Page 94 of Of Beasts & Vengeance

“Almost?” I quirk an offended eyebrow.

“Nothing we can’t fix,” he assures me, stretching out a hand. “Come with me.”

His words are arrogant, but there’s a gleam in his eyes I can’t quite decipher -- something playful or hopeful -- so I take his hand.

Einar leads me down a set of stairs and a short pathway until we stop at the panel to the throne room. I only have time to shoot him a single, quizzical glance before he pushes open the door and pulls me through it.

The shuffling of other bodies pulls my attention. Instantly, my senses go on alert, but it’s only the four people who already know I’m alive. Sigrid, Leif, Gunnar, and Helga stand in the center of the room as though they’re waiting for us. Each of them holds an unlit torch, though Gunnar and Helga have two apiece.

Einar closes the panel until it fits seamlessly into the sectioned wall. The main doors are shut, and the room is well-lit enough by a fire blazing in an enormous hearth to see that no one else is in here.

I furrow my brow, and Einar crosses over to Sigrid with an outstretched hand. She produces something from her crushed velvet bag that I can’t quite see until he turns back to me.

It’s a crown.

Polished silver gleams in the firelight, but that’s where the similarities between this crown and Einar’s end. Where his is decidedly masculine, solid and unyielding, this one is lighter and almost graceful.

Thick strands of silver are woven into a plait, each piece crossing over the last until they reach the center. In the middle rests a blue sapphire that dips low to rest on the wearer’s forehead, shimmering like ice and snow. The stone itself is nestled in a bed of branches...or thorns.

I am speechless while he takes two long strides toward me and nestles the silver circlet on top of my carefully plaited hair. Braids I now see were fashioned after Einar’s because his are styled to accommodate a crown. Like this one.

“Now, you look perfect,” he says. “Now, you look like a queen.”

“I’m not a queen,” I remind him.

“No,” he corrects me, an arrogant smile tugging at his lips. “You weren’t a queen yesterday. But as of this morning, you are.”

My fingers move up to trace the cool metal on my head as my heart races. I stare at him, trying to understand what it is he thinks he’s doing, but his expression is sincere.

“You can’t just give me a crown and pretend that I’m Queen, Einar,” I say with a trace of exasperation.

He narrows his eyes. “I’m not pretending anything, and this is hardly about that crown.” His finger lifts my chin, and his voice dips lower as he stares into my eyes. “You were willing to give your life for my people -- not once, but twice. You discovered the cure that saved them, and then you risked the wrath of a dragon to retrieve it for them. They are your people now, too.” Then, he lifts a single eyebrow. “That is, if you consent to serve them.”

“I –-" I look to where the other four are standing, staring at me with expressions of deep pride and respect and gratitude. All of this was intentional, I realize, even the fact that I am in the clothes of my own culture.

They want me to know that I can rule by their king’s side just as I am. Thorns and all. And I can’t possibly deny them that.

I take a deep, unsteady breath, my mouth curling up into a smile of its own accord.

“Of course, I consent,” I say. “I would be honored.”

On that word, Helga hands me a torch, and Gunnar hands one to Einar before the four of them line up in front of the hearth.

Helga dips her own torch in the flames before touching it to Leif’s. They go down the line to Sigrid until all five of their torches are blazing.

“Usually this would be done with the whole kingdom here to watch, to share in lighting your torch. It is to signify their support and promise to work with you and to work for you.” Einar says, stepping forward. “A King and Queen are only as good as the people they serve. We work together. We protect each other. We fight for each other.”

“Better to fight and fall, than to live without hope,” Leif says boldly.

“Better to die with honor than to live with shame,” they all chant in unison, and it sends a chill down my spine.

Then Einar holds out his burning torch to mine. I raise mine to meet it until the tip is engulfed in flames. The king looks proudly at me before he announces in a low tone, “All hail Queen Zaina.”

The other four drop to one knee, their torches still held high.

“All hail Queen Zaina,” they repeat.

My eyes mist over at the unexpected display of respect they’ve shown me. Leif takes our torches and hangs them on the wall while Sigrid pours everyone a glass of eiswein.

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