Episode Ninety-Nine
SOON TO BE A QUEEN
I turn my head this way and that, examining the crown made of ice sitting atop my head.
If I didn't know any better, I would think it was some kind of photo filter, that's how perfect it is, how good it fits on my head, nestled in my hair.
But when I lift my hand to press my fingers against the big center tine, I can feel it.
The ice is cold but not wet, even though resting on my head, it has a neutral temperature against my scalp. Neither hot nor cold. And there's strength in it even though each tine looks delicate, fragile.
I take a step closer to Bran's phone so I can make out the finer details in the light.
The sharp ridges of each tine are made to look like the arms of snowflakes, but below them, sweeping down toward my eyebrows, are several tines that remind me of antlers or spindly leaves.
It fits me perfectly. And it's light as snow. I can barely feel it.
"How is this happening?" I whisper, following the curve of the crown with my fingers all the way around my head.
Baspin falls to his knees in front of me.
"Don't do that," I tell him, and I can hear the sheepishness in my own voice.
Bran gives me a quick shake of his head.
No , the gesture says, they bow and you let them.
Bran may not be royalty, but the Duvals have always operated as if they are. Bran knows that kneeling and bowing is a sign of respect I must endure if I'm to assume the power that's rightfully mine.
I turn to the clearing where the rest of the fae are now on their knees. All of them except for Arion.
My older brother crosses the clearing. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Could I look any more nervous and awkward?
Technically he's a Lord and the rightful heir to the Summer Throne, but he doesn't outrank me… yet . He didn't bow for me when he and the Midnight fae first appeared at The Greasy Spoon. Will he now? Do I want him to? Maybe I don't. Maybe I make him? Shit, I don't know what I'm supposed to do.
But thankfully, my brother takes the pressure off, and sinks to one knee in the short grass.
"Just until I claim my throne," he tells me with a smile and a wink.
"Of course," I answer quickly.
"You look beautiful, little sister," he says and bows his head as the final show of respect.
My eyes well up and I press my lips together trying to keep the tears at bay. But it doesn't work. One spills out and I swipe at it feeling a rush of emotions.
Excitement. Relief. Joy. Hope. Pride.
It's finally sinking in, really and truly, that I'm a fae princess and I have a duty to this realm and to all of the fae here to reclaim my throne and reunite the courts.
I'm a fae princess.
Soon to be a queen.
The fae rise to their feet but only after Arion does.
"Shall we march on to the Summer Queen?" my brother asks. "Do you feel up to the task now?" As if we are only discussing a quick jaunt to the store and not murder.
"I think so," I answer.
"Think?" Arion arches a brow.
"Yes," I correct. "Yes, I'm ready."
He gives me a nod, then glances at Bran. The scouts have returned—one fae and one vampire—to report that the path is clear ahead.
"Jessie and I in the middle of the procession," Bran says. "Insulate her on all sides."
Arion nods. "I'll be in front of her a few paces. Baspin and Bianca should be behind her with the rest clustered throughout. Fair?"
"Fair," Bran answers.
I don't want to get giddy about my fae brother and my vampire boyfriend making war plans together, civilly , but dammit, I am. Arion said that if Bran and I always remain on the same page, we'll be a force to be reckoned with, but I'd have to add that if Arion is with us, we'll be truly unstoppable. He and Bran think a lot alike and there are things to admire in both of them.
With everyone in their places, and me at the center of the line, we move forward outside the protective bubble Baspin had created for us. But just a few steps on, and I start to feel off.
It's a little unease in my gut at first. Anxiety or trepidation, I tell myself, and push forward.
We walk another ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and a cold sweat breaks out along my hairline.
Maybe it's the humidity?
The climate in the fae realm hasn't changed since my first visit. It's still muggy, still insufferably thick and warm. Summer is in full force, but there's a different energy in the air that I can't quite put my finger on.
In the distance, the sky is starting to turn soft blue with the rising sun and mist swirls at the horizon.
"How close are we?" I ask Arion.
He glances at me over his shoulder as he answers. "We'll be upon the Summer Palace grounds within twenty minutes."
That's so close.
Shit.
My stomach cramps.
It's definitely anxiety.
I'm about to face the woman who had my mother killed, who tried to marry me off to her illegitimate son in order to steal the Winter Court for herself.
My court, my family, fought the Autumn Court in the Autumn Revolt, and in doing so, they left a void that the Summer Queen sought to fill even though it's clear that the courts being out of balance is no good for the realm.
It makes me angry that anyone would think they deserved more power than the other.
Someday I'll have to reckon with the fact that my family thought the same thing as the Summer Queen.
Right now, I need to break the cycle. With Arion's help.
We make our way up a rolling hill and at the very top, from the higher vantage point, it's easier to see the spires of the Summer Palace in the distance.
My legs begin to buzz and the buzzing slowly rises through my entire body until my head is practically vibrating.
I drag my fingers through my hair, massaging the dull ache in my scalp and my fingers come away wet.
I panic at first, thinking it's blood. "Bran." I pull him to a stop, holding out my hand. But it's just water.
"Your crown—" Bran starts right before I drop to my knees.
The knotting in my stomach intensifies and I double over in the grass.
The air is thick, soupier than last time. Like the humidity is at 100%.
"What's happening?" Bran asks Arion as he kneels down beside me.
"Summer is happening," Arion theorizes. "The queen must know we're here."
All around me, flowers sprout from the hillside. Buttercups and tulips and pansies and roses and foxgloves. It's beautiful, but ahead of me, I hear Arion say, "Fuck. Everyone run !"
Without questioning, Bran hoists me up into his arms, cradling me against him. To my left, a bloom of foxglove swings around and nabs the closest fae, tying itself around him like a rope. With the bell-shaped flowers, it almost looks like the tentacle of an octopus.
The flower tightens around him and then drags him below ground.
Oh my god.
Diagonal from us, the thorny vines of a rose bush takes hold of a vampire and within seconds, the woman is just gone.
"Run!" Arion yells. "Run toward the river!"
Bran cuts right and using his vampire speed, makes quick work of the hillside.
But just as the forest edge comes into view, just as I make out the first rushing of the river, a length of ivy lunges for us.
And before I know it, we're tied up tightly, the rising sun blotted out by dark leaves.