Page 23 of Of Song and Scepter
“That’s barbaric,” Lady Myrrh protests.
“We locked that necklace up for a reason, or don’t you remember, Lord Almar?” Lord Ruven shakes his head, muttering, “What a mess.”
“Less barbaric than a princess with fangs, my lady?” Lord Varik pins her with a look, and she narrows her eyes. “Let’s get it over with, then. Send a guard to bring her in now!”
“A bloody, miserable mess,” Lord Ruven grumbles. “Are you going to clean it up, Lord Varik?”
Lord Varik frowns. “We’ll fetch the housekeeper.”
“And if we insult the dark-dwellers?” Lady Myrrh’s bottom lip quivers. “That pendant has a bad reputation with the other kingdoms. This council must consider the military repercussions if we wrongly accuse their princess. They’ll see it as a threat, a breach of trust. We would lose the match. We’d have a hoard of highly trained dredgebeasts at our gate.”
“Aye,” says Lord Ruven. “And lose access to their darksteel mines.”
A wry smile plays on my lips. “Not to mention I’d need another suitor.”
The council grows quiet as they absorb my comment. The queen shifts in her seat, folding her hands onto the table.
Lord Almar smiles, lopsidedly. “Mister Hugo took the liberty to fetch it for me this morning. Just in case.”
My attendant steps forward from the shadowy corners of the room, carrying a velvet pouch. He reaches into the bag, pulling out the golden chain of the necklace. From the chain swings the whitesteel shell, simple and seemingly harmless.
The council holds its breath, no one daring to speak in its presence while it touches Hugo’s skin. He places it on the table before me.
Wispy remnants of King Eero’s ancient magic shroud the surface of the shell, hissing softly as they swirl around the metal.
Lord Almar looks to me. “Your Highness, I encourage you to consider. For the good of the kingdom.”
“We need not make this decision in haste,” the queen cautions. “I am confident in the value of my selection. The princess is already here and settled. Why not give her the chance to prove her character first, as you said, Lady Myrrh.”
Murmurs of approval ripple around the table. My mother looks to me with expectation. “What do you think, Your Highness?”
Using the pendant would risk an attack from the Abyss, and my mother knows that. She will avoid it at all costs. I must choose now between my desire for a love match—a queen suitable not just for the throne but for me—and the good of my kingdom.
Like a fish between a rock and the net, I have only one way out: to accept my fate and see where I end up.
As I fold my arms across my chest, my thumb brushes the bottom of my rib. The stinging returns, dull and throbbing. I flex my hand, aching to reach for the spot, to dig once more under that scale and pluck the feeling out. Instead, I stare at the sweating map in the middle of the table, tracing the carvings with my gaze.
Whether I marry the princess now, as Lord Ruven wishes, or in one more cycle of the moon, it no longer matters, not with Amura’s pendant on the table. Accepting the princess is my sole, remaining option. Before my mind’s eye, my future narrows into a singular, straight current.
My heart squeezes tightly, its last thumping protest to the inevitable. Am I really giving up this easily?
“What do you think?” my mother prods.
I scoop the necklace into its protective velvet pouch and tuck it into my pocket. Then I grunt, pushing out of my chair. “I think it is time for dinner.”
Chapter fourteen
Soren
I’ve plowed through myduties since daybreak. My body screams for respite, and, for what I hope is the last time today, I once again find my ass in an uncomfortable chair. The white arches of the dining room’s ceiling blur and twist together, their crisp lines suddenly as unstable as the waves outside the windows. The long table stretches before me, awaiting the arrival of its guests—much too long for three simple chairs.
My face is hot. I dab the sweat from my forehead with a napkin, then pinch my nose, using the new pain to refocus. A set of white plates nest before me on the table. Three forks to the left, two spoons and a knife to the right. A knife with a sharp edge, much like the tip of a fang, long and seductive, glinting in the light.
“Your Majesty?” Hugo’s voice sharpens my focus. He stands at the windows, holding a stack of parchment. My mother stands with him, frowning at the distant horizon.
“Clio has made her initial report?” She snaps her fingers. “Tell me what more we have learned of our guests since their arrival.”
“Your Majesty, her report was as we expected.”
