Page 141 of Threaded

She cocked her head to the side and spoke.

“I believe you sit in my throne, Consort. I should like it back.”

He lifted his head from where it rested against his closed fist. He watched her for a moment before he lifted an eyebrow, an insolent and impertinent movement. Mariah heard some shocked inhales from those in the gathered crowd, but she only suppressed a grin.

She fuckinglovedthis game.

“Yourthrone? What is your claim to it,princess?”

The only sound in the shocked silence of the room was a choking laugh—Quentin—followed by a grunt as someone—Feran—elbowed him in the gut.

Mariah finally let the grin she’d fought fill her face. She took the final few steps up the dais until she stood before Andrian, positioning herself between his spread, muscular thighs. She gazed down at him, directly into the heated, brilliant blue of his eyes, and saw the only part of his facade he wasn’t trying to hide.

The look she caught there in those vibrant depths, one of absolute reverence, adoration, and love, had her breath catching in her throat.

All of this was … still so new, so foreign. Her own mask slipped for just a moment, just enough to blink away her tears with a soft smile before composing herself.

She wondered, briefly, if she would ever get used to it. This feeling that kept threatening to knock her off her feet.

Mariah let go of her skirts still clenched in her right hand, the satin falling around her body and brushing his breeches with aswish. She reached up with the same hand and ran her index finger down the side of his face, slowly following the sharp cut of his jaw before hooking it under his chin. Her magic bubbled up out of her, pushing from her skin as those silvery-gold threads twined together, down her arm and finger until they brushed the skin of his face. It sang in the moonlight, so much more brilliant tonight than on any other, its power strummed in the air like the strings of a harp.

Focusing her power into the thread now gripping Andrian’s chin beside her finger, she pushed up.

In a smooth movement, a movement balanced on the end of her index finger and the single coil of magic extending from it, Andrian rose from the throne. Mariah stepped back to allow him room to stand, her grin widening as his mask slipped, shock and awe flashed across his face as he stared at her.

She hadn’t told him about the interaction with the Leuxrithian priestess in the library. What she’d discovered her magic could do. She’d thought it would be more fun to show him.

And, by the Goddess, she’d been right.

Her grin was wicked as she wordlessly answered the question written in his eyes.

Yes, that’s right. My magic can bind and hold, just as yours can.

“I lay claim to this throne by the magic in my veins, the magic of the first queen, the blessing of the Golden Goddess that carries with it the lifeblood of our world. It chose me, and I choose it, and as long as it sings its song in my soul my seat upon this throne shall never be denied.”

Andrian’s face went wicked as he listened to her practiced speech. Her back was still facing the crowd, but she knew every single person gathered in that cavernous hall heard her words. This was her statement, her claiming of the birthright she hadn’t even known existed until mere months ago. A birthright she was now sure, more than anything, shewanted.

She released his chin, and with a quirk of his lips Andrian stepped to the side, gesturing to the throne and inclining his head, the closest he would ever get to a bow.

“Then, by all means, My Queen.”

Her lips quirked, just once more, before she stepped forward to stand in front of the throne. She turned on her heel, the satin brushing against the cold metal behind her, and faced the crowd awaiting her.

But she did not sit.

“Honored guests,” she began, her voice carrying through the room on nearly invisible strings of light. “We all know the Solstice as a night when the barrier between our world and the realm of the gods is at its most thin, when our Goddess stands closer to us than she does on any other night. Over the past six months,allumehas flowed through our kingdom, filtering through the earth and back into the gods’ plane. The only way to recapture it, to pull it back through that veil, is for the Goddess’s magic,mymagic, to serve as the tether, and for the magic in all our blood to be the anchor.

“We all know this. It’s a cycle that has long fueled our people, advancing our kingdom to technological heights and ensuring comfort for all Onitan citizens. But the method used in this solstice cycle … it has become flawed. Imperfect. We’ve forgotten the true nature ofallume, of magic, of the gods themselves. We’ve grown stagnant, formal, simple in our way of bridging the gap between our world and that of the gods.”

Mariah looked out over the crowd, the attention of hundreds of eyes locked on her.

And then she smiled as she let her next words flow through her.

“Qhohena is not just a Goddess of Light and Life. She is a Goddess ofPower. And tonight, we will open new doorways and celebrate her in a new way. Abetterway.”

Her words hung in the air, sank into the ground, and then washed back up as a wave of applause rolled through the throne room.

Mariah turned her head to meet Andrian’s gaze, her movements slow under the weight of those cheers. He nodded to her, just once, darkness glinting in his eyes, and her grin turned feral.

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