Page 35 of Ruby & Onyx

“We know that you will be a great queen because it is your gods-given right.” Viola sighs as if she’s choosing her words carefully. “Trust me. Walk proudly into that room. The throne belongs to you. And if ever you feel inadequate, remember that you were chosen by the gods to lead.”

“Did anyone ever consider that the gods chose wrong?”

“No, not for one second,” she coos, squeezing my hand twice. “Come now, get dressed. Take a breath. Put a smile on, and let’s go.”

Breathe.

The gown fits like a glove, hugging my bony hips, and the tiara twinkles atop my head. Gemma weaves half of my hair into braids, leaving the rest to fall down my back in loose curls. I catch a glimpse of my reflection and hardly recognize the woman staring back at me.

Though somehow, beneath it all, I still look like my mother - with her bright green eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. It’s like looking at a portrait of her. I take hold of that small bit of comfort, seizing it like a beacon of safety to help guide my way through the next few hours.

When I turn away from the mirror, a funny sensation passes over me like fingers drawing from my neck to shoulder, tracing the lines of my clavicle and then drawing down across my stomach. I can’t explain it, nor do I understand it, but I’ve felt this embrace before. It’s drawing me closer as if to say, I’ll see you soon.

Chapter 14

There’s a knock on the door, and my heart sinks. My nerves are jumping like frogs, and I have to resist the urge to crawl under the blankets and fake my death.

Breathe, Radya.

“You look ravishing,” Olly purrs as soon as I open the door. He’s wearing a crown for the first time since we met. Without it, I seem to forget that he’s royalty. Something about the smug assery turns his blue blood red. But now, with a crown that looks like a smaller version of the one I saw on King Vani, the resemblance to his father is uncanny. Though he does look a little uncomfortable in a jacket that’s two sizes too big.

“And you look… like your father dressed you.” I almost paid him a compliment but stopped myself short. His head is big enough as it is.

“Ha! You have a keen eye, don’t you?” He shifts in his clothing, tugging and adjusting all over to hide his discomfort. “I hate these things, but I have something that helps.” Reaching into the waistband of his trousers, he pulls out a silver flask and takes a swig, washing it down with a grimace before tilting the lid to me.

I grab it and sniff the brown liquid, recoiling as the foul odor burns my nose. I definitely should not have sniffed it first. Judging by the putrid smell, I should probably consider passing, but my nerves could desperately use some relief. Before I have the opportunity to regret my decision, I pinch my nose and down the swill. The liquid scorches as it slides down my throat as if it might burn right through me.

“That is foul! What is it?” I manage to say.

“It’s a mead that one of my buddies made. Tastes like goblin piss but gets the job done.” He takes one more sip before offering his arm. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I mutter.

The closer we get to the dining room, the more my nerves dance. Olly tries to make conversation, but I may as well be a brick wall. All of my thoughts seem to be imprisoned within my mind, unable to escape.

By the time we’re close enough to hear the noise coming from the dining room, Olly stops and looks directly into my eyes, trapping me like a fly in amber. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. Most of the people in that room are so self-obsessed that they won’t even notice you.”

“Sure.” I stare mindlessly at the birthmark on my hand and trace the swirling lines with my thumb while doing my best to drown out the inner voice screaming at me to run away.

He delicately hooks a finger under my chin and tilts my face toward his. Then he inches closer, close enough for his breath to warm my skin. “You’re perfect, Radya. Did you know that?”

“I…” I can hardly hear myself think over my drumming heart.

“There is no one in this kingdom more beautiful than you,” he says in a deep, throaty voice that echoes in my chest and leaves me breathless. “I am lucky just to be in your presence.”

The last thing that I want is to feel this – this heart-thrumming, knees weak, head spinning rush – when I walk into the banquet. I need a clear mind to face this. And so, I whisper, “We should go.”

He’s a flirt, nothing more. If anything, he’s probably just trying to calm me down so that I’m not an embarrassment to the royal family. To his family. Little does he know, his words had the opposite effect.

He doesn’t let go immediately. Instead, he holds me there, fingers curled softly around my chin, and traps me within the softness of his brown eyes. Then he leans down to whisper into my ear, “Very well, let’s go.”

He drops his hand and continues toward the banquet hall. And like sand washing away with the tide, I follow his natural current.

The skin below my ear still tingles like a phantom whisper. I am frazzled and undone, and yet he is unaffected. His gait is cool and measured, his scowl growing harder with each step. When we reach the door, I take in one last heap of air and hone a steely expression, a defense.

Breathe.

The banquet hall is bustling with people. It’s somehow too large and too small at the same time. The high ceiling is painted a dark midnight blue, and tiny dots of white seem to shine like stars. A small ensemble of musicians plays in the corner, though their sounds swell to occupy every nook and cranny. And stretching across the center, slicing through the crowd, is a dining table dressed with candles and flowering vines.

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