Chapter 15 Meryn
MERYN
The day has finally arrived.
My coronation.
And my sister is an absolute mess.
Saela is curled up against Anassa’s side in her bedroom, weeping softly. We still don’t let the servants around her, so Helene helped her get dressed into an elegant ice-blue gown. Her face is blotchy, and she looks delicate and doll-like as she cries into Anassa’s fur.
My heart twinges. She’s still so young.
Siegrid and I decided that Saela had to attend the coronation, despite the risks. There would be too many questions otherwise. I don’t think her appearance has changed much since becoming a Siphon, but she’s learned how to retract her fangs.
I walk over and sit gently next to her. Saela looks up. Her sobbing immediately quiets somewhat, but she can’t stop her tears. “M-Meryn.”
“Sae,” I say, and smooth my hand over her hair. “What is it?”
“I don’t want to go. There’ll be too many people there. I’ll hurt someone again,” she chokes out, reaching for me.
I take her hand and shake my head. “You’ll be all right, Saela.”
Anassa hunted for her earlier today, so she’s recently fed. It took a while to wash off all the gore matted in her hair. The animal blood should keep her hunger under control for a couple of days.
“The d-deer wasn’t enough,” she cries, even though we both know that’s not true. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“We’ve taken precautions. I promise. Anassa or I will remain close to you throughout the ceremony and reception. And if anything feels wrong, you only have to signal and you’ll be escorted out immediately.”
Saela’s fingers curl in Anassa’s fur. Anassa’s support always calms her. Helene, Grigore, and Siegrid are also going to be on high alert.
Gently, I add, “But you have to attend. You’re a princess of the kingdom, and very few people know anything else. If you’re not at the ceremony, it will cause confusion.”
In our weekly Council Palast meetings, Igor told me that the commoners were asking questions about the princess. I wasn’t particularly beloved in the Eastern Quarter, but Saela was; the precocious, smart child who was bound to rise above her circumstances.
Now, they see her as a hero: someone who endured a horrible kidnapping, helped free other children, and became a princess. It’s clear she’s going to become the cherished symbol of our nation—and burnish my own reputation, too.
As long as we can keep the truth of her condition a secret. As long as we can find a way to heal her.
Saela’s head drops against Anassa’s side. My direwolf bends her neck and nudges Saela with her nose. Saela’s lips twitch toward a smile. Her tears are drying up.
“You can do this,” I tell her. “I promise you. You can do this.”
She takes a shaky breath. She’s clearly still nervous, but she squeezes my hand and says, “We’re Mother’s daughters.”
I’ve had longer to sit with Mother’s death than Saela has. It’s been hard for her on top of everything. But we’re arranging a time to visit her grave together once the coronation is over.
My chest flares with pain. What would Mother think, seeing this day? It should’ve been her here, claiming her throne, choosing to rule.
For a second, I can almost see what that life would have been like: a loving mother, strong and sane. A sister protected from all the pain and hurt of these past few months. A childhood where I hadn’t gone to bed hungry at least once a week.
The list of things that Killian and his family stole from us would be a thousand pages long.
Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I kiss her head. “Mother’s daughters.”
There’s a knock at the door in the living area. Then I hear Izabel’s cheerful voice. “Oh, great and powerful queen! We’re here to wait upon you dutifully!”
“Are you ready?” I ask Saela.
She nods, caution in her gaze.
Over the past couple of weeks, she’s seen my friends occasionally—just enough for them to not get overly worried. She sees Venna more regularly for sign language lessons, something that has jolted Saela out of her misery for a solid ten minutes at a time.
Even then, we keep their sessions brief. They still don’t know what’s happened to her.
Grasping her hand, I lead Saela out of her room.
I exhale the moment I lay eyes on Izabel, Venna, and Nevah.
The twins wear the same dress but in different colors.
The top of the bodice is ruched, flowing into off-the-shoulder sleeves, and the body of the gown is a sleek, sparkling fabric that appears to flow down their bodies like water.
Izabel’s is a burnished orange, and her hair is artfully arranged over one shoulder.
Venna’s dress is a light purple, and her shorter hair is set in soft waves.
Nevah’s in a deep silver dress that matches the silver streak in her dark curls.
It has thin straps and a high slit up one side, and embroidered rhinestones cascade from the bodice of the dress all the way down the slit.
Matching rhinestones are laced throughout her hair, making her shimmer from head to toe.
If I’m playacting as a queen, they look every bit the important members of my court.
“Thank the goddess you’re here,” I say. Venna gives Saela a small hug, and my sister starts to warm up.
“Where’s the gown?” Nevah asks eagerly. Even Nevah and Venna have gotten into the excitement of the day as it’s approached. Izabel’s energy is infectious.
Brionna and my other attendants came earlier to do my hair and makeup. I saved getting into the coronation gown for my friends.
“Over here,” I say, and lead them to where it’s wrapped up for protection. “Go ahead.”
Venna reaches for it first, and Izabel watches in excitement as her sister cautiously removes the creation from its wrappings. Izabel’s hand immediately closes around my arm when she sees it. I rest my hand on hers and let my eyes wander over the garment.
It’s a queen’s dress, without a doubt. A masterpiece of tailoring and stitchwork.
It’s deep blue, embroidered in a filigree of thousands of tiny gold crystals that catch the light like stars when Venna lifts it.
The neckline dips knifelike and low, almost daring.
The full-length sleeves make the dress modest, though, and they will thankfully conceal my stupid fucking engagement bracelet.
Two full-length slits stretch the length of my thighs, but these are practical additions that will allow me to ride Anassa without constraint, should I need to do so.
“Oh,” Nevah breathes as she traces her fingertips over the long cape and its train. This element of my ensemble is white, but it’s threaded all the way through with golden embroidery of wolves running, leaping, almost dancing.
“You’re a queen,” Saela says in awe, as if seeing this dress finally made it real for her.
“Let’s make sure everyone else knows that, huh?” I say playfully.
“Shall we?” Izabel says, gesturing to the gown, and I nod.
It’s a delicate art to get me into the dress without disturbing my carefully arranged hair, but with my friends’ help, we manage it.
When I lift my head to assess myself in the mirror once more, strength settles in my Sturmfrost blood. I may not recognize myself, but when I look at my reflection, I see a queen.
I see Queen Chiara in her own coronation gown as if she were standing at my side, hand on my shoulder.
I hold fast to that image of myself as I approach the throne room, my sister and my direwolf both trailing behind. Even as I enter and take in the elaborate decorations, I do not let my vision waver.
This is the same throne room I saw Queen Chiara in when I first put on the crown. And now it’s bedecked for a luxurious show.
The room is flooded with flowers from the greenhouses. Thousands of bloodred blooms have been artfully arranged to look as though they’re growing up the walls, curling over the golden throne, and even dripping from the high ceiling.
It gives the impression of a beautiful threat. Exquisite with a hint of potential violence.
I asked for something that didn’t visually scream, I’m a bit deranged and might kill you all at any moment!
Alas, Matron Alienor said that the Valtieres always had scarlet blooms at their coronations and that the nobles would expect nothing less.
The air is heady with the flowers’ natural perfume. It’s so rich that I can almost taste it, floral and cloying on my tongue.
My head twinges with pain, a reminder of the shield against Killian that I’ve continued to reinforce. Anassa and I threw more power against it today. The last thing we need is Killian reaching out to all the Bonded midceremony.
I can only hope it will be enough.
Swiveling, I look back at Saela to make sure she’s still doing okay. Her eyes are wide, but she gives me a nod and a wobbly smile.
“Fix my skirts if they get tangled, okay?” I whisper. “I think falling on my face would ruin the effect.”
Saela rewards me with a faint giggle.
The room is bisected by a carpeted aisle. On either side are rows and rows of chairs. The common people are seated in the back, wearing the nicest garments they own.
Igor makes eye contact with me from where he sits with his wife, Prina, and nods.
Next to him are the women from the laundry, my mother’s old friends.
They’re dressed more formally than I’ve ever seen them, so much so that I barely recognize them.
I smile at Mae, whose hair is painstakingly arranged and adorned with white flowers.
Heat burns behind my eyes, and that feeling of unfairness returns. If only my mother had been here.
The next section is filled with high-ranking Bonded, all brightly dressed in their most expensive finery. Some of them I recognize, like the Kryptos Alpha, Hannelore, who is next to Egith. Many of them I don’t.
My face flushes when I set eyes on Stark, a row ahead of them and next to the Sovereign Alpha.
He wears a dark suit again, this time accented in a deep Daemos red, the color of blood. His broad shoulders and the wicked tattoos on his neck and his hands set off the crisp lines of his suit in a way that’s almost perverse.