“Your queen will be Zialda Helner,” I stated, thinking that my tone had made it perfectly clear there was no room for arguments.

“My king,” Kalerion held his hand over his chest. “Surely, your grace, you are aware of her parentage. Her true parentage.”

Atlas took a step forward, but I subtly waved him back.

Lord Corrin looked like he wanted to speak but had chosen the better route of keeping silent. Lord Gamril and a few other lords appeared deep in thought.

“She is the daughter of Erik and Melna Helner—two highborn and well-regarded elves of Galvord. I am aware of how she and her sisters came to be, but it matters not. Legally, she is highborn, which is all that is required to be queen.”

“She’s an excellent match,” Lord Gamril nodded, but his expression was carefully guarded.

“Your grace,” Lord Corrin started.

“I am marrying Zialda Helner,” I stood, leaning onto my fists on the table. “This meeting was not called so I could have your input or approval. I want neither. This was merely a courtesy that I did not owe you. I suggest you use the time until we next meet to accept your new queen and treat her with the respect her title commands.”

The lords exchanged looks between themselves, a few nodding their understanding.

“You’re dismissed.”

The house loomed before me. Tucked neatly between two other well-appointed apartments, the glow from inside reflected off the rain-soaked cobble of the street where I stood. Laughter spilled out, voices echoing from within. I paused, convincing myself that this would be good for Zialda, good for me, and good for Fjorn.

With a sigh, my hand inched up to push back a few strands of hair that managed to get wet despite my cloak. I walked up the steps, removing my hood once I was under the awning, and donned my crown. Glancing down at myself, I straightened my tunic.

The laughter was louder now, followed by a hushed scolding from a voice I immediately recognized. I smiled despite the churning of my stomach.

My fist met the wooden door, knocking with enough force that I knew it would be heard over the hectic conversations taking place within. Several shushes rang out, along with a few muffled squeals.

The door opened, Lord Erik looking me up and down with narrowed eyes. His mouth curved into a grin as he stepped aside and swept his hand dramatically to usher me inside his home.

“Welcome to the circus,” he said with a small laugh.

A young girl around Sanna’s age, if I had to guess, curtsied dramatically and batted her lashes at me. She looked similar to Zialda, except with pale lavender hair cut short just above her shoulders.

“Your grace,” she said in a demure tone.

“Mera, for fuck’s sake,” and there was the voice I had come for. “I told you no bowing.”

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