“All right, just as we rehearsed,” Catherine directed, prodding her into place. “Yes. You’ll stand out of sight as I enter. I’ll walk to the end. They’ll open the doors again, and then you’ll come.”
Norah nodded as she drew in a deep breath. She could do this, she told herself.
“Smile, my dear,” her grandmother told her. “This will be the first time many have seen you. If it helps, keep your eyes on me as you walk.”
Norah nodded again, and Catherine hugged her tightly. The doors opened, and she waited to the side as the queen regent walked regally down the center of the hall, toward the dais. The guards again closed the doors, and Norah positioned herself behind them. Servants ran quickly around her, adjusting her gown and making sure everything was in place. Time seemed to stop, and she wrung her hands nervously. How long could it possibly take for one to walk to the dais? Was Catherine stopping between each step?
Then the doors swung open, and she wished them closed again. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and she swallowed as she tried to keep herself calm. Never had she seen so many people—it was more than she thought she’d seen just moments before.
“Your Highness,” her captain, Caspian, murmured from the side. She glanced at him, and he nodded.
Walk. She was supposed to walk.
Slowly, she stepped forward. She took one step, then another. Down the center of the hall she walked—slowly, but all too fast. Her heart raced, and sweat beaded the back of her neck as she clenched together her frozen fingers. Norah looked for her grandmother, but there were too many people. She made her way between the masses on either side, focusing on the red floor runner in front of her.
Focusing.
Following.
Following the red. Dark red.
Dark red like the stained sacks in the back of the wagon in the courtyard. She walked the trail of blood.
Her mind roiled through the past several days, from waking in the forest to this moment. Waking from nothing. Into nothing. Remembering nothing.
Now she was about to be crowned queen. Then she’d wed a man she didn’t know—a man, a mortal. She’d unite their armies of mortals. And then she’d face an enemy beyond mortal men.
And the painting. She knew Catherine had shown it to her to give her courage, but it didn’t give her courage. It scared her. She didn’t know that woman looking back at her—that woman who would take the Shadow throne. What if she couldn’t be her? Perhaps the woman she used to be could have. But not her. Not now.
She slowed.
Everything was happening too fast, and the moment hit her. Hard. The throngs of people were so close. Too close. There were so many. Too many. The hall seemed to grow smaller. Each step she took came slower, yet faster—shorter, but longer.
She couldn’t do this.
She couldn’t breathe.
And she stopped.
Whispers breezed through the crowded hall. All eyes were on her—as were their expectations, their judgements. And she could only stand there. She combed the front for her grandmother, but she couldn’t find her. She couldn’t move.
Then she saw Alexander.
He stood just to the right of the dais, close to her chair. Near to her—where he promised he’d always be. He waited, straight and formal, but his smile was warm. He gave her a reassuring nod.
Air filled her lungs. She could breathe.
His hands were at his side. One flicked open. So subtle, but she saw it. And it called her to him.
She could do this, and she stepped forward again.
Her steps came easier.
His smile grew, and so did her courage.
As she reached the front, the high priest held out his hand, taking hers, and helped her step up. An ornate chair stood in the center of the dais where she turned and sat, just as she’d rehearsed, or rather, as she thought she’d rehearsed. She didn’t know anymore. Every rational thought—every instruction she’d been given, every piece of advice—abandoned her now. She could only sit and hope it was right.
The priest held his arms high. “We assemble in the hall of our great kings, whose wisdom we call upon, and under the eyes of our gods, whose favor we seek, to crown Mercia’s new queen.”
Norah glanced at Alexander and found him staring back at her. He didn’t move, but the air between them carried his strength to her—strength she drew in. Her eyes drifted to her grandmother, whose gaze sat firmly on Alexander. She prayed he didn’t look to see the regent’s daggered glare. But his eyes were only on her.
“You are charged with the protection of our people,” the priest said, “of our lands, of our traditions, of the values that are the very foundations of our souls.”
Her heartbeat drowned the rest of the priest’s words. She was sure he said something about the gods, probably another responsibility as queen. A prayer, maybe. She couldn’t focus.
The priest pulled her crown from the velvet box and stood before her, bringing her attention back to the ceremony. He placed it on her head. A servant held the sacred scepter, which the priest took and placed in her right hand.
“Rise,” he told her.
Norah stood, holding the scepter tightly, and looked out across her people. Her people. The priest draped a long robe over her shoulders. Had that been part of the rehearsal? She wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. She was cold, and it helped.
“Do you vow to govern the people of Mercia, to lead them, protect them, serve them, and deliver judgment and justice according to our laws and our customs?”
Her heart pulsed in her chest. Heat flushed through her. Hot. She was too hot now.
“I vow,” she managed. She’d spoken the two words Alexander had mentioned only a few moments before. Of course, he expected no more.
“And so, you are named Queen Norah Elizabeth Andell, Regal High, and may the gods guide your hand for the strength of our people.”
Regal High. A king’s title. Her eyes shot to Alexander, and he winked at her. How had he…
Cheers rang out from the crowd, and she looked across the hall. There were so many smiling faces, so many people depending on her. So much responsibility.
And she wavered.
The responsibility—she was queen now.
She was queen.
Norah wanted to sit down again, but with all eyes on her, with the sacred scepter and the coronation robe, she could only stand and do her duty.
She had a responsibility—and she’d never been more certain. There was nothing James had told her that morning that she hadn’t already known. Her eyes found the councilman in the front, not far from her grandmother. He gave a nod.
Norah raised her hand, bringing the people to silence. Her heart beat like it would break from her chest, but her voice came steady. “My first act as queen shall be to appoint my lord justice.”
She breathed deeply, refusing to look at Catherine. She already knew the icy gaze she’d find. “Alexander Rhemus, come forward.”
The priest gave a nod, extending out his hand for Alexander to approach. Alexander stepped in front of her. His eyes burned a brilliant blue.
“Kneel,” she told him, following the sequence James had walked through with her.
Alexander dropped to his knees and held his hands out, palms up. His face was calm, but there was an exaggerated rise and fall to his chest. This was his moment, the day he followed the path of his father. The emotion pulsed from him.