8. Jess

Chapter 8

Jess

A s the priest’s cart approached the Palace gate, a bored-looking guard in the nearby shack did a double take, then snapped to attention.

“Highness, welcome back. We didn’t know you’d returned from your, um . . . journey,” the man said, his eyes never leaving some distant point beyond the horizon. I might’ve been a teenage princess, but the guards knew better than to make eye contact unless it was necessary.

“It is all right, William,” I said, placing a hand on his arm. “Would you have the Chancellor’s office assemble the Privy Council? I need to speak with them in an hour.”

The guard’s eyes shot to my hand, his brow rising nearly to his hairline.

I couldn’t remember ever using any of the guards’ names before. I rarely acknowledged their existence, much less was kind or considerate to them. I heard the men often joked about how I’d been raised by the Palace staff but refused to lower myself to learn even their names. My father tried to teach me the value of our people—if I’d only listened sooner.

I will have to work on that if I am to become the Queen I always envisioned as a girl.

“Um, Your Highness—”

“William,” I said in a soothing tone. “I know it is an unusual request, but please humor me. I will explain everything to the Council.”

I turned back to the dumbfounded cleric before William could reply. “Thank you, Father. I do not think I could have made such a long walk tonight without your steadfast company.”

The priest bowed. I could feel his eyes on my back as I lifted my chin and strode into the Palace grounds.

By the time I reached my chamber, the Palace was abuzz with speculation regarding my unorthodox Council summons. One of my maids greeted me at my chamber door. “I had a hot bath prepared as soon as I heard you’d returned, Highness. Will you want your ladies to help you bathe and dress?”

I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Tena. I will be fine on my own tonight. Would you ask the kitchen to make refreshments for the Council in the Throne Room? We will be meeting in an hour.”

A broad smile burst across the woman’s face as she curtsied again and scurried off.

I closed the door and slumped to the floor.

In that moment, safe in my own chambers and alone with my thoughts, the thousand emotions I had kept at bay bubbled to the surface. Losing my father, brother . . . and even my mother. The terror of facing a knife’s edge . . . in the hand of a man I trusted. The weight of the crown I now wore . . . or soon would wear.

It was all too much.

How was anyone supposed to face so much?

How was I supposed to bear . . . everything?

My head dropped into my hands, and my chest began to heave.

“Enough,” I chided myself, swatting at pesky tears that streaked the grime on my face and rising to my feet. “It is past time I cleaned myself and became the Queen my father taught me to be.”

I unlaced my boots and tossed them aside, then wandered to the bath the staff must have drawn the moment they learned I was headed their way. The water was now tepid, but the lavender oils relaxed my mind as rich soap melted the dusty road from my skin. I could have soaked in that water for hours, had a banging on my door not drawn me out of my relaxation.

“I need a moment,” I called.

“Yes, Highness. We will wait outside.”

Reluctantly, I toweled off and threw on a simple gown, determined to be seen for my words and actions rather than the Palace’s finery. I had to earn respect from the men of the Council, and seeing me as more than a churlish, fashion-obsessed girl was a start.

Or so I told myself.

Two green-and-gold-liveried servants waited outside my chamber. They led me through the Palace halls and opened the double doors to the audience chamber, lowering their heads as I stepped past.

I entered to the side of the thrones and walked toward the Council table where the Ministers were assembled—at least those who remained in the capital while the Kingdom pursued its war in the east. Only four of the eight Privy Councilors stood behind their high-back chairs awaiting my arrival, representing Trade, Foreign Affairs, Justice, and the Crown’s Treasury. Notably absent were High Chancellor Thorn, Minister of War Bril, High Sheriff Wilfred, and General Marks.

At the far end of the table, a tall, thin man I didn’t recognize stood; his long blue robes lined with one band of gold rustled as he bowed. The other men had their backs to the door and startled at the man’s sudden gesture, turning and offering their own respects.

I approached the table and rested a hand on the chair at its head, desperate to keep it from quivering beneath a hornet’s nest of nerves that threatened my stomach and chest.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, gentlemen. A lot has happened . . . is happening . . . in the east, and I do not know . . . I am unsure . . . how much news made it back to the capital.” I took a deep breath and pulled the chair back to sit but found myself unable to take my seat while everyone else stood glaring.

Foreign Minister Bacras cleared his throat as he took his own seat. “Highness, why don’t you start with why you called us here. It is most unusual for . . . well . . .”

“For a Princess to call the Council into session?” I finished his thought.

Bacras nodded, his lips pursed.

Treasurer Dask crossed his arms and frowned, clearly disgruntled by the presumption in the Princess’s summons. He had yet to sit.

I nodded and sucked in another deep breath. These men had never made me nervous before. Why did my heart feel like Dittler’s hooves pounding against my chest?

“My father . . . the King . . . he is dead.”

Dask dropped into his chair while the others stared open-mouthed at the teenager before them.

No one spoke.

I had no clue what I expected, how I thought they might react. Shouts? Insults? Talking over each other, perhaps a few tears shed for my fallen father?

Astonished silence was not high on my list, but the sound of men breathing . . . trying not to be heard breathing . . . filled the hall.

I looked from one face to the next and fought the urge to bolt from the room.

The men’s eyes said it all.

They didn’t want me on the throne.

In fact, I thought a thread of fear ran through their expressions. I decided to take Atikus’s advice and play to their paternal instincts.

“No one feels this loss more than I do. It has been weeks since his passing, but it feels like yesterday.”

“Weeks?” Dask exclaimed. “How are we just hearing of this? Why was no messenger sent to inform this Council?”

I sat in the High Chancellor’s seat at the head of the table and stared into the glossy wood surface.

“After my mother killed the King—”

“Spirits, no!” Minister Carver said before covering his mouth with the ridiculous lace handkerchief he carried everywhere.

The tears I held at bay broke free and trailed down my cheeks. I blinked to clear my vision. My eyes drifted to my hands for what felt like forever, then I looked up.

“Gentlemen, please sit? There is much we need to discuss.”

As the final Councilors took their seats, I glanced at the Mage at the table’s opposite end. “Sir, please introduce yourself. I do not know you.”

The man bowed again. “Your Highne—forgive me— Your Majesty , I am Dane Ernest. Since the High Chancellor is in the east with our troops, Minister Bacras thought it would be helpful to have another Mage offer counsel to the Throne.”

This was the first time anyone had addressed me by the monarchical title. A surge of nervous energy tickled its way up my spine. This will take getting used to.

Then the Mage’s mention of the High Chancellor sank in.

I pursed my lips.

Was this another snake like Thorn? Were all Mages? Atikus was a Mage and a good man, but he was Melucian. Did any good men remain within the Kingdom’s borders? At least, did any good men in blue robes?

I knew the other men at the table, but should I trust this one? I didn’t trust any of my father’s Councilors, other than Uncle Ethan, but they were not unfamiliar to me. This Mage was a new variable in an ever-changing landscape.

Before I could speak, Minister Bacras leaned toward me and whispered, “Majesty, he’s a good man. Not one of Thorn’s, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“How did you—?” Of course he knew how I felt about Thorn. It was no secret. The entire Palace knew I loathed the little weasel. He barely entered a room before a scowl marred my face. The other Ministers had witnessed my reaction to Thorn’s smooth talk at hundreds of Council meetings.

I will have to be more careful about how I let others see my true feelings moving forward . . . about everyone. Did Father struggle to steel himself every moment of every day? Would the Crown always feel so . . . burdensome?

I nodded once to the Mage, and the man took a seat.

A moment of silence hung in the air as the men waited for their Queen to address them. I eyed each man before beginning the speech I rehearsed a dozen times.

“My Lords, the King is dead. Prince Justin is dead. My mother, the former Queen, killed them both in an attempt to take the crown for herself. Even now, she leads our troops in an unjust war against our Melucian neighbors—all in the name of justice for my kidnapping. We have incontrovertible evidence she was behind my kidnapping and attempted murder as well.”

I watched shock flood into my advisors anew. To their credit, none spoke.

The massive chamber held its breath.

Each statement sounded more outlandish and devastating than the last, yet the truth was plain when spoken aloud. Their entire world had changed.

“The Children, that ancient cult based in the village of Irina’s Seat, were responsible for the Gifted kidnappings that plagued both our nation and Melucia. They kidnapped me on my mother’s orders and would have sacrificed my life on the altar of their evil schemes if not for the bravery of our soldiers and . . . others.” My voice broke. “Prince Justin . . . my brother was lost during my rescue.”

I steeled myself before my grief could take control. This was no time to show weakness.

“That is everything I knew before fleeing my mother’s men. Your turn, gentlemen.”

Still, no one spoke.

They stared at me, as if trying to absorb this news.

In that moment, an odd sensation tickled the back of my neck, and a familiar voice whispered in my head, “Jess, it’s Atikus . . .”