Page 68 of Queen of Legends and Lies
Anger flares in my chest. I open my mouth to retort, but Sterling’s hand on my arm stops me.
He steps forward, his voice calm but firm. “I understand your concerns, and we take full responsibility for the damage caused. But what we’re attempting could give us a powerful weapon against Xenon?—”
“Could, Your Highness.Could.” Serle shakes his head. “But right now, it’s a liability we can’t afford. Xenon’s forces are closing in, and we need you focused on the immediate threat, not some far-fetched magical experiment.”
I can’t hold back any longer. “It’s not far-fetched. If we can just master it?—”
“And how long will that take?” Dalya fixes me with her unflinching gaze. “Weeks? Months? Years? We don’t have that kind of time, Your Highness.”
I’m getting damn sick of being cut off and open my mouth to put every member of this council back in their place. But I can’t afford to show weakness. Though I may be brand new to this, I’m still the queen.
The Ash Queen.
That thought alone is enough to calm me down. I drag in a shuddering breath, my nails biting into my palms. Prioritize. As if it’s that simple.
Sterling’s fingers tighten on my arm. “They have a point.”
Okay but what choice do I have?
The council’s right. Sterling’s right. We’re flying blind here, fumbling in the dark with forces we barely understand. And all the while, Xenon, an evil we know all too well, marches closer.
When I pivot back to Sterling, I see my own bitter resignation reflected in his eyes. “Fine. We’ll focus on the war. On Xenon.”
For now. But I’ll be damned if I give up on this. One way or another, we will figure out how to successfully merge our magic.
“Don’t forget, we also still need to finish preparations for tomorrow’s ball.” Sterling smirks at my groan, then lowers his voice as he leans in. “Isn’t being queen delightful?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
A day later, the great hall buzzes with conversation, music threading through the hum of voices. The vast space never ceases to amaze me, with its vaulted ceilings and vibrant murals of dragons hunting and warriors fighting. But it’s the painting of the elemental gods and goddesses—Ziva, Rivlan, Terro, and Gallora—that takes my breath away today. I feel as if the deities are looking down on me, judging my actions, and weighing my soul.
As I head to the dais, Sterling’s hand rests at the small of my back, a steadying touch I’m grateful for.
Rhiann, always aware of what I need even before I am, helped me dress in a midnight black gown shot through with silver thread. The back is open down to my waist, the fabric framing my wings.
We planned this gathering to show the nobles that Sterling and I are a solid team. To quell the strange rumors that he could seek to overthrow me and seize the throne for himself.
We even had to formally announce our betrothal. Because, somehow, the first one was allegedly nullified after my coronation.
As if any queen wouldn’t want to snatch Sterling up and claim him as her own.
My hand instinctively flexes on his arm.
He glances down, and his eyes light up. “That sort of entertainment will have to wait, love. For now, try to focus on what we have here and save those thoughts for later. That’s what I’ve been trying to do since the moment I laid eyes on you in that dress.”
His smooth words, that throaty tone. Desire flickers, then flares to life inside me as his breath tickles over my ear.
My body tightens, and I try to think about anything other than the way he’s gazing at me—like he’s starving and I’m his next meal. “Not helpful.”
He leans closer, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my neck. “I know.”
Bastard.
Still, it’s good advice, and I peer around for a distraction. A juggler performs off to my right, his baubles flashing in the firelight. Courtiers cluster around him, their laughter rising and falling like the tide. Across the great hall, a storyteller holds another group in thrall, her voice rising and falling with the cadence of her tale.
And there’s the council on the dais. They lounge in casual disarray, some perched on the edge of their seats, others sprawled out inelegantly as if they haven’t a care in the world. Breann and Fenton aren’t in attendance, sitting at tables with their families instead.
Rafe catches my eye as we approach, his mouth tightening. He leans toward Nira, murmuring something I can’t quite decipher.
