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CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 11

QUEEN KAILA

At the very heart ofRanhold City, there’s a gleaming white building with a portico two stories high. The pillars are the width of a tree, solid and presumptuous, though the building itself isn’t as impressive looking. It’s here that the funeral processions take place for every monarch of Fifth Kingdom who has ever died, which is why I find myself standing with my brother on the second level, overlooking the gathering below.

From my spot on the pillared balcony, I have a spectacular view of the city itself, plus the castle’s turrets just beyond the wall. On the ground level, Fifth Kingdom’s advisors are carrying out the passing rites for the deceased Prince Niven.

Citizens from all throughout the city have gathered in droves to spectate, though most of them can’t see a thing since they’re too far away. Still, they’ve come, their figures buried beneath mounds of purple tapestries with Fifth’s sigil of jagged icicles embroidered on them, erected like awnings up and down the streets. I don’t believe they even realize the symbolism of the royal crests casting them in shadows.

Beside me, I feel my brother, Manu, shiver. “Why in the Divine do the people of Fifth Kingdom have to hold their passing rites outside?” he whispers between the teeth he has clenched to keep from chattering.

“I do believe that we are simply less acclimated to the weather here.”

He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “And yet here you sit, not shivering in the least.”

On the contrary, my skin is raised with chills even beneath the thick layers of my gown and cloak, but I would never shiver in public. Even something so small as that innocent gesture could be taken as a sign of weakness when it comes to a widowed queen.

Looking to my left, I catch the eye of a few Fifth nobles, one of whom keeps pretending to dab her eyes with her handkerchief anytime she hears the rite bell toll from below. There are six rows of benches, all of them full, where the nobles are sitting straight-backed as they try to catch a glimpse of the proceedings in the promenade where Prince Niven’s body is set upon a sarcophagus.

But in the front row with us, sitting a few paces down, is Hagan Fulke. Only twenty years old, with a pudgy face and washed-out blond hair, the man keeps yanking on the front of his high-necked collar, obviously unused to wearing such formal garments. Though he might not look like much, he’s the first kin of the late king, and heir to the throne.

Well, he is now.

We had to get rid of his father first—the king’s cousin once removed—but that wasn’t much of a hardship. Based on Manu’s reports, he was a stodgy, set-in-his-ways old man. Not a good candidate for us.

His son, on the other hand, is impressionable. Shy. Without much money or many prospects, he was ready to sink to his knees and do whatever we suggested if we backed him in order to become king. He’s the perfect heir to mold and to guide into acting in both Fifth’s and Third’s best interests, and he has enough magic to justify wearing a crown.

His magic of impenetrable skin will do him well, because arguably, he looks easy to get rid of, so his magic will probably save his life a time or two once he’s king.

Hagan’s pale face turns a little green, and loath as I am to do it, I follow his gaze back to Prince Niven. The sight of the dead prince makes my stomach churn in disgust. It’s been five days since he dropped in a heap in his own ballroom, choking on poison. The body didn’t look good then, and it looks even worse now.

“If you put my body up for display like this after I’ve died, I will come back and haunt you,” I murmur beneath my breath.

Manu continues to look ahead as if I hadn’t said a thing, keeping the same politely piteous look that’s on both of our serene faces. “Dear sister, you should know I would never let you look so garish. I would display you dressed up and dazzling with beauty so that you could gain even more admirers and love in your death.”

The corner of my mouth threatens to curl up, because I know he means every word. “That’s why I trust you most in this world.”

We’re the only ones on the portico who don’t have some purple patched on us. Instead, the two of us, as well as Keon, are all wearing the traditional Third Kingdom’s cream and blue formal attire. My black hair is lifted up in silver coils, while my brother’s hangs down his back like a sleek midnight river, just as thick and shiny as my own.

“Poor Prince Niven,” I say, loud enough for the people behind us to hear. Several of them nod their heads, murmuring it themselves.

It’s amazing how the very same people who whispered and snickered about the spoiled boy prince now pretend to grieve for him. Then again, death always manages to create misplaced adoration and loyalty. But murder? That brings an entirely different level of fanaticism.

There are two things that I’ve learned firsthand while being here in Fifth. One, it’s always cold. And two, the people of Ranhold love nothing more than to warm themselves by spreading the flames of gossip. It’s a good way to keep spirits heated.

As the queen of whispers, it couldn’t be more convenient.

The rumors of that fateful night have run rampant throughout the kingdom. That the gilded pet cheated her way through Midas’s heart and stole his power. That when he announced his engagement to me, she went crazy in a fit of rage, using his magic against him before she tricked King Rot into helping her flee.

Unfortunately for poor Niven, his death has been overshadowed by better, far juicier news. Like the fact that the king of Sixth Kingdom is dead, his corpse gilded and stuck against the wall in the ballroom in Ranhold Castle.

I have to admit, it’s all quite scandalous.

Then, of course, there is the gossip about Hagan Fulke. The obscure relative who never thought he’d ever sit on a throne. He went from a nobleman bachelor, who nobody was interested in, to a man about to be crowned king. He still has stars in his eyes about it, doesn’t even seem to bat an eye over his father’s death or the prince’s.

Not when he gets to be the new king because of me.

But they aren’t the only ones the people are talking about. My name has its fair share of churning in the rumor mill too.

To them, I’m the heartsick queen who lost her betrothed and is now going to step up and help piece together a riot-torn Highbell, bringing stability back to Sixth Kingdom.

This wildfire gossip has burned through the city. I wouldn’t doubt that thousands of messenger hawks have spread from here to all over Orea by now. Manu and I have confirmed the narrative, and now, once these passing rites are finished, I can continue to herd the fires in the direction I want them to burn. So long as they keep seeing me in a favorable light, I can get what I want in Sixth Kingdom and solidify my alliance here.

A singing voice drones out across the promenade, hitting my ears in an unwelcome wave. Keon shifts his legs, no doubt hating the fact that we have to sit here just as much as Manu and I.

Finally, the last bell is rung, and Fifth’s advisors shroud the prince’s body in the same purple tapestry hung up along the streets. They carry him away in a chorus of that awful singing until finally the rites are over, the prince’s body taken in to be properly buried in his tomb right beside his father.

The people on the streets don’t disperse yet. They want to watch this macabre parade since most of them probably never get to see their own royals, let alone ones from neighboring kingdoms. They watch as I’m led down from the portico and across the plaza. They call my name as I pass by the empty sarcophagus on my way to my carriage, its blue flags the only disruption in the endless array of Fifth’s purple.

Manu and Keon follow me inside, and the way is painstakingly slow and bumpy as we travel back to the castle. I keep the tranquil expression on my face as I turn toward the window, hand lifted in a wave to the people we pass who shout my name. They all want a glimpse of me. Most of them talk about my late husband, who died most suddenly, which is amusing since I haven’t thought of him since the moment I watched his body drift out to sea.

That’s the way I prefer it.

Finally, once we enter the castle’s walls, I let the placid expression fall from my face, dropping the curtain of the carriage window before I sit back against the seat with a sigh. “What a horrible way to pay homage. I don’t know what the people of Fifth were thinking, creating something as dull and grotesque as that. Their traditions are far inferior to ours.”

“Most boring thing I’ve ever had to sit through in my life,” Manu says, kicking his feet out as far as he can stretch in the cramped carriage space. “Can you imagine dying a horrific and very public death, just for the kingdom to stuff you up on a corpse stage for everyone to see your decaying body? All while everyone is trying to get a look at your carcass, bored out of their minds while they listen to a bunch of old men ring bells and sing wordlessly for three hours straight.” He shudders. “Their singing voices were the real tragedy here.”

Keon gives him a sidelong glance, but I let out a throaty laugh.

“So, sister,” he says, turning his attention to me. “Gather anything interesting?”

He’s talking about my power, of course. He knows very well that any time I’m in a public setting, or even a private one, I’m always using my magic. I let it delve out, like a bee seeking pollen. Voices constantly buzz in my head, and I gather the ones I want, collecting them to use whenever I please.

“It’s nothing we didn’t already know,” I admit. “Niven was only well loved because he was a born-prince and still young. But now, that’s all changed. They act as if he was their beloved child prince, and they’ve readily accepted that Lady Auren must’ve tricked Ravinger into killing him, or she poisoned him herself.”

“Good,” Keon says, his rumbling voice always held at an octave lower than my brother’s. “Although I suspect now we’ll never know whether he was poisoned or rotted. The state of his body...”

I can’t help but wrinkle my nose, once again remembering the grotesque veins that ran through his skin, the bulging eyes, the frothing mouth...

“Yes, his corpse was not a pretty picture,” Manu says as he fiddles with the silvery buttons down his vest. The cream fabric is fabulously embroidered with subtle waves, the only pop of color coming from the cerulean blue cravat tufted at his neck.

If only I’d been able to get Midas’s secret notebook. We searched everywhere in his rooms for it, had my own personal decipherer on standby, but we never found it. It’s probably tucked away beneath his shirt, now gilded with the rest of him.

Useless.

For a moment, we ride in silence, but even when no one is actively talking, I’m always listening to the whispers that my power has wrapped up tight in my mind.

“You’ve prepped Hagan?” I ask Manu.

“Of course. We’ve been over the coronation many times. He knows what to do.”

“Perfect.”

Everything is falling into place.

All our plans are going to go off without a hitch. We feed the information, I monitor the rumors, we’ve handpicked the heir, and soon, Fifth Kingdom will be settled, and I can focus on Sixth. It’s been running rampant without a monarch to rule it. The city of Highbell has been ransacked, the nobles have all fled. I need to get there soon, before people with magic try to claim the throne for themselves. I’m surprised they haven’t already.

When the carriage comes to a stop, I fix my skirts just before the footman holds the door open for us to descend. As soon as I stand in front of the castle, my eyes rove over the front where the splashes of solidified gold still mar it. The carpenters had to work night and day to fit a new set of doors to the entrance and drag away the incredibly heavy old ones by hacking them up into pieces. The new set looks light and out of place amongst the old gray stonework, even more so with the gold that’s clawed its way out, its tendrils hooked onto the castle’s walls and front steps.

Once inside, I go up to my room to change, my maids quickly outfitting me in a silk dress that cuts into a low square at my chest, beaded with crystals along the sleeves. When I’m ready for the formal dinner, I meet Manu and Keon in the hall, both of them already changed into new clothing as well.

“You ready?” Manu says quietly beside me.

“Yes.”

I stride forward, shoulders back, a pleasant smile in place. I pass by the purple flags hanging from the rafters, the ten-pointed star sparkling on the ceiling of the entryway. When I reach the dining room, I’m greeted with the scent of sweet food and the sound of nasally voices.

When the three of us come in, the conversations go quiet, and everyone inside bows at the waist as I pass. As I am now the highest ranking person in Ranhold until Hagan is crowned, I take my place at the head of the table, with Manu and Keon sitting beside me on my left and Hagan at my right.

For the next hour, I nod encouragingly at the king-to-be, listen as the advisors recount today’s passing rites they performed for the prince, and hear endless stories about Niven when he was a toddler throwing fits in the stables. I subject myself to every conversation, drink their syrupy wine, and eat their too-sweet food, all with pleasantries on my tongue or a smile on my face.

Finally, when the plates are being cleared, I stand.

One by one, the advisors around take notice until the room once more falls silent. Even the servants clearing the tables have gone still, pausing their ministrations. With my hands clasped in front of me, I look down the length of the table at each man’s face. There isn’t a single woman on Fifth’s advising panel.

“I would like to take a moment to express my gratitude for being able to be present for the late prince’s passing rites. I believe his spirit has been rightfully honored by you all.”

Their heads bow in agreement, pride puffing up their pompous chests.

“Now that he has been so respectfully laid to rest, we can crown the new heir tomorrow, Hagan Fulke,” I say, gesturing my hand toward him, watching as his cheeks go blotchy. “I know you will bring stability back to Fifth Kingdom, and you will always have an ally in Third so long as I rule.”

A quiet applause spreads over the table, people giving me accolades, already buttering up Hagan. “Right in this room where the prince sat, King Midas gold-touched this very table.” I let my fingers scrape across the glass top, remembering how the gold had spread over it like liquid until it gleamed and went solid. But this gold, just like every other bit in the castle, peeled away that day, melting into the ballroom to wick vengeance against the walls.

I lift my eyes, my expression gone sad. “Two monarchs were brutally murdered,” I go on, enjoying the way some of them flinch at the harshness of my words. “Both of them killed by someone they believed they could trust. The beloved prince as well as King Midas, who was betrayed by his own favored. Because of that night, I lost my betrothed.”

I let my lip wobble. Let my eyes shine. I have every single person’s undivided attention, the room so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Now more than ever, it’s important that we unite together. That we support Hagan’s rise, and that the rest of Orea stands against the golden traitor.” I see Hagan nod emphatically, trying to seem kingly, though it’s far too strained to look natural. “Lady Auren has fled the kingdom and is trying to trick King Rot just as she tricked King Midas. Which is why I’m going to call for a royal Conflux.”

Shock ripples through the room at my declaration.

I brace my hands against the table, looking at every single one of them. “It’s time Lady Auren answers for her crimes.”

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