Chapter Six

This is the last place in all the kingdoms I wish to be, but I no longer have a choice.

Jutting my chin out, I step across the threshold of the war chamber. Members of my council rise from their seats. Though unease settles onto my chest with the thoughts of last night's events, a perfect mask of impassivity rests on my face. Fear has no place in the heart of a queen.

Buttery rays of sunlight filter in to bathe the chamber in soft golden hues. All is silent as I reach the head of the table, conversation halting as each lord and lady give me their due reverence. Ducking my chin to return their greeting, they resume their seats as I smooth the skirts of my navy gown and sit.

I feign ignorance when Alexander tries to catch my eye from the seat on my right, and reach for the goblet brimming with wine before me. After our tense conversation, he'd come to my chamber several hours later. Although I'd been staring up at the canopy of my featherbed, I'd ignored the light tap on the door all the same.

He returned when dawn stretched across the horizon while I was getting ready for the day to inform me we'd received word from Commander Lathing. When he attempted to engage me in further conversation, I dismissed him with a wave of my hand.

I have no interest in hearing an apology. Not yet. I'll allow him to grovel at my feet for a while longer, then all will be right. Besides, the General performs his best in the bedroom when he knows he's earned my ire.

I lift the goblet to my lips and take a generous sip, willing the wine to soothe the nervous energy that thrums through my veins. Taking another large sip, I press my lips together as the sweet taste of blackberry and honey slides down my throat. This is a conversation that will require copious amounts of wine, after all.

Thick tension blankets the room and hangs in the air as I unravel the parchment that's crumpled in my fist. I slide the piece of parchment to the center of the smooth table, and no lord or lady opens their mouth to question who it's from.

That fact aside, it remains my duty as Queen to discuss all missives the enemy bestows upon me. My father wrote this into law some seven hundred years ago when a disastrous mishap occurred due to lack of communication.

"My lords, my ladies." I angle my head in the respective directions of each member. "There is much we must discuss. King Alardin has written to confirm he will send aid. Along with that," I say, glancing down at the parchment.

My gaze flies to Lady Painoit when she scoffs. "And what has he proposed this time? Another wedding?"

Although her fine, gray hair is fashioned into a style reminiscent of the older ladies of my court, her sharp hazel eyes speak of a warrior as she glares at the parchment. Having seen close to two thousand years come and go, Beatrice Painoit holds the title of the longest standing member of my council. Having served both my mother, my father, and his father before him, there are few situations she hasn't seen come to pass. Aside from the fact that she makes no effort to disagree with the other members who wish me to give the King of Risian what he desires in the name of saving our kingdom, she's a respectable woman.

Without meeting his eye, I wave my hand in Alexander's direction, prompting him to tell the council of the word he received.

"Commander Lathing has sent word that Risian forces have control of both the Shilock Channel and Carborough Pass. Our men were ambushed a mile away from the rendezvous point where they were set to meet King Alardin's men. By the grace of the stars, they managed to escape with minimal loss."

The minimal loss the General refers to equals about two hundred men. While it's not a significant loss, every warm body will be vital to the battle that creeps onto the red-stained horizon.

Lord Falthar rises from his seat at the far end of the table, the sound of wood scraping against stone echoing through the chamber with the sudden movement. My head tilts to the side in interest. In all my time as Queen suffering through these dreadful meetings, I've only heard him speak a handful of times.

"So, Risian has doubled its efforts in the crusade against our kingdom, then?"

Given his position maintaining diplomatic affairs, I do, however, see him far more often than I'd like. Dreadful monotone voice aside, when he does speak, his personality is akin to that of a kitchen mouse. With eyeglasses that sit on the bridge of his slanted nose, paper-like skin, and thin lips, he's also displeasing to look at. We share little common interests, other than reading.

"It would seem so," I replied dryly.

Indecision wars behind his eyes as he stares at me. "May I speak freely, Your Grace?"

Exasperation crawls beneath my skin and settles into my bones, as I already know the words that will roll off Lord Falthar's tongue. I stifle the urge to roll my eyes and give him a curt nod.

"Our numbers have dwindled greatly in the last year. Even with the additional men and supplies provided by Brealan, we are losing this war, Your Grace." The apple of his throat bobs as he takes a long pause. "Maybe it's time to consider King Felix's terms."

The elegant scrawl across the cinnamon-colored parchment mocks me from the corner of my eye. "No." I manage to keep my tone clear of emotion, despite the rage that courses through my veins. I inhale deeply, my fingernails curling inward to bite into the skin of my palms.

Shooting Lord Falthar a withering glare, I angle my head in Alexander's direction. "King Alardin has no additional men to spare?"

Golden rays glint off his honey strands as he shakes his head. "Per his letter, he has sent all he has to offer, My Queen." Alexander's tone is somber. "From the intel I've gathered, ten thousand men remain in the Brealan capital of Orlon, in case Risian seeks out retribution."

"He won't," I counter. "He believes he will have all he desires soon enough. Brealan will be nothing more than a distraction to him."

"As I've said in a previous discussion, this is not likely to end well for any of us, Your Grace," Lord Falthar says, lowering into his seat once more. "The King of Risian has an army of fifty thousand strong that grows with each passing day."

Understanding that my mind will remain unchanged on the matter, a long moment of silence stretches through the chamber. Tension crackles in the air as Warwick clears his throat from the seat to my left.

"My Queen. If the information the General has received holds true, it seems we'll be all but handing Minalis over to the King of Risian."

While I hold no ill-will toward my guard, anger bleeds into my irritation as a sorrow-filled smile tugs on the corners of his lips. I know that Minalis is in grave danger. I don't require his sympathies. The Amber Palace, along with the whole of Minalis, will stand strong as long as the crown rests upon my brow. Enough of this foolishness.

Unable to hold my tongue any longer, I stand in one fluid motion. "And what is the alternative, sir? I cede to his demands by becoming his queen? It seems to me the results of taking such action would inevitably be the same." I pay little mind to the shadows that are cast in his emerald green eyes as my words meet their mark.

Leaning forward, my palms come to rest on the table. I whip my head around to pin each fae with my gaze.. "Would it appease this council to see him take the crown? Become an equal in all matters that concern this kingdom?" From the corner of my eye, Alexander pales. "Would your rest be less wearisome with the knowledge that each of you bartered and sold not only your queen but the whole of Minalis?"

"Your Grace," Lord Petras' gray-peppered brows draw together. "Others are growing increasingly emboldened by the spectacle that was made at your addressment. We have lost more than a dozen men in the last fortnight to the townspeople's ire. Additionally, our soldiers have been in marching formations for some time now. Morale is low. The men have six weeks worth of food at best."

I straighten and blow out a long breath. Scanning the various expressions of each council member before me, I know what must be done. This particular scenario has rested in the back of my mind since the moment I received Felix's letter. There's only one way that both myself and Minalis can be spared from the King of Risian's wrath. I have to kill the mirror of my soul.

"Very well, then." I square my shoulders and stand tall. "I will go."

No sooner have the words fallen from my lips does the room descend into what can only be described as mayhem.

"You cannot, My Queen!" Lord Falther interjects, his almond-shaped eyes wide with alarm. "The consequences could be catastrophic!"

"This is madness!" Lord Petras shouts.

Warwick's hands are folded neatly on the table. While I find his calm manner strange, the chamber falls silent when a thunderous boom echoes through the chamber.

"I do not require your approval." The promise of death that laces my tone ensures none dare to speak.

I made peace with the knowledge of what I must do long ago. If the lore of our kind is to be believed, death can only be met by the hand of one's mirror soul. The lore speaks of truth. I felt it in my bones the moment that my bond to the King of Risian was revealed that stormy night long ago.

"My decision is final," I say, holding Lady Painoit's gaze in challenge as I continue. "If things are truly as dire as each of you seem to believe, we are out of time. I can and will be of more use on the battlefield than here. The Risian King would not dream of putting me in harm's way. And should he fail to make himself scarce, I will ensure he meets a most unfortunate end. This, I promise you."

The acquiescence shining in Lady Painoit's gray eyes is more than enough to silence the arguments on the tongues of each councilman.

A strange sense of peace flows through me when the members of my council filter from the room and the door snicks shut. Grasping the pitcher of blackberry wine, I fill my gilded goblet to the brim.

The fears of my council are of sound reason in all manners of speaking, but I've known for some time that our options are dwindling. Raising it to my lips, the rubies that adorn the rim glint in the afternoon sun as I drain it in one large gulp.

With every rising and setting of the sun, my armies and resources have become depleted. While Alexander has suggested hiring the mercenary group, known as the Ustriox, to provide some much needed relief, I know Minalis cannot afford to wait. With that knowledge in mind, killing the King of Risian is the only remaining course of action.

I refill my goblet with a sigh. My soul would have me believe that, if I cede, wed Felix, and rule two kingdoms at his side, I'll be given rest. The logical part of me, however, knows that this is the furthest thing from the truth.

He's no longer the one who had become my friend at seventeen, nor the same boy who held my hand and traced patterns of the stars onto my skin. Or the same who looked up at the night sky with bright, cerulean eyes and pointed out the star that shined the brightest and declared it my own.

The King of Risian is none of those things now. No one who carries an ounce of light within their soul can be the cause of such unspeakable grief.