“Wait.” Vonetta glanced up, her gaze flicking over the thick braid lying over my shoulder. “Where is the crown?”
Brows knitting, I gestured behind me. “It’s in the chest.”
“You should wear it.”
“I don’t need to wear a crown for them to remember I’m the Queen.”
“But it serves as a good reminder,” Kieran stated. “There will be generals here you’ve never interacted with before. For many of them, this will be the first time they’ve been in your presence outside of the coronation.”
In other words, they may be like Aylard. Distrustful and standoffish. I sighed, more annoyed than bothered by the idea of so many of the upper echelon of the army most likely being cold and wary of me.
“I guess I should retrieve the crown, then.” I turned, crossing the short distance to where the chest sat on the table beside a hairbrush that had seen much better days. The container was simple with no adornments or engravings, having previously been used by Perry to store cigars. The ruby and diamond crown that had once belonged to King Jalara was being kept in a crate that sat in the corner of the bedchamber under a muddy pair of boots—a fitting place for it.
Throwing the small latch, the rich scent of tobacco still lingered, faint but oddly pleasant as I slowly opened the lid. The gold crowns sat side by side, cushioned by a mound of cloth. The twisted bones, once a bleached, dull white, now shone, even in the low light. They were identical. One for a Queen. The other for a King. I didn’t think that they should ever be apart from each other. Maybe that was why I hadn’t worn the crown since the night I’d ended King Jalara’s life. It didn’t seem right to wear it while Casteel’s remained closed away in this chest and not upon his head.
“Allow me?” Vonetta touched my arm.
I didn’t realize I hadn’t moved until then—that I was frozen, unable to touch them. I nodded.
Vonetta reached inside, picking up the crown to the left. She brushed a shorter strand of my hair back, and my chest twisted as I thought of Tawny. How many times had she helped pin back the length of my hair so it wouldn’t be visible under the veil? Hundreds? Thousands? I swallowed hard.
Gods, I couldn’t let myself think of that right now. There was so much I couldn’t let myself think about. If I did, I truly wouldn’t be okay. I wouldn’t be strong. And I needed to be fearless right now.
Vonetta placed the gilded crown on my head, the weight lighter than I expected. The thin, golden teeth along the bottom of the crown caught in my hair, helping hold it in place. “There,” she said, smiling. But I tasted the tangy bite of sadness when I looked at her. “Perfect.”
I cleared my throat to ease the stinging. “Thank you.”
Her bright eyes warmed as she clasped my hands in hers and squeezed. “They will be here any moment.”
“I don’t want anyone to know what Isbeth sent,” I reminded them.
“We know,” Kieran assured me. Of course, they knew.
I took another breath. “I’m ready.”
Vonetta’s smile was less sad now, a bit stronger as she let go of my hands. I turned back to the small box. The sight of the lone crown twisted something in my chest as I carefully closed the lid. Soon, I promised myself and smoothed a hand over the wood. Soon the crown would sit upon Casteel’s head again. He would be beside me once more.
Nothing would stop me. Not the Atlantian generals. Not the Blood Queen. And not her stolen magic.
Emil had arrived, bowing his head as I walked into the much airier space of the receiving chamber. I stopped, glancing to where Reaver waited in his draken form.
Even I had no idea how he’d gotten into the chamber.
Loosely clasping my hands together, the nervous edginess ramped up as the sounds of clinking armor drew near. Reaver lifted his head, his curved horns brushing the ceiling as his nostrils flared.
Valyn Da’Neer was the first to enter, cradling his helmet under his left arm. Momentarily distracted by Reaver’s presence, he quickly lowered to one knee, bowing his head. Hisa did the same, even though she’d been with us since the beginning, her single, thick, dark braid sliding over an armored shoulder. There were others behind them, too, but when Valyn lifted his head, I was unable to look away, even though I wanted to.
Even though it hurt.
There was no preparing myself. He was fairer-haired than his youngest son, who shared the dark hair and golden-bronze skin of his mother, but the cut of his jaw, the straight nose, and the high cheekbones were unmistakably familiar.