Chapter
Sixteen
he day of the funeral, a group of servants arrived to move me to the royal chambers despite all my protests to the contrary.T Though the Crown’s multi-room suite was filled with every luxury, I had no desire to return to the site of my bizarre encounter with the late King, and my current room’s close proximity to Luther gave me a sense of comfort I was trying not to think too much about. I was begrudgingly convinced to move when Luther promised me the King’s deathbed had been replaced —and when he mentioned the suite connected to the gryvern habitat.
Sorae was ecstatic to have me within reach. A row of wide archways in the spacious main parlor and the Crown’s bedchambers opened up to her perch, and she had wedged herself as far through them as her enormous body could fit. She purred contentedly, her scaled head resting on a bed of cushions I’d piled together as her ochre gaze watched me pace around the sprawling firelit room.
I had no idea what to expect of a Descended funeral, and I had been too wrapped up in thoughts of the Challenging to bother finding out.
To make matters worse, there was no one around to ask. House Corbois had departed hours earlier to rub elbows with the other Houses before the event began. Remis had insisted that I fly in later on Sorae—alone.
“If only you could talk, Sorae,” I groaned, flipping through a stack of dresses I’d pulled from the wardrobe. “I bet you would be a fantastic advisor.”
She gave a breathy snort and snapped her teeth, as if to say You’re damn right I would.
Eleanor had stocked my closets with clothing in every style and color, but she had thought too highly of my intellect— wrongly, it seemed—to label them by appropriate occasion. I pulled out a modest, unadorned black gown that revealed little other than a low back and held it up to Sorae. “What do you think—royal funeral appropriate?”
The dark slits of her reptilian eyes swelled and thinned. She gave me a guttural rumble, a tendril of smoke wafting from her nostrils.
“Too plain?” I wrinkled my nose and stared at my options. “If you were pretending to be a naive, airheaded fool, what would you wear?”
A scrap of glittering scarlet caught my eye. “Probably something like this,” I joked, tugging out a slinky dress with thin crisscrossing straps down the back and thighs. Sorae let out a soprano trill that I swore sounded like an agreement.
I held the gaudy dress against my body. Flecks of light sparkled as I swayed from side to side. “If I wore this to a funeral in the mortal world, my funeral would come next.”
Sorae’s fur-tipped tail smacked the floor. She lifted her head from the pillows and nudged my ankle insistently.
“It’s too much. There will be time soon enough to make a big statement. Today, I need to blend in and not be noticed.”
Her golden eyes shot to the dazzling Crown above my head, as if saying Good luck with that.
I sighed and peeled off my clothing, then shimmied into the plain black dress. The open back was more dramatic than I’d expected, dipping so low it was nearly obscene. I fought the instinct to cover it up.
Though I was slowly becoming more comfortable in the luxurious gowns common among women of the palace, the sensuality with which the Descended put their skin on display was still deeply intimidating. I wasn’t ashamed of my body, but nor was I proud. It was simply utilitarian, a tool to meet my needs, whether that be working, fighting, or sex. I had never imagined my flesh as something to be admired.
Even with Henri, I’d always struggled to see myself as an object of desire. We spent our childhoods swimming naked and stripping to our undergarments to avoid the summer heat. Revealing my body to him had never felt like an intimate act, even after our activities had gone well beyond platonic.
I left my hair unbound, the snowy tresses curtaining the expanse of skin at my back. Unlike in the mortal world, my strange hair fit right in among the Descended, who delighted in dying their hair shocking hues. Eleanor had warned me that court regulars would soon be sporting newly whitened hair in a cheap attempt to flatter me.
“What do you think?” I called out to Sorae, spreading my skirt and spinning in a circle. “Do I look forgettable and inoffensive?”
She let out a soft huff, then rose to her feet, disappearing through the archway to her perch.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I muttered. I hiked up my skirts and strapped two blades to my thighs, then followed her to the stone balcony. The day was sunny and brisk, but not windy, the perfect day for a ride in the skies.
I ran my hand along her haunches and marveled at the powerful muscles that twitched beneath her sandy brown fur. I studied the spot along her feline body just behind her wings, then gave her a wary stare. “Am I supposed to put a saddle on you, or...”
She stretched her neck to the sky and erupted in a sudden roar. Her tail whipped angrily toward me, nearly smacking my shin.
“Alright, alright!” I yelped, throwing my hands up in surrender and dodging another flick of her tail. “No saddle.
Understood.”
She dropped low to the ground and curved her wing around me in silent encouragement to climb on. Like a fool, I glanced over the balcony’s edge instead. My stomach clenched at the steep drop.
“You’re not allowed to let me fall, right? You’re oath bound to make sure I don’t die?”
I felt a tug and looked down to see the train of my dress bunched up in Sorae’s toothy jaws. She reared back, yanking me away from the edge. I let out a laugh as she dropped the fabric, gave my hip a swift bump with her snout, and huffed impatiently.
“I trust you,” I conceded with a grin. I gathered my skirts and threw my leg across her back. She patiently waited while I found a handhold along her shoulder blades, then gave a sweet, inquisitive trill.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
“Alright, girl. Show me what you’ve got.”
With a jubilant howl, Sorae launched from her powerful hind legs. A few downbeats of her mighty wings, and we were soaring into the sky.
Euphoric laughter bubbled up from my chest. A burst of Sorae’s pride shot across the bond at the sound of my delight.
Though my stomach still felt wobbly and a bit weightless every time I peeked at the ground below, any unease was drowned out by my swelling joy.
There was something liberating about cutting through the clouds on Sorae’s back. I was no longer leashed by the stress of the Challenging, court politics, or the expectations of a divided realm on the brink of war. Up here, I was blissfully unburdened. My problems weren’t gone, but they were anchored to the ground, and I was in the skies.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this happy, this free. Maybe I never had.
“This is incredible!” I shouted, gently squeezing the tendons that connected Sorae’s wing to her back. “What do you say we fly away and never return?”
She let loose a long, booming yowl and tilted her wings at an angle, sending us shooting toward the earth before banking into a sharp turn that had my heart in my throat. A string of happy warbles rumbled out of her as she continued to climb and plummet, circle and roll.
Although the sheer terror of it was shaving years off my life, I now had a lot more of those to burn, and I couldn’t bear to make her stop. Her childlike giddiness was the sweetest music. She was playing, showing me her world for one precious moment where her gilded chains felt as temporarily invisible as my own.
The forests of Lumnos passed in a blur beneath us, and far too quickly, our exultant moment ended as a massive, oval- shaped structure came into view. On one end, the royal family’s seating area was outfitted with upholstered chairs and cushioned banquettes, in contrast to the rows of stone benches that ran along the perimeter.
Luther had come by this morning with another tray of breakfast and an overview of the agenda, a move I had to admit was endearing him to me—the daily food deliveries, not the advising. I knew from his guidance that Sorae would take me to the center, where I would lay a ceremonial final log on the King’s pyre to start the service. I was so busy reciting his instructions in my head that we had nearly landed before I noticed the audience was filled with a vibrant shade of cherry red.
Other than a small clump of black in a section near the top edge, every last attendee wore garments of vivid scarlet, many of them adorned with jewels or flashy sequins. Even House Corbois was outfitted in head-to-toe crimson with some flourish designed to sparkle in the light.
From a distance, the effect was breathtaking—the arena resembled a flawless ruby whose facets glittered under the midday sun.
As we got closer, it began to look a lot more like a glossy pool of freshly spilled blood.
Sorae’s claw-tipped feet landed on the sandy central floor to a skittering wave of gasps and a sea of horrified stares.
Whatever fashion error I had committed, it was a bad one.
I turned my attention up to the royal box. Remis and Luther wore matching masks of calm indifference, though their eyes told two very different stories. Remis’s gaze was calculating, likely scheming how to both explain away my misstep and twist it for his benefit. Luther’s burned with a visceral rage that sent a shudder down my spine, even at this great distance.
Garath looked disgusted. Lily looked mortified on my behalf. Taran was grinning. Eleanor was near tears.
I slid off Sorae’s back and stroked my hand along her downy wing. She gave me an intense look that at first seemed to be a show of support, until I caught the gleam of laughter in her eyes and remembered how she had urged me toward the glittery red number I’d so quickly discarded.
“Point proven,” I grumbled. “Next time, I’ll take your advice.”
She gave me a light tap with her nose before retreating several steps. Her head rose to the sky, and a ferocious snarl tore from her throat and resounded across the arena. She whipped from side to side to repeat the menacing sound to each section of the crowd. She bared her fangs in a rumbling growl, then turned her focus to me. Her wings draped flat at her sides, and she lowered her head to the ground in a reverent bow.
My heart squeezed—Sorae was kneeling. This incredible creature was claiming me as her Queen, offering a fierce vote of confidence when I needed it most—as well as a deadly warning to anyone who might plan to do me harm.
Movement caught my eye. I looked up to see Luther mimicking her bow, his fist beating across his chest as he sank to one knee and lowered his gaze to the floor. Lily followed immediately, then Taran and Alixe, then the rest of House Corbois, until it surged across the arena like a rolling storm.
I should have enjoyed it. I wanted to enjoy it. Mortals had squirmed beneath their immortal thumbs for so long, forced into a violent, brutal submission, and now the tables had finally turned. Now these monstrous people were submitting to me.
But it wasn’t to me—not really. All their bows and genuflects were for the Crown above my head. They did not know me, they did not fear me, and they certainly did not respect me.
And they didn’t try to hide it. More than a few attendees shot me dirty looks as they kneeled, Aemonn’s father Garath among them, though none were bold enough to remain standing and risk drawing my focus—or Sorae’s.
“Thank you,” I whispered, quiet enough to be heard only by a gryvern’s hypersensitive ears. I knew from the responding pulse of emotion across our bond that she was ready to stand by my side, tacky outfit or not.
She leapt back into the sky, circling the arena then landing on the awning above the royal box. At last I was alone, fully exposed to the crowd and all its judgment.
I kept my chin high as I turned to the wooden tower that encased the King’s corpse, swaddled in crimson silk. On a golden pedestal at my side sat a single log, tied with a white ribbon, on a bed of garnet-colored velvet.
I’d spent my entire life blaming King Ulther for the mistreatment of mortals in Lumnos. After my discussion with Remis, I was beginning to wonder if Ulther might be the sole reason the situation wasn’t dramatically worse.
I might never learn his true intentions or what conversations had gone on behind the closed doors of the palace, but as I gathered the final log into my hands and set it on the pyre, I closed my eyes and offered up a prayer for Ulther’s soul. Whatever kind of Queen I turned out to be, I hoped that someday, someone would do the same for me.
I strolled toward the steep staircase that ran from the floor of the arena to the royal box. At the top, Luther made a move toward the stairs, presumably to come down and escort me up. At the last second, Remis grabbed his son by the arm, and they exchanged what looked to be heated words.
Luther’s focus shifted to me, his expression hard. Remis leaned in and said something further that had Luther’s gaze skirting the crowd—who were increasingly noticing the drama between father and son.
I gave him a faint shake of my head in a wordless order to stand down. His shoulders sagged. He took a step back into place, hands fisted at his sides.
As I made the long walk across the arena floor and up the narrow steps, snippets of hushed conversations floated to my
ears.
...completely disrespectful...
...looks like a mortal...
...only days after the attack... ...not even a real Corbois...
I told myself I didn’t care what these horrible people thought of me. I tried even harder to believe it.
My eyes stayed fixed on Luther, the strength in his gaze calming my pounding heart. It felt as if something in him had hooked itself on something in me. While my indignation and my insecurity battled for control, Luther held me firm, steadily reeling me toward him like a fish on a line. Certain death might await me on the other side, but for the moment, he was a shiny lure I couldn’t seem to resist.
When I reached the landing, Remis stepped forward and gave me a low nod. “Your Majesty.”
“Regent,” I answered. “I take it black was a bad choice.”
Garath scoffed. “Atrocious is what it is.”
“Garath,” I chirped with a smile that was equal parts sugar and venom. “Always a pleasure.”
He huffed and looked away. At his back, Aemonn shot me a flirtatious smile. Taran grinned and flashed a thumb’s up.
Remis cleared his throat. “We’ve prepared a seat of honor for you at the front of the dais.” He gestured to one of two wooden thrones on an extended balcony that surveyed the arena floor.
The ornate, oversized chairs were set just outside the awning’s shade, placing their occupants in a sunny spotlight so each
and every attendee could see them with brutal clarity. After my disastrous entrance, my throat constricted at the idea of being so exposed.
“Perhaps Her Majesty would prefer to sit with the family,” Luther said, stepping to my side and lightly grasping my elbow.
“Uncle Garath could take her place.”
Remis eyed my dress. “Yes. That might be best—if Her Majesty agrees.”
Breath whooshed out of me. “Her Majesty definitely agrees,” I blurted out. “It’s all yours, Uncle Garath.”
The elder Corbois shot me a terse look but couldn’t hide his pleasure at being offered an elevated role in front of all of Lumnos—or at least the only half of Lumnos he gave a damn about. He brushed past me without a word and sank into one of the
thrones, followed shortly by Remis.
“Thank you,” I mouthed to Luther.
He flashed me a barely there smile that had me momentarily transfixed. I was still so unaccustomed to this charming, unguarded side of him. Each glimpse behind the curtain left me more confused than ever.
His ironclad wall reappeared a beat later, and his features wiped away to his trademark blank slate. As he guided me to the family’s general seating, his hand moved to my back, causing his palm to slide under my hair and skim my exposed skin.
The intimate contact took us both by surprise, at least if his sharp inhale was any indication. I nearly tripped on the long hem of my gown, and his other hand shot out and gripped my hand. Warmth flooded my body as he leaned me against his side to hold me steady.
“I’m off to a brilliant start,” I joked, my voice a little hoarse.
“You’re doing great,” he murmured, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. With a tender press at my back, he led me to a row of tufted settees where Taran sat with an empty space beside him. Luther glanced at him and made a jerking motion with his chin.
Taran groaned. “Listen, Your Majesty, I like you and all, but...” He inclined his head to the side, where the only other open seat was beside his brother Aemonn. “Please don’t make me do it.”
“Not in the mood for family bonding?” I teased.
He smiled wickedly. “I’d rather bond with you. In private.”
“Taran,” Luther warned.
I halted him with a laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of causing any family drama,” I purred, which Taran answered with a snort.
“I’ll sit with Aemonn.”
I started to leave. Luther’s hand snaked around my hip, holding me in place.
“We’ll make room,” he said quickly. “You’re small, and I’ll be at the podium for half the ceremony as it is.”
I’d never been called small in my life—in the mortal world I was always too tall, too covered in muscles and curves—but as I nestled between the two hulking male demigods that were Luther and Taran, I felt almost petite.
The funeral ceremony began as Remis and Garath took turns droning on at a raised podium at the edge of the dais about the King’s legacy. A device provided by the technologically advanced realm of Sophos amplified their voices through the arena, though the crowd paid them little attention. Conversation hummed at a dull roar, and even in the royal box, the Corbois continued to laugh and mingle freely.
I tried to focus, though as time wore on, I began to squirm—as much as I could between the trunk-like thighs and brawny arms of the two men shoved against me.
Taran leaned back and sprawled his arm across the top of the settee to give me some breathing room. “So Your Majesty, how does it feel to be sandwiched between two handsome, single Corbois Princes?”
“Taran,” Luther warned, shooting him a look.
Taran ignored him. “A lot of women would pay good money for that, you know. Though there would be far less clothing involved. And less of a crowd.” He leaned in close to me. “Unless having an audience is your thing.”
“Show some respect,” Luther barked. “She’s your Queen.”
Taran gave an exaggerated eyeroll. “We get someone young and interesting as the Crown, and you’re not going to let me tease her even a little bit? Besides, she likes it.” Taran nudged my leg with his knee. “You like it, right?”
Luther sighed. “Just say the word and I’ll hang him upside down from the rafters.”
“Not again,” Taran moaned.
I laughed and settled back into the cushions. “If Taran wants to boast that he can’t get a woman in bed unless there’s money involved, far be it for me to stop him.”
A half-smile broke through Luther’s facade, and Taran roared with laughter. His arm moved to my shoulders. “Sorry Lu, you’re out as my favorite cousin. I think I’m in love with this one.”
“Sorry Lu,” I echoed sweetly.
“This was a bad idea,” Luther muttered. “You two becoming friends is my worst nightmare.”
“That’s incentive enough for me.” I cuddled into Taran’s side and pat my hand playfully on his upper thigh. “Taran, you can call me Diem.”
Luther’s eyes darted to the gesture. The levity on his face faded. “May I remind you both we are in front of a very large
crowd, and every one of them is watching this exchange.”
Crimson rushed to my cheeks. I pulled my hands into my lap and sat stiffly upright.
“No need to ruin our fun just because you’re jealous, cousin,” Taran said.
“I’m not jealous,” Luther ground out, the words sounding so insincere that I looked at him in surprise. “And you shouldn’t lie to your Queen. Everyone knows your real favorite cousin is Eleanor.”
I suddenly remembered Eleanor’s anguished expression when I first arrived. I whipped around to search for her in the gallery, only to find her seated behind me, her eyes red and puffy, her lips tightly pursed.
I reached for her hand. “Eleanor, what’s wrong?”
Her fingers trembled in mine. “The dress... I should have warned you.” She looked down, her voice falling to a whisper.
“Someone finally gave me a chance, and I let them down.”
I squeezed her hand. “It’s fine. It’s just a dress.”
“It’s not,” she said, wincing. “We wear red to honor our Kindred blood, and we wear something that reflects light to represent the glow of the afterlife where souls rest if they are found worthy. Wearing black, it... it...”
“It will be seen as disrespectful to the Kindred and a suggestion that you believe the King’s soul will be found unworthy,”
Luther finished for her. His tone had gone cold, and he glowered at Eleanor with reproach.
I snorted. “Had I known that, I definitely would have worn this dr—”
Luther’s glare shot to me, and my mouth snapped shut.
“It can’t be that bad,” I argued. “I saw others wearing black.”
“Those were the mortal guests,” he said. “They aren’t held to the same standards. But if people believe you’re wearing black as a show of loyalty to them...”
I recalled Remis’s warning that fear over my connection to the mortals was my greatest risk of provoking a Challenge.
“Alright, it’s pretty bad,” I admitted.
Eleanor’s head sank. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty. I’ll tell everyone it was me who chose the dress, not you, and I’ll step down as your advisor.”
“You made her your advisor?” Aemonn spoke up from the adjoining settee.
“I knew he was eavesdropping,” Taran grumbled.
“Eleanor is my advisor on matters of court and culture,” I answered to Aemonn.
His eyes narrowed on his distraught cousin, looking as if he was assessing her as a new threat.
“Court and culture?” Taran repeated in a mocking voice.
My brows rose. “Do you have some thoughts, cousin Taran?”
“None that I’m going to say out loud.”
I patted him lightly on the cheek. “You’re smarter than you look.”
Taran clasped my hand between his and smiled even wider. “Oh, I’m definitely in love.”
I laughed and turned back to face Eleanor. “First of all, I told you to call me Diem. We’re friends, remember?” I offered an encouraging smile. “And you absolutely will not take the blame.”
“She should,” Luther muttered. “This is precisely the kind of matter she should have advised you on.”
“Stay out of it,” I clipped, and he frowned.
“He’s right,” Eleanor said. “I let you down. I’m not worthy to—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I said. “There is only one person in this realm who has proven themselves worthy to be my advisor, Eleanor, and that’s you.”
Luther bristled.
“What about me?” Taran said, pouting. “I could advise on... I don’t know, something.”
“Drinking,” Aemonn drawled. “Sleeping around. Being useless.”
Taran grinned. “Exactly.”
I ignored the brotherly bickering. “Did you do it on purpose?” I asked Eleanor.
“Of course not,” she breathed.
“And you would handle it differently now?”
“Oh yes, I swear it.”
“So one might say it has made you an even better advisor, because now you’ll be more likely to consider what might have gone overlooked?”
Eleanor’s expression shifted as she realized what I was implying. She nodded, a faint smile breaking through her shame.
“Then it’s over and forgotten. I don’t want to hear another word about it.” I turned to Luther with a pointed glare. “I don’t know how you all do things, but where I come from, we don’t give up on someone after an honest mistake.”
“No, you don’t know how we do things, and that’s the problem,” Luther growled. “You’re an Unchallenged Queen. ‘Honest mistakes’ can get you killed.”
“Then at least I’ll go out looking fucking fabulous in this dress.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder and hauled up the hem
of my gown to flash my legs as I crossed them in a huff.
A vein popped under the scar that ran along his throat. He stood and gave a sharp tug on the edge of his jacket. “It’s time to give my eulogy,” he said icily, then stalked to the podium.
I scowled, folding my arms irritably over my chest.
Taran chuckled. “Long live the Queen.”
