35. Sloane

Chapter 35

Sloane

THREE DAYS LATER.

I sit in front of the enormous mirror that was brought into the guest suite at my request. Yes, that guest suite. The one where all this started.

Staring at my reflection feels like I'm looking at a stranger. I've never worn this much makeup or had my short hair teased into something resembling a beehive before.

The robe I'm wearing is…well, something out of a fairytale. Deep sapphire and silver, with intricate beading that looks like it was spun from starlight. It's heavy, too. And I mean heavy . I feel like I'm one wrong move away from tipping over in all this fabric.

"You look beautiful," Mia says from behind me, adjusting something delicate near my shoulder. She's wearing her own royal robe, classy and understated, and somehow manages to look both regal and relaxed. "Dexari won't know what hit him."

I snort. "If he's smart, he's probably running for the hills right about now."

Mia laughs, her smile lighting up the room. "I doubt it. If anything, he's pacing in a grand, dark hallway, rehearsing some overly dramatic speech about fate and destiny." She gives me a sly grin. "You know, typical orc romantic stuff."

Paxari flits around the room, her gentle presence a welcome addition to the small group of women helping me get ready for the coronation. She's all grace and wisdom, and just being around her makes me feel a little more centered.

"My son is a lucky male," she says, her calm voice carrying a weight that makes me believe her. "The gods have chosen well."

Mornah hands me a goblet filled with something light and fizzy. "Drink this. It will settle your nerves."

I eye the cup warily. "This isn't some sort of magic orc potion, is it?"

"Hardly," she says, laughing. "It is sparkling wine. You look like you need it."

"Thanks, Mornah." I take a long sip, feeling the cool liquid work its way down my throat. "You're right, I do."

Mia steps back, her eyes running over me like she's giving me a final once-over. "Just remember, this might be a more intimate ceremony than I had, but it's still a public coronation. The entire kingdom will watch via video feed. No pressure or anything."

I groan, rubbing my hands down the front of my robe like that'll somehow stop them from feeling clammy.

Paxari clucks her tongue. "You will be fine, Sloane. You are stronger than you know."

These three women have fussed over me like I'm something special, and while I might not fully believe it, their faith in me helps. It's a small bubble of comfort, one I'm holding onto with both hands.

A soft knock on the door pulls our attention. One of Dexari's guards, tall and built like a walking tree trunk, steps in just far enough to stay formal.

"It is time, Consort." His deep voice holds that same eerie respect these orcs have for all things royal, but I'm still not used to being included in that group.

I glance at Mia, and she grins at me like she's reading my mind. "Showtime," she says with a clap of her hands. "Walk slowly, look regal, and try not to trip over that fancy robe. Oh, and if all else fails, just remember—you look beautiful."

Paxari touches my arm. "We will be waiting for you in the chapel."

I swallow the lump forming in my throat as she and Mia leave. Mornah picks up a small makeup brush and scolds me to sit still. "I cannot let the future queen go out there with a smudge."

"I doubt anyone would notice. They'll all be too busy watching to see if the robe trips me up."

Mornah chuckles, but her eyes stay focused on the task at hand. "You should still look your best for the ceremony."

I roll my eyes but let her work. When she's done, she kneels to slide my feet into delicate silver slippers. "There," she says. "Now you are ready."

I stand, smoothing the front of my robe. The guard, who's been waiting like a statue, finally steps forward again and offers his arm. Mornah gives me one last smile of encouragement as I take it, and he leads me out of the guest suite and down the hall to the elevator.

This is the stuff of fairytales, right? Girl meets king, king decides girl is his fated mate, girl gets a crown and a shiny new title. I almost snort at the thought, but the stoic guard doesn't seem like the type who'd appreciate my brand of humor.

When the elevator doors slide open, the hallway leading to the chapel feels endless, the polished stone floors gleaming underfoot as we walk. The ornate doors to the chapel loom ahead, massive and intricately carved with symbols I still don't fully understand. The orcs' gods are watching—at least that's what Paxari told me. As if I didn't feel enough pressure already.

The guard steps ahead, one hand on the grand door's handle as he waits for me to walk through. This is it. This is really happening.

Inside, the chapel is bathed in soft, golden light. Rows of orcs line the pews, watching silently as I step forward. I can feel every eye on me, the weight of their attention pressing down from all angles, but I push it aside. I've had five years of captivity to teach me how to hold my head high under scrutiny.

Then, I see him.

Dexari stands at the front, tall and imposing in his ceremonial garb. His long dark hair is down and a jeweled crown sits on top of his head, regal and commanding. His eyes meet mine, and the way he looks at me takes my breath away. And I wonder if maybe, just maybe, we'll get the best fairytale ending imaginable.