Page 87 of The Maleficent Faerie
“Obviously I prepared notes.” I’ve done no such thing, and by the way her lips tighten, she suspects as much. So I hurry into another topic. “Areyouall right? With them being here?”
She hesitates, lips pursed. “I’m better than I thought I would be—thanks to you, and my new work here. I’m going to face them with all the regal grace of my upbringing. And when you overturn their expectations, I’m going to laugh.” She breaks into a gleeful smile. “I can’t wait.”
“Neither can I.”
“They’ll wish they hadn’t played us for fools.” With a swift kiss on my cheek, she leaves the room.
I’m glad I can provide her with this small taste of revenge. The King and Queen of Caennith lied to Dawn in the most intimate way, every day of her life. Despite what she said, I can’t imagine her facing them without any hint of anger or bitterness. Throughout the past month, our communications with them have occurred at a distance, usually in the form of written letters since they don’t trust any magical missives coming out of Daenalla. I’ve refused to meet with them in person until now, on this most joyful day, the twenty-fifth anniversary of my birth.
Before he kissed me and took my place, Malec appointed me as his heir. A bold, controversial move, and a brilliant one—because as the Crown Princess of Caennith, the future Conduit,andthe Queen of the Daenalla, I am not easily ignored.
It’s comical how much more attention people pay to you when you have not just a title but the authority and the army to back it up. I’ve always been the Caennith Crown Princess, but that identity meant nothing while it was a secret. During the few days I knew of my true parentage, I was a captive, powerless to decide my fate.
Malec’s sacrifice gave me back my future and all the choices I never thought I could have.
Not that claiming this throne has been easy, of course. There was opposition among the Daenalla. But the King’s last written words were a binding contract, magical as well as legal, cursing the crown and the throne unless both were given to me.
Fitzell’s staunch support and the loyalty of the Edge-Knights helped to secure my new role. And even the most crotchety of the Daenallan nobles had to admit the wisdom in Malec’s choice, because my appointment as Queen immediately softened the tension between the two kingdoms. The Caennith were furious when the barrier failed, and they would have gone to war again if Malec hadn’t left me in charge.
I’ve been a restive Queen, chafing at all the paperwork and diplomacy, the meetings, the flattery, and the endless communications that have been necessary during these past four weeks. Since the day I woke, I’ve ached to see my plan through to its conclusion. To turn the tables on the ones who fooled me for so many years.
Today’s gathering is part birthday celebration and part worship festival. I wanted the biggest possible crowd from both sides, so I sent invitations to every citizen of both kingdoms, from the humblest servant to the richest lord, from the toddling child to the wrinkled elder. I need them all.
“Enough fussing,” I chide my maid gently. “You’ve done your work well. Go on and see the festival. Enjoy yourself.”
She curtsies, thanks me, and hurries off. I’ve already sent the other servants away—not that I’ve allowed many to serve me these past weeks. I’m used to doing things on my own.
My skirts swish across the floor as I glide into Malec’s study. No one protested when I took over his rooms in the Kartiyan palace, while he lay in the tower where I slept for two months. There was some fuss about whether or not I, as a Caennith Royal, should be allowed access to the former King’s study and his personal documents, which might contain state secrets. But when the objection was brought up in a meeting, I said sharply, “What secrets? What do any of us need to know, beyond the fact that our realm is shrinking faster than ever and we’re powerless to stop it? If the King had any clandestine knowledge that could help me deal with this, you should be on your knees scrabbling through his private documents to help me find it—not twiddling your lace cuffs and pontificating about ‘state secrets.’”
I smile as I recall how effectively that shut their mouths.
From a drawer I take what I need and stow it in my pocket. I insisted on pockets for this dress—two of them, cleverly concealed amid the sparkling purple folds of the gown.
One last look in the mirror before I leave the suite. Goddess, Malec was vain. Mirrors hang everywhere in these chambers. I’m getting used to the sight of myself, golden-haired and wingless, but sometimes it still unsettles me for a moment—a jarring dissonance between who I thought I was for almost twenty-five years, and who I’ve been since that night in the Chapel.
I shove the doors of my suite, but I barely get them halfway back before Kyan and Ember pull them all the way open for me. They took it upon themselves to serve as my bodyguards today.
“Your Majesty.” Ember’s eyes flash crimson, an approving smile spreading on his dark face at the sight of me.
Kyan bows low as I step forward. He’s looking especially well-groomed today, from his neatly brushed beard to his silver wings.
“Are we ready?” I link my arms with theirs, not caring that a Queen probably shouldn’t be so companionable with her bodyguards.
“Andras told me to assure you that everything is prepared,” Kyan replies.
“And Vandel told me to give you this.” Ember pulls a small flask from his vest and passes it to me.
I take a long swallow, then wheeze a little at the afterburn of the liquor. “Oh yes, that’s the stuff. All right then… let’s go make the King proud.”
By the laws of courtesy, I should have met my parents and the Three Faeries at the city gate, or in the festival square, or at the very least in the courtyard. But I made them wait for me, held at bay on the steps of the palace. Fitzell stands with them, and Dawn is there, too, speaking to them with a cool, easy grace I envy. I’ve played this moment in my head so many times, and yet I find myself woefully unprepared, unsteady, nearly unmade again, like I was on that horrible night in Hellevan Chapel.
My father, the King of Caennith, stands on the palace steps, feet set wide apart as though he’s staking a claim on the place. His black beard is streaked with gray, a sign that he has entered his third century. The graceful Queen hovers at his side, her hooded eyes and primmed lips proclaiming her disdain for everything around her.
Beside them stand the Three Faeries. Elsamel, round and motherly, with gauzy blue wings and the large dark eyes of a doe. Genla, black-eyed and angular, with scarlet horns sweeping upward from her brow. Sayrin, tall and brown, her yellow butterfly wings folded against her back.
My three beautiful mothers. Sweet and sour, unpredictably indulgent at times and caustically bitter at others. Linked in a trinity of love no one can penetrate. I suppose part of me always sensed they didn’t have much love left for anyone else. Still, I thought they loved me as best they could, in their own way, because I was their precious daughter, born of their union.
None of it was real.
