Chapter Four

Crossing my arms over my chest, I frown at the array of gowns strewn across the featherbed.

Annoyance stretches through me as Sianna titters on with my lady's maids behind me, their soft chuckles and whispers beginning to grate against my nerves.

Though crimson is a color that suits me well, the thick material of the gown is not breathable enough for such temperatures. My gaze flickers to the left. I'm unsure why Nuelle laid out the periwinkle gown. The white flowers that cascade from the bosom of the gown and into the shimmering silver skirts are more befitting of a princess than a queen.

Seeing that I'm to take a trip into the city, my choice of gown not only has to be practical, but extravagant.

"Sianna," I call.

On the fifth of each moon, she joins me as the materials to be made into gowns are brought in by the seamstresses. Every piece of fabric is scrutinized by her keen eye, deeming the richest silk and smoothest velvet as fit for the Queen of Minalis. Sianna also selects the jewels that are a staple of my wardrobe. Each piece is chosen with a specific gown in mind.

Though I'm confident in my ability to dress in a fashionable manner, it's a small reprieve to know that I'm the best-dressed ruler in all the kingdoms with Sianna at my side. Gowns can make or break a queen's reign, after all.

I eye the next black gown with fleur de lis embroidering the sleeve as near silent steps approach. Remnants of laughter dance in her eyes as she gathers her sable tresses into one hand and tosses them over her shoulder. Following the path of my gaze, she drums her fingers on her chin playfully. I roll my eyes and sigh. While I've come to appreciate her humor, I'm in no mood for such theatrics today.

"That one," she says after a long moment, pointing to the light, sleeveless cream gown that cinches at the waist.

Although greeting the townspeople and delivering grand words of folly hope is the last thing I wish to do, I'm left with little choice.

When I refused to engage in peace talks with the King of Risian, small fires ignited in protest outside the gates of the palace. Now, large glows of orange spread throughout Solei nightly. They've been extinguished quickly, and more men have been sent to patrol the town, but the situation has taken a turn in the weeks past.

Small acts of rebellion became wanton violence. Not a moon ago, I'd been frightened out of my sleep when Alexander burst into my chambers. With pale stricken features and wide eyes, he'd told me of the drunken brawl that occurred over a sack of grain. When the people began to turn on one another, the fight turned deadly.

Seven of my men were slaughtered when they attempted to intervene. As days passed and seven men turned into twenty, the council decided a boost in morale was needed. Much to my displeasure, after careful deliberation concerning my safety, my trip into the city was set.

I scowl as I glance over at Sianna. "You're sure?"

With my porcelain skin, I tend to avoid shades of white, despite the Risian Princess swearing it suits me.

She rolls her eyes. "It's much too warm for black, Ella. Besides, the people are already in mourning. The cream will be a much needed distraction from the constant doom and gloom that surrounds them."

There's a certain mockery to be found in that idea. The sight of me will not provide them with comfort. Though I don't reside among them, the whispers that pass behind closed doors about the Queen of Ice who occupies the Amber Palace doesn't escape me. No true monarch. Not one to cross, but not one to admire either. Cruel. Merciless. Abominable, they call me.

Given the circumstances, I don't fault their logic. The war that steals away their loved ones continues by my hand, after all. While battle and bloodshed is unpleasant for the whole of Minalis, it's most unkind to those of the lower class. For nearly fifty years, a sword or bow has been put into the hands of each citizen who meets the requirement to fight alongside the Milenese command. For the vast majority, this law offers a twisted reprieve. Mothers would rather see their children fight for their Queen than starve.

Resigning myself with a sigh, I tug the gown from the wooden hanger and turn back to my ladies maids. "Cream it is."

After dressing, Nuelle slicks back my curls into an elegant twist at the nape of my neck and places the rubied crown atop my head. Although it's much too early, Sianna prattles on as we make our way to the Great Hall about Lady Palison, who just announced she's carrying her first child.

Thanks to Sianna, I've known the comings and goings of every lord and lady who call the Amber Palace their home for the past five centuries, without ever the need to lift a finger. It's her most valuable quality. My mother's ward turned spy.

Seeing that I despise children, her rambling is little more than white noise. I took great measures to ensure I didn't fall pregnant when I wed Calor. Although many of our subjects considered it my duty to bear my husband a child and further the royal bloodline, I couldn't fathom doing so. The risks of childbirth are far too great, even when surrounded by the best midwives the kingdoms have to offer.

After Calor and I shared a bed for the first time and my blood came the following moon, I enlisted Nuelle's help to protect myself. Slipping quietly from my chambers, she'd returned the next day with a potion to prevent a babe from forming in my womb.

Calor flew into a fit of rage when he discovered the empty vial of potion on my bedside table, but resigned to defeat in the end. Understanding there was nothing he could do to sway me on the matter, the nights we shared a bed reduced greatly.

When moons turned to years and questions arose as to why I had yet to present an heir, I told the council there would be no babe. I'm far too busy to raise a child and have no desire to put myself in danger.

Reaching the foot of the staircase, I breathe an internal sigh of relief when Lord Gasson steps out of the library from the right adjoining corridor. Sianna turns to me with wide, pleading eyes, as he glances in our direction and his gaze lands upon her.

Although the two have shared a handful of nights together, he's been unrelenting in his pursuit of courting her. I bite back a laugh and squeeze her shoulder when he approaches. Seeing that Alexander awaits me, I ignore Sianna's frigid glare as he dives into another heroic tale, waving his hand animatedly.

Lord Gasson ducks his chin in reverence, his rich chestnut beard tickling his chest in reverence as I take my leave. Ignoring the daggers Sianna shoots into my back, a grin tugs at my lips when I saunter past her. The man in his third century of life would drone on for another twenty minutes, which gives me time to prepare for facing breakfast with the lords and ladies of my court.

Seeing that I prefer to take my meals in my study, it's not often I venture to the Great Hall. My mood sours with the thought of having to endure their faux smiles and polite conversation at this time of day. Much to my displeasure, my council encourages my interacting with them, as it doesn't bode well for the queen to be seen as unreachable.

What they have yet to understand is that my self isolation is the only reason most members of my court manage to keep their heads.

Rounding the corner, I find Alexander engaging in conversation with one of the guards who makes their post at the gilded doors to the hall. The navy tunic and black breeches he wears enhance his golden hair and olive skin, reminding me of why I allow his presence.

Their discussion comes to a halt when I appear in their line of sight and the guard stiffens. Alexander's brow smooths as he glances at me over his shoulder, his features softening beneath the golden rays of sunlight.

With a slight nod of his head, the guard averts his eyes and turns his attention back to the bustling corridor. Need pulses through me as Alexander strides toward me, his gaze dropping to the gown that cinches my waist. Reaching for the hand that rests at my side, he raises it to his lips.

"You outshine the stars themselves," he says, his golden eyes hungry.

The corner of my lips twitch up once more. It's almost amusing how his heart softens at the sight of me.

He offers his arm as the guards open the doors and reveal the Great Hall that is filled with nine, long, smooth top tables. An abundance of delectable dishes including meats, fruits, and oats sprawls in front of those who sit along the complementing dark oak benches. I wrinkle my nose at the scent of the freshly baked bread and fragrant pork that clings to the air. I much prefer foods that settle light on a person at this hour.

The smell is also a not-so-gentle reminder that my people would likely cleave me to pieces if it means they can put a warm meal in their bellies.

The hall is abuzz with life as I place my hand on Alexander's arm and we stride down the pathway between the tables. Deep laughter and low murmurs of conversation echo through the cavernous space. Lords and ladies greet me with tight smiles when I glance in their direction. My lips peel back into a polite grin in return, though I know it's an overstatement to say that I excel in my social graces.

I angle my head to the General's ear when we reach the head table at the front of the hall. "Has word from Commander Lathing arrived?"

His lips press into a thin line as he shakes his head. "No, My Queen. Though I imagine we will have received a raven by nightfall. Commander Lathing has surely written a reply, if what Fel—"

"Do not," I hiss when the despicable name came a hair's breadth from passing his lips.

Satisfaction swells in my chest when one of the greatest warriors of Norweth averts his eyes and falls silent, pulling out the cushioned seat at the center of the table. It's surprising in truth, as in all the years of my reign, I can recall a handful of times someone was foolish enough to speak his name in my presence.

I have no need for a reminder of the King of Risian. The thread in my chest serves as an insufferable bond we share each time the thought of him crosses my mind. As if that isn't enough, the war that rages on ensures the whispers that reach my ears speak of his name.

Perching on the edge of my seat, I turn and duck my chin in polite acknowledgement to the members of my council who sit on respective sides of me.

To my displeasure, Lady Florison takes the gestures as an invitation, replying with a bright smile and meaningless conversation about her ideas for a ball I have no intentions of hosting. I don't fault her for efforts, seeing that she manages all the celebrations—or lack thereof—that the crown hosts.

I once mistakenly tasked Sianna with the responsibility upon my ascension. She proved her skill at earning my ire by gathering every person I despise in the throne room for my coronation ball.

Offering her false promises to speak with the council about hosting a celebration, Lady Florison nods with enthusiasm and I turn my attention back to the hall.

With an aureate plate full of ripe berries, poached eggs, and oats spiced with cinnamon in hand, Alexander smiles and sets it in front of me. I turn to gape at him. It's an astonishing amount of food. Despite my generous curves and large bust, it's without question more than my appetite calls for.

Picking up the goblet beside my plate, I find it's been filled with blackberry wine. Alexander's features soften as I afford him a small smile. It's for reasons such as these that I tolerate his presence.

He picks up his fork and stabs a piece of sausage. "All has been arranged for your trip into the city, My Queen."

I fight the urge to chastise him when his elbows come to rest on the table. He raises the fork to his lips and devours the piece of meat whole.

The urge slips away when he turns his head and begins to speak to Lord Folthar, his free hand inching closer to mine. While public displays of affection are something I don't take part in, I make no move to pull away from his touch when his thumb begins to sweep slow circles across my wrist. To my surprise, I find the motion rather soothing.

I shift into his warmth in acknowledgement. "Very good."