22. Jess

Chapter 22

Jess

W eeks passed in rapid succession following our return to the Palace. Much of my time was consumed with the work of rebuilding the military and reassuring my people of the Kingdom’s commitment to peace with their neighbor.

Rumors still ran throughout the country carrying wild tales of Melucian demons summoned to strike down our righteous King and Prince, and no manner of royal decree would stop them. The stories Thorn carefully crafted prior to the invasion, those of Melucian malevolence, hadn’t simply taken root; they had grown and flowered through taverns and inns, bearing fruit in temples and shops throughout the land. Hatred of our eastern neighbor hadn’t waned with the conclusion of hostilities as I had hoped. It had actually grown with each tale of soldierly valor or Melucian deceit.

I marveled at the willingness of the masses to believe such lies and innuendo.

Amid this atmosphere of misplaced loathing, my popularity soared.

Sympathy for the Princess who’d lost everything, combined with nationalistic fervor fueled by beleaguered troops returning from their bitter defeat, made me the single point of hope across the land. Miraculously, the people had forgotten the petulant teenager who tried to abandon her duty and outrun her birthright only months earlier. All they saw now was a beautiful, fierce Queen giving her all to knit together a war-torn Kingdom.

Conjecture surrounding my relationship with Keelan buzzed among nobles and servants alike. I counted on his counsel and willing shoulder in ways I could never trust my own people, but our friendship was far less sensational than rumors claimed.

Still, wildfires were hard to suppress once lit.

Keelan was well liked, but the idea of the Queen consorting with a commoner, and a Melucian , left a bitter taste on many tongues, though they rarely stopped wagging long enough to savor it.

He didn’t accompany me as I rode among my people, even in the safety of the capital, but I was rarely without his company as I strode through the gardens or Palace proper. The Council had even become accustomed to the towering Guardsman attending sessions, with his perpetually stern features and humorless advice. They grew to appreciate his thoughtful, direct insights despite his often-gruff delivery.

I tried to ignore the idle chatter.

I watched my father spin many plates as King, but I never truly appreciated the ever-present burden that rested on his shoulders.

Being a sovereign wasn’t like a commoner’s vocation where the workday ended and family time began. I was always Queen, always on stage, always on call. Even when I managed a moment of blessed quiet, a maid or messenger often sought me out to deliver news or request my attention.

It was overwhelming—and I loved every minute of it.

I delayed my coronation twice, insisting my Council focus on the needs of families who lost fathers or sons, and those of returning soldiers who witnessed calamity that would change them forever. I argued that my people were more important than a ceremony to assuage my ego.

By the sixth week, sentiment among the Council had turned against further delay. My advisors argued the need to cement my rule, and, more importantly, the need to give my people something to celebrate.

I was settling into the rhythm of the Palace well, but the art of understanding my people and their needs was often bewildering.

Gazing into the eyes of a widow and her daughter, I could wrap them in my arms and provide for their needs, but it was impossible to look my people in their collective eyes and understand their needs, much less provide for them. There was no magic salve to soothe public fears or the irrational wave of emotions that wafted through crowds unseen and barely contained. Those unwieldy phantoms mystified me, though I knew I would need to master them if I was to rule well.

There is so much to learn. Sometimes, I feel so small and lost. How did Father do it for so many years?

I stared up at the golden blooms of starflowers in the garden. Their petals spanned twice the length of my palm and shimmered in the sunlight. Against the emerald of their thick, leafy vines and the white of freshly fallen snow, the tear-shaped golden fronds were ever more brilliant.

The subtle sound of footfalls turned my head.

Keelan, sporting his sharply cut Guard uniform for the first time since our return, strode toward me.

“Want to run away before they can put that golden shackle on your head?” he teased.

“Golden shackle? You make it sound like a criminal sentence. Besides, shackles go on your wrists. The crown is a holy relic they will place gently on my head.”

He smiled and nodded. “Criminal sentence? That’s probably a better description, although I might amend it to fit with the legal code and call it a life sentence .”

I stood and shook my head. “Thanks for giving me confidence before I go to the executioner’s block.”

“Woah . . . I was imprisoning you. Nobody said anything about execution —yet.”

I slapped his meaty chest with my palm, then laughed. “You are impossible. I think putting you back in that Guard uniform addled your brain.”

I let my eyes follow the rows of golden buttons as they curved about his chest then tapered toward his nonexistent waist.

He stepped back a half step and avoided my gaze.

“What?” I looked down and self-consciously adjusted my pearls.

“Jess, you look like a queen . . . I mean . . . regal . . .” he breathed more than spoke, then met my eyes. “I mean, you are a queen . . . and you’ve always been beautiful, but now . . . um . . .”

I blushed but lifted my chin and smirked. “Your way with words is . . . um . . . impressive.”

“Just let me get this out, all right?” His gaze fell, then rose to meet my eyes. “You are so much more than beautiful, so much more than just a queen. I mean . . . not just a queen . . . you are a queen, you know. Spirits!” He huffed, and his shoulders slumped like a teen boy struggling to kiss his first girl. “You see people, really see them, and not just who they are but who they can become. You see their goodness and their possibility. And when you set your mind to a problem, nothing will stand in your way until you’ve solved it. I’ve never met anyone so strong and sharp and determined. I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I admire the woman standing before me and respect the Queen she is becoming.”

I had a sharp retort waiting on the edge of my tongue, but his words made my breath catch. A wave of heat flooded through me, and I found myself struggling to focus.

So, I did the only thing I could think of in the moment; I winked and began walking up the path toward the Palace. “Come along, good sir. The golden shackle awaits.”

We marched from the hallway that spanned the royal family’s private residences into the public passages of the Palace. Green-and-gold-liveried servants raced about. No matter their task, each attendant we passed stepped aside and bowed or curtsied. Every twenty paces, a pike-wielding soldier stood rigidly against the wall. The soldiers smacked the butts of their spears against the marble floor in salute to their monarch as we passed.

I chuckled as we passed the first pair of guards and Keelan jumped at their salute. “Is the big, bad Guardsman scared of a little noise?”

“I didn’t expect . . . whatever that was. Um, Your Majesty.”

I spit out a laugh as he finally remembered to address me properly in front of the servants and guards. None dared look directly at us, but I thought I caught one maid’s brow raise along with an amused corner of her mouth.

“Fear not, my brave Melucian friend, it is I, not you, who faces the gallows on this day.”

We entered the Throne Room through the side door closest to the dais, and I was surprised to find my Council assembled, each dressed in traditional black robes with the heavy golden chains of their office. Their ceremonial black hats trimmed in glittering gold made me grin. As a young girl attending my first state function, I asked a little too loudly why the Council wore fancy cooking pots on their heads. My father, ever present in his role as monarch, lost all composure as my tiny voice filled the audience chamber and stricken looks spread throughout the assembled nobles. I never heard the King laugh so hard in the Throne Room.

And now they wore those same cooking pots for me.

I stifled a laugh and strode forward.

Each Minister bowed, far more reverently than I had experienced from the nation’s leaders before. Each in turn grasped my outstretched hand and kissed it. I was so distracted by their display of respect that I missed the man standing by the massive chamber doors. With a start, I ignored the remaining Councilors, lifted my billowing gown, and raced into the stunned man’s arms.

“Uncle Ethan!” I squealed in a most un-queenly manner.

General Ethan Marks had returned to the capital after the Kingdom’s crushing defeat in Melucia. The wintery journey covering hundreds of leagues and two mountain ranges had taken months. I had given up on him making it back for my coronation, yet here he stood, shoulders draped with the ridiculous hunter’s fur he always insisted on wearing.

I didn’t care about any of that now.

With my father, mother, and brother gone, Ethan represented one of the last vestiges of family I had left.

“I would have moved the Spires to be here for you today.” He held my shoulders at arm’s length and smiled. “I am so proud of you, and I know your father is proud of you, too.”

At the invocation of my father, my smile drifted from jubilant to wistful, yet it did not fall. “When the ceremony is complete, we should talk. There is something I need to ask you.”

He released my shoulders and bowed. “My life is yours, Majesty.”

A moment later, I turned to face the Council, each of whom watched the exchange with Marks. “I suppose I cannot run away again, can I?”

The stricken looks on the Ministers’ faces caught me by surprise. I meant the question as a lighthearted jest, but it appeared to strike too close to some unseen mark.

Ethan whispered from behind, “They fear exactly that, Majesty, after your most recent . . . adventure.”

I straightened my back and made eye contact with each Minister. “You are our Privy Council, the heart of our government and our most cherished advisors. Each of you has pledged your life to my Kingdom and our reign. Today, we pledge ours in return. Hear the oath we speak from the dais, and know we willingly offer ourselves in service to this Kingdom until we draw our last breath.”

The Ministers dropped to aged knees and bowed their heads.

Ethan followed their lead.

I was startled but noticed Keelan standing quietly in the corner by the door we had entered. He nodded through an unreadable expression.

Dozens of butterflies fluttered within my chest as I turned and, alone, passed through the chamber’s entrance toward my waiting carriage.

Festive crowds lined thoroughfares and cheered along the entire length of road from Palace to Temple. My gilded and heavily armored box-on-wheels was sandwiched between a hundred men on horseback. The streets had been cleared of the prior day’s dusting of snow to ensure easy passage and clear viewing for the anticipated throng.

The park that sat across from the ancient Temple was overflowing with well-wishing commoners, while nobles in their ceremonial finery and outlandish jewelry stood quietly behind rows of sharply uniformed guards who lined the walk that led into the marbled building.

As I emerged from the carriage and took my first few steps, the crowd erupted.

Men and women on either side bowed and curtsied in a continuous wave that preceded me by several paces. I had to remind myself not to look to either side, rather to hold my head erect and proceed in a slow, dignified manner befitting an incoming monarch. Everything was scripted and rehearsed, but nothing could have prepared me for my racing heart.

I approached the gilded doors of the Temple and was greeted by the High Priest, a kindly old man with unruly wisps of winter wafting in the breeze. He wore simple white robes trimmed in faded gold that spoke more of a humble servant than the exalted leader of the country’s dominant faith.

I had always liked our High Priest.

The vicar bowed, adjusted his ceremonial cap, and said in a familiar, fatherly tone, “Welcome, child. Forgive me while I set my cook pot to rights.”

Upon later reflection, resisting a laugh at his unwitting use of my private childhood joke might have been the most challenging thing I did that day. Only a small snort escaped before we were moving again.

Two towering guards smacked their pikes to marble, then opened the Temple’s doors in a painfully slow motion. The High Priest rose, took my proffered hand, and led me inside like a father ready to offer his daughter to a new husband. The light, sweet scent of incense greeted us as tightly knit harmonies of a choir rose and fell in melodic beauty.

The Temple’s interior consisted of one massive aisle lined on either side by five ascending rows of padded benches that faced each other. I always thought it looked like two opposing armies waiting for a bugle to charge forward. My father insisted this was a house of worship, though my innocent analogy held more truth regarding schisms in the faith than any child could ever understand.

Nobles stood before benches in ascending rank, those highest in the order of succession standing nearest the dais. Most of the men wore powdered wigs, another tradition I had never understood or appreciated. Women wore gowns, outlandish hats, and jewelry designed to match every other woman in sight.

Rows of soldiers formed ranks along the aisle facing inward.

As the procession reached the far end where the throne had been installed for this day, I noticed foreign representatives standing before pews to my right. Tribal leaders from the islands of Vint wore brightly colored blouses with wicker hats adorned by even brighter plumes. Clan leaders from Baz were covered in dark fur from head to toe. The continent’s easternmost nations of Amnel, Pantrel, Orn, and Drea had also sent delegations.

The ancient isle of Rea Utu sent only one representative, a bent old crone who leaned on a gnarled staff and smiled at me through gapped teeth. I couldn’t turn to view the woman with the procession moving forward but felt a keen intelligence in her ancient gaze.

Last among the foreign dignitaries stood a lone Melucian.

At least a head taller than any of the other representatives, Keelan was a beacon in the night. The Palace staff had worked miracles with his uniform, and the golden Lieutenant’s chevron on his shoulder glittered nearly as brightly as my own trim. Conscious of the hundreds of eyes anticipating his reaction to the young Queen, he did not turn his head, but I caught a slight widening of his eyes as I passed.

My lips rebelled and curled a bit.

Before the final seat in the final row, the seat traditionally reserved for the Crown Prince or Princess, stood a terrified-looking Kendall. I shattered protocol of the tightly scripted ceremony and stopped to face my brother. His wide eyes rose to meet mine, and the loneliness I saw in his gaze pierced my heart.

I bent and cupped his cheek, then whispered, “I love you, baby brother. I’m so proud of you.”

Kendall gripped my hand with his own, kissed it, and eyed the impatient High Priest, who struggled to get my attention. I squeezed the boy’s hand one last time, then turned toward my duty.

We stopped before the first step of the dais, staring eye level at the Throne of Spires: a gaudy, gilded monstrosity that bruised the bums of kings and queens for generations. It was an impressive piece of furniture, but no monarch had ever admired it for its comfort. My father certainly hadn’t.

I groaned.

The back is padded, why not the seat?

The randomness of my thoughts kept some of the nerves at bay but nearly caused me to laugh aloud as the chamber reached a moment of utter stillness.

That moment passed with the rap of the High Priest’s staff, a whip-crack that brought me back to the present. I bent to rest my knees on the pleasantly cushioned faldstool and continued gazing at the throne.

Minister of Justice Willa Parto, the first woman to ever serve on the Privy Council, appeared from behind the throne. Unlike the High Priest’s simple garb, Minister Parto’s robes billowed with splendor. Seven hues of green representing the seven forested regions of the Kingdom ebbed and flowed throughout her gold-trimmed gown, while three ancient chains of office dangled from her neck. A saucer-sized silver pendent depicting the scales of justice beneath a crown consumed the center of her chest.

Minister Parto looked down and offered a comforting smile.

“Your Majesty,” she bellowed for all to hear. “Your Royal Highness, Lords and Ladies, Honored Dignitaries, and guests, the King is dead. Now comes your Queen. Rise and face her.”

As one, the assembled nobles and dignitaries turned from facing the opposite benches toward the throne. I rose and, with a guiding hand from the High Priest, ascended the four steps, turned to face the crowd, and sat.

In that moment, looking out at the nobles, my nobles, the entire world settled onto my shoulders. I suddenly felt its weight pressing against my chest. I placed a calming hand to my stomach and sat up straight, just as my mother had taught me, breathing slowly and deeply.

The High Priest rose, stepped around the throne, and lifted the crown from its velvet pillow with both hands. He turned toward the east and bowed with the crown raised above his head. “I present to you Queen Jessia, your undoubted Queen. All you who come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?”

Those now facing the vicar cried aloud with one voice, “Aye, we will serve. HAIL, QUEEN JESSIA!”

He turned toward the south and repeated his call, then the west, and finally the north, each time receiving an even louder reply, as if each set of nobles sought to outdo the others in their public pledge to their new sovereign.

The High Priest bowed to Minister Parto and stepped back to allow her to step forward. Parto faced me from the side, bowed, then spoke.

“Madam, is Your Majesty willing to take the Oath?”

“I am willing.”

“Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the Spires according to our laws and ancient customs?”

“I will.”

“By the Spirits, and before these witnesses, I beg Your Majesty, rise and make your pledge.”

I stood and drew one final breath of freedom, then spoke in a clear, unwavering voice.

“I, Jessia of House Vester, do pledge to lead, serve, and defend the Crown and its people from all threats within and without, without fear or favor, affection or ill will. I pledge to do right to all manner of people after the laws and usages of the Kingdom. To the people and the Spires, be it long or short, my whole life is yours. By the Spirits and the Spires, this is my pledge.”

Minister Parto bowed low and stepped back into her spot behind the throne.

The High Priest stepped forward, raised the crown, and bowed once more.

“The crown of the Spires! Come all and look upon its majestic favor. Spirits, we beg your blessings on this crown and the brow beneath it. Sanctify this symbol and our servant, Jessia, upon whose head we place this sacred relic, that she may be filled with royal majesty, abundant grace, and princely virtue.”

He moved to stand facing me, bowed once more, then carefully placed the crown on my head. As soon as his hands lifted, brilliant Light swelled from both the crown and the ring I now wore as sovereign. The High Priest shuffled to the lowest step and fell to one knee as the magic swirled around me, bathing me in an otherworldly glow. The crowd’s collective intake of breath echoed through the chamber just before the magic flared one final time and exploded outward in a sea of sparkling shards above the heads of the awestruck nobility.

The High Priest dared not rise, but bellowed, “HAIL, QUEEN JESSIA.”

The crowd rushed to mirror the priest’s pose, falling to their knees with heads bowed, and echoed again and again, “HAIL, QUEEN JESSIA!”

For the first time since entering the Temple, I allowed my eyes to roam about the chamber.

Kendall beamed up at me, calling out in his squeaky, preteen voice.

I gazed across the visiting dignitaries and nobles, and my heart both raced and swelled with pride. My father had raised me for this moment, for the day I would succeed him. I always knew he would miss my coronation, as it was rare to succeed a living ruler, but I still smarted at his absence in my moment of glory. The vacant seats beside Kendall underscored other absences I felt.

I found Keelan again, kneeling along with the others. Even on his knees, he towered over those around him, and I caught him stealing a glance. He winked before returning his head to the correct position.

He winked at me! Right after I received the crown!

I tried to ignore the beginning of a mental debate over whether to be amused or annoyed with the Guardsman. What remained of my Privy Council was to my right behind the Royal Pew. A sea of nobles spread beyond. All were bowed low, only plumed bonnets and backs visible from my vantage on the dais.

Then my eye was drawn to a singular figure in the back of the Temple nave. Brown robes glinted in the light just enough to make me notice.

Why isn’t that man kneeling like everyone else? And those robes . . .

There was something familiar about the man. I knew but couldn’t place it.

His posture? The set of his jaw? His shoulder-length hair?

Something was so familiar.

And then I knew —and my breath caught.