Page 156 of Gemini Wicked

I’m either the queen or I’m not.

I brace myself, feet spread, and suck in my breath. Across the kiva, an awful silence descends.

In that stretch of nail-biting stillness, under the pressure of a thousand staring eyes, all my old misgivings come clamoring back. The babble of spiteful gossip and stinging criticism—every hurtful word stored up in my memory—makes my ears ring.

Maybe it’s all a mistake.

Maybe I’m not worthy to be queen.

Maybe I’m selfish and self-centered and wicked.

A wicked Gemini who will never be queen.

“Cheese on toast,” I whisper. God, I hate that my voice is shaking. “Not to be Captain Obvious. But there’s literally one way to find out.”

I steel myself for anything (not that steeling myself’s gonna help if this crown is a trap or a curse). Then I plunge my dragonscale-sheathed hands deep into the sparkling dome. The forcefield wavers and hisses and sprays ultraviolet sparks like a blowtorch at a construction site.

Vasili exclaims and leaps to his feet. But I glare into his violently alarmed face and shake my head fiercely to warn him away. His narrow hands clench into fists and he hisses with frustration.

But, thank fuck, he follows my lead.

I just have this really strong sense that it’s not safe for anyone else to touch the thing. And I’m gonna listen to my gut.

After all, I’m a fucking lightning witch.

I mean, honestly, I’ve handled worse.

My hands close carefully around the menace of glittery spikes, every one sharp enough to cut, and lift the crown from the surface. For such a major piece of bling, it’s surprisingly light. Gripped carefully in my hands, it passes out through the witchfire dome like water.

Will you claim me? that silver voice chimes, so loud now it makes my skull ring like a bell. Do you dare?

Jesus. Now my own goddamn crown is daring me.

“Yeah, I claim you,” I announce in a voice that rings to the heavens (and not only due to kiva magic, because queen voice). “I’m Zara fucking Gemini. And you better believe I dare.”

Staring straight ahead and silently daring anyone (especially that demon) to stop me, surrounded and supported by all seven of my warlocks, I lift the crown, crackling with electrical energy, high before a thousand wide eyes.

From the rim, Xhevith stretches his long neck toward the heavens and bugles in triumph.

While his bellow fills the sky, I plant the Unseelie crown firmly in place on my head.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Vasili

If I’m being honest, my first Faerie Ball has proven to be a bit of a disappointment.

I mean, after darling Zara claimed her crown, I was certainly expecting at least a little homicide (if not regicide) with that demonic kraken surging from the sea like the leviathan in Clash of the Titans to tear down the kiva and claim Zara for his watery bed and (with any luck) hurl that aggravating Dark Fae tyrant with his smoldering looks and searing kisses into the sea.

At the very least, I expected some old crone in the crowd to rise up screaming “Boo!” and calling Zara the Queen of Putrescence, as in Buttercup’s nightmare of marrying Prince Humperdinck in The Princess Bride.

Not that I’m complaining, of course.

But the fact that none of this has happened (yet), after all our well-laid plans to trap that demon and banish him back to the fiery abyss, is a bit… anticlimactic.

On the positive side, Zara certainly seems to be having a celebrity moment with these Unseelie. Since the instant they saw the crown accept her, instead of frying her to a crisp (which was apparently a distinct possibility, one Zephyr kept conveniently to himself), Zara Gemini has become the new It Girl of the Dark Fae court.

“Sorry, but no, she won’t have this dance,” I announce coldly, for at least the tenth time, to the latest hopeful suitor trying to butt in on my dance with Zara. “The queen’s dance card is completely full—as is her bed, just in case you were wondering—for… oh… approximately the next fifty years. Don’t bother coming back before then.”

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