Chapter Five

Stepping into the wheelhouse that will carry me through the streets of Solei, I smooth the skirts of my gown and perch on the edge of the wooden bench.

Elegant. Poised. The perfect embodiment of a Queen to any who should glance in my direction.

The coachman lets loose a whistle, eliciting a soft neigh from the horses with the crack of his whip. I mutter a string of curses as the wheelhouse lurches forward, and I come a hair's breadth away from pitching forward with it.

Straightening, I peel back the gauzy crimson curtains. Puffy, white clouds twirl around the black and gray skies that open up. Plump droplets of rain slide down the glass. While many mounted soldiers surround the wheelhouse, my gaze latches to Alexander and Warwick.

The longswords that are sheathed at their side jostle in time with their mount's pace, thin mud flying about the air with each step they take. The two look every inch of the Milenese warriors, wearing gold jerkins and complimenting helmets.

Alexander cocks his head in silent question when his eyes meet mine, Warwick's gaze following suit a moment later. Giving a small nod of reassurance, I let the curtain slip through my fingers and sink back into the bench with a sigh.

I have no interest in being a spectacle for the townspeople, but it seems I have little choice in the matter. So much for being Queen.

I allow my head to come to rest on the velvet cushion backing and massage my temples with the pads of my fingers. Though I have yet to address the people, exhaustion settles into my bones with each league that draws me closer to the city.

Each year, men, women, and children of all ages and classes line the streets to catch a glimpse of their queen. After I return to the palace following each outing, my skull is on fire and my cheeks are sore from being frozen into place with a smile I'm told is reminiscent of my mother's.

From the time I knew proper mannerisms suitable for a princess, I accompanied my mother on her trips into the city. More often than not, I was scolded thoroughly for my constant fidgeting and lack of attention to the people. I had little interest in the townspeople or their lives as it didn't pertain to me.

On one particular trip we took when I was nine, I voiced that I thought the outings were nothing but a special form of torture. My mother's eyes filled with an emotion I couldn't discern as she searched my gaze and pulled my hands into her own.

"These are our people, Ellesandra," she'd said with a gentle yet stern tone that spoke of a mother's love. "Your father would have you believe that only those who hold positions of power ensure the kingdoms run smoothly, but that's not the whole truth of it. Our kingdom also relies heavily on the labors of our subjects. Without them, we would have no food on our tables, no silk for your gowns. Our faces are reminders that we haven't forgotten about them or all that they provide for us."

For centuries, the women of my lineage ensured the people of the kingdom were not forgotten. My great-grandmother, Queen Calisa, suggested the outing after the first war as a way to both assess the state of the capital and offer consolation to the people. Being soft-hearted as my mother and her mother before her, they saw the need to continue the tradition.

Mother often spoke of how important it was that the citizens saw the fae who ruled the kingdom as reachable, particularly in times of war. In her mind, the fears of fae and human alike would be soothed if they felt their voices were heard and their opinions valued.

The strife between Minalis and Risian began long before my mother or I ascended to the title that allowed us to rule over these lands, though. Over a thousand years ago, the murderous tyrant, King Callick of Risian, had realized the power he held by bolstering the largest army in all of Norweth.

A bloody and vicious affair, the first war saw an alarming majority of the fae population obliterated from existence. As legend goes, King Callick gleaned an opportunity six months after the annual harvest. Ten thousand Risian soldiers attacked our eastern borders under the cover of darkness, razing and setting entire towns ablaze. In hopes that the remaining people would starve, they slit the throats of livestock and pillaged the fields of any remaining food. Women were raped and shackled behind their horses to serve as sex slaves.

Although the now King of Risian doesn't take part in such crass actions, the citizens of my kingdom are continuously exposed to the horrors of warfare by my hand. Their hatred of me is understandable, but I will not apologize.

I sigh as the horses slow into a steady trot and the fragrant scent of rich meat fills my nostrils, telling of our closeness to the town square. Peeling back the curtains once more, I find the streets of Solei quiet.

The scene before me is much different than I remember from my time spent here. The bright, gold canopies occupied by vendors during the autumn months are nowhere to be seen, gaping holes of dry earth in their places. Instead of a joyous drum beat, the whistle of a howling wind stretches through the air.

As a girl, when I grew bored of listening to my mother's lengthy addresses, I'd quietly slip away to explore each booth. I was never as clever as I believed, Warwick's watchful eye on me anytime I peeked over my shoulder. By the time I was twelve, I'd learned the names of each merchant.

With a coin purse filled with gold, I visited Ms. Wyrick's booth draped with fine silk and Mr. Sawning's freshly baked goods. My fingers sticky with the sweetness of candied yams and a smile on my face, my guard ended each trip with an armful of books and materials for new gowns.

I doubt those who once knew the shy but curious Princess Ellesandra would recognize the now Queen of Minalis.

The wheelhouse coming to a stop, I slip the mask of a humble and gracious leader into place. I pinch the apples of my cheeks to bring a perfect amount of rose to my face as the door swings open. My lips curve into what I believe to be my most queen-like smile as I rise and stoop to descend the steps.

I take Warwick's outstretched arm as my feet find the ground. Raising my head, I find that in place of cheers of reverence and admiration are distrusting gazes and hushed silence.

There's no chirp of birds or sway of the breeze as the royal guardsman dismount and surround me. My fingers curl tighter around the sleeve of Warwick's jerkin when the guardsman clear a path through the crowd of people. Though I keep my steps light and poised, a sense of foreboding slithers through my veins. These people, my people, look at me with something far more sinister than hatred.

Alexander appears to my right, his jaw clenching as he falls into step along with the rest of our party. When the General lifts his eyes and nods over my head, Warwick drops his arm and slows his pace, his silent shadow guarding my back.

I release a breath when Alexander takes my hand, breathing becoming easier as he guides us around a puddle of mud. So long as he's by my side, I know I have nothing to fear. The people before us are nothing more than warm bodies I have to appease for a small amount of time before they meet the end of their insignificant lives.

I jut my chin out and straighten my spine, my eyes remaining fixed on the small, wooden, platform that sits beside my father's statue in the town square.

King Rinus had been well loved and revered by the masses, despite the bloody war that ensued with the kingdom of Risian. His addresses to our people filled with words of hope for a brighter future inspired ballads to be sung in his honor. The sculpture of marble that towers above me ensured he lived on in the hearts of the people even after he was met with death's hand.

I was twenty the first time I saw it, still none more than a child among the fae race. I'd thought it to be the strangest thing I'd ever seen. Even now, I believe it looks nothing like the father I knew. His jawline is angled and more defined with the chiseled marble, his shoulders broadened to cut the image of a great warrior.

"Her Highness, Queen Ellesandra." the royal announcer booms.

My Queensguards' hands remain on the pommel of their longswords as they fan out and take their positions around the dais. Glancing over at Alexander when we reach the small staircase to the platform, the corners of his worried eyes crinkle.

Trepidation settles like a heavy-laden weight into my depths as we ascend the steps to the platform, the heat of the townspeople's venomous glare burning into my back. With each swish of my silk skirts and glance at my well-fed form, their anger for luxuries they can't afford simmers in the back of my throat.

A throat clears and I twist to glance over my shoulder. "My Queen," Warwick murmurs. "You are not required to speak if you do not wish to do so."

When a trickle of guilt appears, I tamper it down. I have little confidence that their opinions of me would change even if I dressed in rags. Despite the lavishness that comes with bearing the title of Queen, even I'm bound by blood to an unfair set of expectations. Seeing that the people of Minalis were ruled by males for seven thousand years, they've been slow to accept the idea of a ruling Queen. It's of little consequence, though. I have no need for love or validity from my people.

With a smile that I know does not reach my eyes, I shake my head and turn away from Warwick's penetrating gaze. The sooner I address the people, the sooner I can return to the palace.

Emotion I've long forgotten swells in my chest as I stare out at the sea of weary gazes and sallow features before me. Bone-deep exhaustion riddles the features of each townsperson. Their expressions vary between lips set into thin lines of displeasure and brows furrowed with anger.

A strong thump resounds through my chest when my gaze floats past them and comes to rest on a mother and daughter who stand beneath the shade of a great Evodia tree.

The girl, with fiery auburn curls and bright emerald eyes, can be no more than six years old. Her simple pink day dress with a white ribbon around the waist appears to have been freshly laundered. The same cannot be said for her mother— soot and the stars know what else streaking the hem of her cream gown. Her lip curls when our gazes clash and she bends down to scoop the girl into her arms before she turns her back to me and begins to walk away.

Taking a deep breath as the mother and daughter disappear from view, I will strength into my tone.

"It is both an honor and a privilege to be before you. Today serves as a reminder of the collective efforts between both the crown and its people to ensure peace and prosperity for all those in Minalis—"

"Please, Your Grace!" a woman cries out suddenly from the center of the crowd. "There is not enough food. We are starving!"

"We are at war, you royal cunt," another man yells from the right. "There is no peace!"

"How can we have peace when the crown spits on us, stealing our children in the night!"

"Give King Felix what he wants and help us!"

Bewilderment sweeps over me as more shouts ring out and the people's words become a roar of incomprehensible anger. Before I'm able to contemplate the matter further, Alexander is at my side and clasping my hand tightly within his own.

"Stay close to me," he says as Warwick ushers off the platform and we're surrounded into a tight circle by flashes of crimson and gold armor.

I'm not given the opportunity to voice my understanding before the sun seems to be cast in shadows and rain begins to clink upon the rooftops. Looking up, I realize that it hasn't turned to night at all, but heavy metal now shields my head.

Sinister laughter bubbles in my throat as we move forward and Alexander presses closer into my side. I can almost imagine the horror upon the faces of my predecessors who rest among the stars, watching as the current monarch of Minalis is escorted through the streets while being pelted by rocks and various other objects.

The ugly truth of the matter is that war is a far more welcome sight than staring into the face of the enemy until the end of my days. The people don't understand that their hatred is nothing when faced with the possibility of ruling beside the man who caused me such pain. The man who took everything I once held dear in one swift stroke.

I make no attempt to hide the smirk that plays on my lips as we weave through the crowd. I lift my chin and meet their glowering stares in challenge, knowing something they do not. Whether it comes in the morning or a fortnight, their traitorous lives will be forfeit. I will not tolerate treason. As long as the crown rests upon my brow, I will have submission.

Without consequences for their grievous actions, the poison they spew will sew further seeds of dissent.

My guards prove the coin spent on them is necessary when the horde of faces twisting with anger closes in. A man in his fourth decade of life blocks the path to the wheelhouse, shaking his fist. A sword is driven through his belly and warm crimson seeps into the cobblestone beneath my slippers before he opens his mouth to speak.

A woman with long, snow colored locks stumbles forward, shouting obscenities and demanding justice for her son who fell on the battlefield a moon ago. Hatred radiates from her as she's shoved aside and looks up at me with grief stricken pools of amber.

My mouth tastes of ashes with the sight.

Why? Why does it have to be this way? a small part of my soul whispers.

The path now clear and the wheelhouse coming into view, I push away the thoughts of a better Queen, a better fae, and slam them into the neat trunks where they belong. Despite the hopes that the thread in my chest clings to, I'll never be either of those things. Inky shadows have been cast over me since I took my first breath in this realm. The light that my soul seeks was snuffed out by the darkness long ago.

No. Those who dare to speak against me, who have proven their thirst for blood, will meet the end of a blade. I somehow doubt that, despite the comfort of my featherbed in the Amber Palace, I'll sleep better for it.

image-placeholder

The tension in my body eases as we pass through the gates of the palace. My shoulders sag in relief when I step out of the wheelhouse and inhale the night breeze.

Both Alexander and Warwick remain quiet as our party dismounts from their horses. I'm not so arrogant to believe that I'm untouchable. Even with two of the most well-seasoned soldiers by my side, I know of the danger we faced.

"I'll see Her Grace inside. Take your posts. " Alexander commands.

I duck my chin when Warwick's hesitant gaze slides to me. For reasons I don't understand, he's always been apprehensive of my relationship with the General. It seems as of late though, his weariness has grew. I don't miss how he frowns when Alexander takes my hand or the silent disapproval within his eyes when I excuse him to afford the General and I privacy.

While I understand his concern for my safety, I can't think of another fae I trust with my life more than Alexander. He's proven himself upon the battlefield several times over.

As my Queensguards take their posts and the wheelhouse disappears into the distance, Warwick gives me a final glance over his shoulder before mounting his horse. Meeting his penetrating gaze, we stare at one another for a moment before he snaps the reigns and faces forward.

Alone once more, Alexander turns his attention back to me. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He raises the hand at his side and drags his fingers along my jaw in a featherlight touch.

"They're fools, all of them," his gaze darkens. "I'll have them drawn and quartered when at day break."

"No. They must be brought before the council and convicted of their treason or they'll continue this lunacy."

A golden strand falls forward and comes to rest on his brow. He sighs and frowns down at me. "They're starving, but they don't understand what they ask of you."

I lift a brow. "And you believe you understand?"

"I only know what you've told me, My Queen."

I jerk away from his touch. "You know nothing." I hiss, relief vanishing as I turn away and make for the doors to the palace.

None could understand the grief that has befallen me at the King of Risian's hand. Of that, I'm sure.

"Then tell me. Tell me why you despise him." he says quietly, shattering the unspoken agreement we've shared for over a century. The remaining fragments drift through the summer breeze.

A dry swallow works down my throat as I pause in my steps. An ache lances through my chest with the mention of that night so many moons ago.

"There's nothing to tell." I say at last, my gaze remaining fixed on the intricate carvings that wrap around the towering doors to the palace. Not even a flagon of the finest blackberry wine can persuade me to relive the night that shadows every breath I draw.

The dry, brittle crunch of grass beneath his boots betrays his near silent footsteps. "We don't have to discuss it if it makes you uncomfortable. But you should know that my affection for you extends far beyond pleasure."

I roll my eyes. This isn't the first time he's expressed his love for me. I can't give him what he seeks, though.

I once made the mistake of giving my heart to another. I won't do so again.

"There's nothing to tell." I repeat, firmer this time, as the warmth that radiates from his body seeps into my back. I step out of his grasp when his hands begin to snake around my waist.

Though he sighs, he makes no move to follow me. Looking ahead toward the palace doors that are now illuminated by a pale silver moon, I tilt my head skyward and curse all the stars. My gaze latches to the single star that follows my path. The bright, white luminescence clings to the inky canvas of the night sky. As every other night, the twinkle mocks me from afar.