64. Declan

Chapter 64

Declan

K eelan tugged at his collar for the hundredth time.

“If you don’t leave that thing alone, you’ll pull the stitching out,” I scolded as I finished fastening the last of his gilded buttons.

“Does the damned thing have to itch? And why is it so tight? My skin feels like it wants to crawl off and run away.”

“Sure that isn’t just you?” I patted his chest and stepped back. “And stop sweating. You’ll send the whole staff into a tizzy if you—”

“Dec, I’m freakin’ marrying the Queen.”

I couldn’t decide if there was more pleading, nervous energy, adoration, or awe in his voice. Whatever it was, the words were strained, reminding me of a small boy trying to pass a particularly large turd.

A rough laugh slipped out, and I had to turn to cover my mouth.

“Laugh all you want, Dandelion, your day will come.”

When we were boys, he tormented me with that nickname, feeding to all the others who studied with the Mages so they, too, could harass me about my unruly, utterly ungovernable hair. Keelan hadn’t called me Dandelion in years.

He really was nervous.

I turned back to face him.

Keelan was the strongest man I knew—likely the strongest I would ever know—and not just because he towered over most people and had muscles on top of already bulging muscles. Keelan’s true strength lay in his character, in the man he was, in his belief in the goodness of others and his willingness to fight to protect those he loved. He might have been the most steadfast person in all of Melucia.

He knew what was right, and he never wavered in its pursuit.

I worshiped him when we were children. Now, despite the blessings of the Spirits and the Phoenix, I looked up to him in ways that defied understanding. He was the man others looked up to, followed, and believed in.

He was the man I dreamed I might one day become.

But in that moment, his eyes held none of his usually unflappable confidence, the glare that told the world he could mount it and ride into the sunset if the mood struck. Now, only the unsure gaze of my nine-year-old big brother stared back.

My heart melted.

I pulled him into a fierce hug. Screw our fancy coats.

“Kee,” I whispered as he bent to bury his face in my shoulder, something he had never done. “Jess may be Queen, but she is a woman who loves you with all her heart. I see that in how she looks at you, how she lights up whenever you walk into a room. I hear it in her voice when she speaks to someone else, then turns to you. It’s in her touch and in her smile. Spirits, if she loved you any more, I think she’d combust.”

Keelan snorted into my shoulder.

“If you get snot on my tunic—”

He snorted again, then pretended to wipe his nose on my golden fabric.

I shoved him back.

“Thanks, little brother,” he said through a warm smile, then watched me strain to look at where his imaginary nasal drip had smeared.

I held his gaze. Doubt still swirled. I could feel it.

I glanced around the room to ensure we were still alone, then lowered my voice again.

“Do you love her?”

His whole face bunched up. “Of course I do. More than anything.”

“All right, then. What’s the problem?”

“Dec . . .” He started to tug at his collar, but I caught his hand and shook my head. “Sorry. It’s just . . . she’s a Queen , and I’m what? A local Constable from a foreign country? How is this going to work?”

I brushed my tunic out, then straightened my cloak. This was a ridiculous conversation.

“Fine time for you to ask those questions.”

“Right?” He flopped into a nearby chair.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

He thought a moment. “I cause an international incident.”

I spat a laugh.

“What?”

“We just survived a war, not a year ago. I think you’re in the clear for international incidents.”

“Fine. Still—”

I kneeled and gripped his shoulders. The fucker was almost as tall as I was—and he was sitting.

“Look at me, Kee.” I waited until he didn’t shy away. “Someone is going to knock on that door any minute now, and we are walking into the Throne Room where you are marrying the woman you love. There’s no getting out of this, so stop squirming. Jess needs to see that arrogant, puffed-up peacock she fell in love with. Spirits know why.”

“Hey! I’m not puffed up!”

“Fucking peacock.”

He shot to his feet and shoved me like he was about to rumble with his baby bro.

I hopped back.

“There’s the big brother I always looked up to.”

He froze and cocked his head like some dog who’d just heard the word, “treat.”

“You dumb ox.” I rolled my eyes with all the drama of a troupe. “ Of course I look up to you. I always have. I’m so damn proud to be your brother . . . Mother would be proud, too.”

Keelan stared, then swallowed. “Thanks, Dec. I love you, too.”

Before we could devolve into a pair of mushy, ugly crying men, three sharp raps sounded as the door swung open. High Chancellor Ethan Marks stepped in, wearing his gods-awful black trousers, black tunic, and black cloak lined with the fur of some unfortunate beast. He looked like a Ranger who’d gone into mourning.

Marks bowed toward Keelan. “It is time, Your Majesty.”

Keelan’s brows bunched. “Ethan, why—”

“You will be King. Perhaps King-Consort, though I suspect Jessia will simply name you King. She had not made up her mind when I spoke with her earlier today. Either way, you will need to get used to the bowing.” Marks nodded in my direction. “Are we ready, Prince Declan?”

“Well, shit,” Keelan said, running a hand over his stubbly head. “I was. I really hadn’t thought about what marrying Jess might make me . . . and him .”

Marks gaped. “You had not thought of becoming King? Seriously? You are a seasoned, decorated investigator, are you not?”

“In a country without a throne or a Queen, sure,” Keelan said defensively, as color snuck up from his collar.

I turned to Marks with a mischievous grin. “Good thing there’s no real power with his new title. He’s not the sharpest axe, if you know what I mean.”

Marks snorted.

I smirked.

Keelan scowled.

“Let’s go before you soil your soon-to-be-royal breeches.” I gave Keelan one last check before stepping aside and motioning for him to follow Marks.

Marks escorted us through the hallways that led to the Throne Room’s side entrance, the one Jess used to move to and from the residence wing of the Palace. A page waited near that door to guide me to another door on the opposite side.

Nobles and guests of every station packed the massive hall, each wearing a small nation’s worth of gold and precious jewels. The tiaras and circlets alone could have fed and clothed half the people of the Kingdom for years. Vines covered in white flowers encircled each column from base to as high as I could see, and globes of light cast cerulean auras, bathing the great hall in magical brilliance.

I didn’t know many in attendance, but a few familiar heads nodded in greeting. The page led me to stand on a spot at the base of the first step that led to the thrones, the position of highest honor for the family of the groom. An empty place stood between Marks and me, a spot Keelan insisted remain open in honor of our adopted father.

It pained me to lie to everyone, concocting a tale of gallantry and sacrifice in which Atikus gave his life to save mine in the battle against Irina. None could know of his new role or home. I knew the old Mage would allow me to tell Keelan soon, possibly bring him to Rea Utu for a visit, but not this day.

And so, his space remained empty, his memory an ache in an otherwise joyous day.

I gazed up at the seats of power not ten paces away, massive gilded and bejeweled chairs from which rulers guided a nation and influenced the world.

My brother would sit on one of those in mere moments.

He would be the right hand of the Queen.

Spirits save us all.

The page bellowed from the open doorway, heralding the entrance of some duke or duchess. I missed the announcement. My gaze slipped from the thrones to the rows of guests standing uncomfortably on the opposite side of the hall. The new arrival, decked out in crimson, forest green, and gold, took her place among her peers.

I scanned the crowd.

About halfway down the row began the foreign dignitaries. Representatives of the Isle of Vint wore grass skirts and strange shirts made of shells. Melucia’s small eastern neighbors were each represented by one or two finely dressed men or women. Rea Utu stood tall with a giant, reed-thin man I recognized as the innkeeper in the village. He had been selected to take Larinda’s place as the leader of their people. I found that a fine choice.

I was about to turn back to my study of the thrones’ carvings as the page’s clear voice again rang out, “The Right Honorable Lord Ronan Byrne, Ambassador to Her Majesty, the Queen, from the Empire of Melucia, and his retinue.”

Ronan Byrne ? Ambassador?

Everything had moved so quickly over the past months, and Atikus’s situation had been so dire, that I hadn’t kept up with politics back home. I’d never paid much attention to the machinations of the ruling class, at least not beyond those who governed the workings of the Ranger corps. The new Triad had appointed a new ambassador. That wasn’t surprising. Who they appointed was.

I craned my neck, looking around members of the Privy Council, to watch as a middle-aged man with more silver than black poking out beneath his velvet navy cap strode forward.

A flash of red behind Lord Byrne caught my eye.

And my heart leaped into my throat.

Ayden, striking in his perfect leathers and sharp verdant Ranger cloak clasped with its gleaming silver owl, smiled at me.

The chamber of nobles and thrones and pages and guards—all of it faded away.

There was only Ayden.