33. Jess

Chapter 33

Jess

I adjusted the cushion, shifting from one tingling cheek to the other, wishing I had even more padding.

When a new monarch was crowned, every vassal and village presented letters offering their service to the new ruler. It was as if the Crown had been reinvented, and everyone was required to bend the knee all over again. I understood the significance of the tradition, as it forced even the most upturned of noble noses to lower themselves and pledge their fealty once more. They weren’t exactly making a new promise, more renewing the lifelong one they made when accepting whatever appointment or office they held.

I sighed.

It was an important step, if a long and boring one.

“Guildmaster Devon Weaver, head of the Merchants’ Guild of Featherstone,” the page called out as the doors swung open once again. I straightened and tried to rub the weariness from my eyes. I hoped the man entering the audience chamber hadn’t seen me rolling my neck to ease the stiffness, but I really didn’t care at this point.

The stork of a man in his pale blue doublet and brown breeches stopped when he reached a mark on the floor some twenty paces from the base of the dais. He bowed, then continued forward to the final mark, lowering his eyes beneath his new Queen’s gaze.

“Guildmaster Weaver. It is a pleasure to see you again. It has been, what, four years?”

The man’s head snapped up. “Majesty? You remember?”

I smiled. “Of course I remember. It was a wonderful visit. I recall your kindness most fondly, though you might not say the same of my own . . . unfortunate behavior.”

Weaver’s eyes lowered once more, but I saw a grin pull at one corner of his mouth. “You were . . . young, Majesty. A little precociousness is to be expected of a child, royal or common, would you not say?”

“Precociousness?” I chuckled. “Yes, well, you are again generous with that description. Nonetheless, it is good to see you again. For what purpose do you seek audience with us?”

The shift in formality snapped him back into form, and Weaver dropped to one knee. “I come to congratulate Her Majesty and give my Oath, such that this humble servant of the Crown may offer.”

“Your humility is refreshing in a chamber so often filled with blustery wind.” Another grin tugged at the man’s mouth. “Guildmaster Weaver, what is your pledge?”

“I, Devon Weaver, do swear that I will well and truly serve our Sovereign Lady Queen Jessia Vester and her heirs and successors. I will do right to all manner of people after the laws and usages of this Kingdom, without fear or favor, affection or ill will. By the Spirits and the Spires, I do swear.”

I rose and placed a palm on Weaver’s shoulder.

This was the only ceremony in which tradition required the monarch to touch one of her subjects, but doing so carried significant symbolism. I also knew the magic of the crown flowed through me and into my new vasal, binding their promises in a virtually unbreakable pact. My father never told me if the nobles comprehended this Gift, but he attributed much of his reign’s longevity on the protections it afforded him.

As my hand contacted Weaver, a faint glow flared from my crown, and the familiar tingle of magic trickled down until it vanished from my palm into Weaver. He looked up, and his eyes widened as I spoke.

“Guildmaster Devon Weaver, the Crown accepts your fealty. In return, we offer you and yours our hearth and home, protection and provision, justice and righteous vengeance, without fear or favor, affection or ill will. By the Spirits and the Spires, we do swear.”

A tear fell from Weaver’s eye as he watched me step back. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Thank you.” He bowed, then backed out of the chamber.

“This might be the longest day ever, but that part never gets old,” I whispered to Ethan, who stood one step below the throne to my right.

He grinned. “You royals are all alike. Your father once said exactly the same.”

“Really?”

Ethan nodded, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “All alike, I say.”

“Oh, hush. Just because you—”

“High Priest Danym Wilfred, Ambassador of the Order to the Crown, Bearer of the Keys to the Faith, and Voice of the One.”

Ethan blinked several times. “ Voice of the One ? He sounds full of himself. This should be good.”

“Ethan,” I whispered. “He said Danym Wilfred . Is that my Danym? I mean, the Sheriff’s son?”

The one who betrayed me?

Before he could respond, the doors swung open, and Danym strode into the room, his dirty-blond hair now draped against the shoulders of his silky brown robe. His annoyingly bemused grin looked as though he’d played some devilish prank that was now being revealed.

I stood before my throne, fists balled at my sides, my chest heaving with barely contained rage. I was sure I’d seen him in the back of the hall at my coronation, but he’d vanished so quickly I wondered if my mind had wandered into moonlit woods.

Now, staring at the man I once craved more than breath, fire flowed in my veins. His eyes remained deep green with flecks of gold, yet all I saw were swirling pools of darkness. This man—this devious, hateful, wretched man—hadn’t just cast me aside. He’d handed me over to those who sought to slaughter me.

And for what?

Surely, he gained no power in the bargain. My mother loathed Danym, and Irina . . . I could scarcely see that evil witch keeping him around past his usefulness. I could not fathom what led him to don that vile robe.

As much as I wanted to have Danym’s wrists clamped in irons and his body hung from the highest tower of the Palace, the weight on my brow ruled my every desire. He was a representative of a faction, a cult, of some odd collection of misfits who claimed to no longer seek power or vengeance.

Was it duty or curiosity that compelled me to listen to him?

I was unsure.

I relaxed my fingers, then balled them again.

My guards noticed the change in their charge’s posture and stepped forward to assume not-so-ceremonial positions on either side of the dais.

Danym stopped exactly on the first mark, bowed exactly the minimum depth required to not be rude, then marched to the second mark.

His petulant gaze never left my eyes.

He did not bow or kneel again.

“It is customary to take a knee before the throne, Ambassador,” Ethan said, his tone darker than I’d heard since he returned from war.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. The Faith appreciates the Crown for its, how should I say, worldly duties, but we do not recognize the monarch as sovereign over spiritual matters. I will show respect to you and your office, but the Order compels me not to kneel in submission or subservience.”

Ethan’s brow rose.

“Danym?” was all I could get out.

“Hello, Jess.”

“You may not kneel, but you will address her as Your Majesty, Priest ,” Ethan snapped. The guards took another step forward, pikes at the ready.

Danym peered out the side of his eyes at Ethan as if viewing an irritating bug on his shoulder. “And you may address me as Holy Voice .”

The room began to spin, and my breath became shallow, so I sat back on my throne. Danym took a step forward, his hand outstretched.

The guards crossed their pikes before him.

“No need for violence. I was merely offering Her Majesty a hand. She looks as if she has seen a ghost.” Danym stepped back.

“I am fine,” I said, waving my guards back. “Let us get this over with. Holy Voice , why do you seek an audience before the throne?”

“After all we went through, this is how you greet me. I was hoping for a happier reunion.”

I clutched the arms of the throne and leaned forward. “You are lucky my greeting does not include the sharp end of a pike. You deceived me, betrayed me, and watched me nearly murdered. Now you come into my house and expect a warm embrace?”

“I was talking about a welcome, but if you’re offering an embrace—”

“Enough!” I shot off the throne and descended one step to stand eye level with him. The guards were at Danym’s sides before I had stopped moving. When I spoke, an angry, hissing whisper escaped my lips. “If you ever cared for me, you will get this farce over and leave. If I never see your face again, it will be too soon.”

Danym’s smirk vanished, and I thought I caught a hint of the boy I’d once loved emerge.

He whispered, “Jess, of course I loved you— still love you. It’s not what it looked like. Give me a chance to explain.”

My throat seized.

I couldn’t think.

The room spun again, and I had to brace myself against Ethan’s proffered arm to keep from falling.

Nothing made sense.

Danym had betrayed me, given me over to the Children to be slaughtered on the altar of sacrifice.

And for what?

What was in it for him?

He was a teenage boy who didn’t want to live with his father anymore. He didn’t care about power or religion. He barely cared about his place in Fontaine’s society. I had had to coach him through everything.

Or was that all an act, too?

Was the quiet, brooding boy who seemed to stumble over his own feet feigning all that? Did I ever really know the man I fled the safety of the Palace with, only to travel halfway across the Kingdom to be kidnapped by murderous madmen?

No, not kidnapped by— delivered to .

Was that his plan all along?

Now he stood before me.

He was so cocky, strutting down the aisle and barely showing any respect due the Crown. How dare he? Who did he think he was? Who did he think I was? Some foolhardy, doe-eyed girl whom he could manipulate again—or worse?

He was about to learn exactly who this Queen was, and just how mighty her commands could be, no matter what his fledgling faith might think.

I stepped back, straightened my spine, and spoke formally. “Voice Wilfred, the Crown will hear your words. Speak.”

The boy in his eyes vanished, and the annoying smirk returned.

“I come with an offer of friendship. The Order wishes the Crown no ill will. In fact, we offer to unite our strength with yours. The One returns with a message of hope, and we believe the time is right for the Crown and the Order to stand as one.”

“Unite the Crown and the Order? What are you saying?” Ethan spoke the words I couldn’t voice.

Danym locked eyes with me again. “The One offers a hand in marriage, to join through matrimony the spiritual guidance of our faith and the worldly governance of the throne.”

I leaned forward, confusion replaced by a hawk’s piercing gaze. “You said a hand in marriage, not his hand.”

Danym actually laughed. “Oh, no, Your Majesty. The One could not marry, though I am sure he would be honored by your offer. He seeks to give my hand to Her Majesty, in the furtherance of peace and prosperity for the land we share.”

I slumped into the cushion of the throne, stunned. “You want me to marry you ?”

Danym offered a tilt of his foppish head. “I do.”

I seethed as I glared at the man before me.

“Get out.” The world froze for but a moment. “GET OUT!”

The guards rushed forward and grabbed Danym roughly by each arm, practically lifting him off the ground as they hauled him out of the hall.

As he vanished through the doors, he called out, “So you’ll think about it?”

The doors slammed shut.