Page 42 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
“Three of the seven crowns have arrived, Your Majesty. The King has gone to greet them,” Byron answers.
Her face falls. “Oh.”
Just as Lori’s about to say more, Elio enters the room with Sara on his heels, the royal chief of staff scribbling furiously on her clipboard.
Elio pours himself a drink and slumps into a chair, slicking his platinum-blond hair back with a quick sweep of his hand.
“I’m already exhausted,” Sara clips, still taking notes. “Freya wants peaches for breakfast, for Thanatos’s sake. Where am I supposed to find peaches in Wintermere?”
Byron flies to her ear to whisper something.
I swallow hard. “Freya’s here?”
Seth raises his brows. “Doesn’t she know the sceawere has been compromised?”
Sara rolls her eyes, the question clearly stretching the limits of her patience. “She doesn’t seem to want to let adetaillike that get in the way of herpeaches.”
Elio rubs a hand down his face, having already gulped down the Nether cider. “With three crowns in attendance, we’re still two short of a quorum. Damian still hasn’t returned from the Solar Cliffs?” he asks Byron.
The Faeling gives a decisive slice of the head. “Not yet, Your Majesty.”
“Ethan hasn’t set foot in Wintermere since you became king, right?” I ask.
“Right.”
Considering how Ethan cut Elio’s wings in punishment for leaving the Sun Court—scraping the roots clean off the bone—their relationship is disastrous at best.
Lori pats her husband’s arm. “He doesn’t have a choice.”
“We might all be better off if he refuses to come,” I grumble.
“Seeing as the summit can’t take place immediately, I organized a matinée ball to occupy them while they wait,” Sara says.
A big, unladylike grimace twists Lori’s face—an expression I’d never seen on Iris. “Is that really necessary? This is hardly the time for a party.”
Sara nods in the affirmative. “The Reds, Spring, and Summer delegations are less likely to tear each other apart—or us, for that matter—if they’re kept entertained. The new Red Queen looks even more lethal than the last one.” A full-bodied shiver rocks Sara from head to toe before she checks her planner. “The Reds sent eight High Fae to protect their queen, same with Spring, but the Summer King trusted us enough not to bring bodyguards, thank Thanatos.”
A knowing smile stretches my lips. “Typical Aidan, thinking he’s too powerful for bodyguards.”
“We all should get dressed and meet in the ballroom in half an hour. We can’t keep the other crowns waiting too long,” Sara says.
She leads by example and exits the room, Byron perched on her shoulder, and Seth and I stand up to follow.
“Lori, do you have a minute?” I ask the queen, preventing her departure.
She meets me in the middle of the room, and Seth lingers in the doorway behind her before finally disappearing from view.
I lower my voice in case he only pretended to leave. “I noticed your makeup… Especially around the eyes. You can access Iris’s magic, right?”
Lori’s cheeks turn crimson, like she’s embarrassed to be caught using a magic that doesn’t belong to her. “Only a little.”
“I can’t use mine, a fact that I’d rather not share with anyone else. Elio already knows, of course, but he can’t exactly help me do my hair…” I trail off, trying to infer the predicament I’m in. I’m a Spring Fae who can’t do what most Spring Fae are best at: doll up for a ball.
Our eyes meet, and her voice trembles in a breathy, “I’d be honored.”
She accompanies me to my room, and I lock the door behind us, not wanting Seth or anyone else to sneak in and witness how far I’ve fallen. Unable to weave my own dress, or even style my hair right. The shame.
The guest room holds an understated warmth in spite of the muted palette. The walls are paneled in pale stone, accented with soft gold trims that catch the light from the chandeliers. The furnishings are carved from white birch—sleek and elegant—with a high-backed chair near the hearth and a writing desk facing the tall windows. Heavy drapes, the color of late-winter dusk, are drawn back to reveal a sweeping view of Tundra below, its spires and chimneys dusted in snow. A thick fur blanket covers the bed, and I run my fingers through it, imagining what marvels I could craft with a piece of this size if I weren’t cursed.
