Chapter 22 Jess
Weeks passed in rapid succession following our return to the Palace. Much of my time was consumed with the work of rebuilding the military and reassuring my people of the Kingdom’s commitment to peace with their neighbor.
Rumors still ran throughout the country carrying wild tales of Melucian demons summoned to strike down our righteous King and Prince, and no manner of royal decree would stop them.
The stories Thorn carefully crafted prior to the invasion, those of Melucian malevolence, hadn’t simply taken root; they had grown and flowered through taverns and inns, bearing fruit in temples and shops throughout the land.
Hatred of our eastern neighbor hadn’t waned with the conclusion of hostilities as I had hoped.
It had actually grown with each tale of soldierly valor or Melucian deceit.
I marveled at the willingness of the masses to believe such lies and innuendo.
Amid this atmosphere of misplaced loathing, my popularity soared.
Sympathy for the Princess who’d lost everything, combined with nationalistic fervor fueled by beleaguered troops returning from their bitter defeat, made me the single point of hope across the land.
Miraculously, the people had forgotten the petulant teenager who tried to abandon her duty and outrun her birthright only months earlier.
All they saw now was a beautiful, fierce Queen giving her all to knit together a war-torn Kingdom.
Conjecture surrounding my relationship with Keelan buzzed among nobles and servants alike. I counted on his counsel and willing shoulder in ways I could never trust my own people, but our friendship was far less sensational than rumors claimed.
Still, wildfires were hard to suppress once lit.
Keelan was well liked, but the idea of the Queen consorting with a commoner, and a Melucian, left a bitter taste on many tongues, though they rarely stopped wagging long enough to savor it.
He didn’t accompany me as I rode among my people, even in the safety of the capital, but I was rarely without his company as I strode through the gardens or Palace proper.
The Council had even become accustomed to the towering Guardsman attending sessions, with his perpetually stern features and humorless advice.
They grew to appreciate his thoughtful, direct insights despite his often-gruff delivery.
I tried to ignore the idle chatter.
I watched my father spin many plates as King, but I never truly appreciated the ever-present burden that rested on his shoulders.
Being a sovereign wasn’t like a commoner’s vocation where the workday ended and family time began. I was always Queen, always on stage, always on call. Even when I managed a moment of blessed quiet, a maid or messenger often sought me out to deliver news or request my attention.
It was overwhelming—and I loved every minute of it.
I delayed my coronation twice, insisting my Council focus on the needs of families who lost fathers or sons, and those of returning soldiers who witnessed calamity that would change them forever. I argued that my people were more important than a ceremony to assuage my ego.
By the sixth week, sentiment among the Council had turned against further delay. My advisors argued the need to cement my rule, and, more importantly, the need to give my people something to celebrate.
I was settling into the rhythm of the Palace well, but the art of understanding my people and their needs was often bewildering.
Gazing into the eyes of a widow and her daughter, I could wrap them in my arms and provide for their needs, but it was impossible to look my people in their collective eyes and understand their needs, much less provide for them.
There was no magic salve to soothe public fears or the irrational wave of emotions that wafted through crowds unseen and barely contained.
Those unwieldy phantoms mystified me, though I knew I would need to master them if I was to rule well.
There is so much to learn. Sometimes, I feel so small and lost. How did Father do it for so many years?
I stared up at the golden blooms of starflowers in the garden. Their petals spanned twice the length of my palm and shimmered in the sunlight. Against the emerald of their thick, leafy vines and the white of freshly fallen snow, the tear-shaped golden fronds were ever more brilliant.
The subtle sound of footfalls turned my head.
Keelan, sporting his sharply cut Guard uniform for the first time since our return, strode toward me.
“Want to run away before they can put that golden shackle on your head?” he teased.
“Golden shackle? You make it sound like a criminal sentence. Besides, shackles go on your wrists. The crown is a holy relic they will place gently on my head.”
He smiled and nodded. “Criminal sentence? That’s probably a better description, although I might amend it to fit with the legal code and call it a life sentence.”
I stood and shook my head. “Thanks for giving me confidence before I go to the executioner’s block.”
“Woah . . . I was imprisoning you. Nobody said anything about execution—yet.”
I slapped his meaty chest with my palm, then laughed. “You are impossible. I think putting you back in that Guard uniform addled your brain.”
I let my eyes follow the rows of golden buttons as they curved about his chest then tapered toward his nonexistent waist.
He stepped back a half step and avoided my gaze.
“What?” I looked down and self-consciously adjusted my pearls.
“Jess, you look like a queen . . . I mean . . . regal . . .” he breathed more than spoke, then met my eyes. “I mean, you are a queen . . . and you’ve always been beautiful, but now . . . um . . .”
I blushed but lifted my chin and smirked. “Your way with words is . . . um . . . impressive.”
“Just let me get this out, all right?” His gaze fell, then rose to meet my eyes.
“You are so much more than beautiful, so much more than just a queen. I mean . . . not just a queen . . . you are a queen, you know. Spirits!”
He huffed, and his shoulders slumped like a teen boy struggling to kiss his first girl.
“You see people, really see them, and not just who they are but who they can become. You see their goodness and their possibility. And when you set your mind to a problem, nothing will stand in your way until you’ve solved it. I’ve never met anyone so strong and sharp and determined.
I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I admire the woman standing before me and respect the Queen she is becoming.”
I had a sharp retort waiting on the edge of my tongue, but his words made my breath catch. A wave of heat flooded through me, and I found myself struggling to focus.
So, I did the only thing I could think of in the moment; I winked and began walking up the path toward the Palace. “Come along, good sir. The golden shackle awaits.”
We marched from the hallway that spanned the royal family’s private residences into the public passages of the Palace.
Green-and-gold-liveried servants raced about.
No matter their task, each attendant we passed stepped aside and bowed or curtsied.
Every twenty paces, a pike-wielding soldier stood rigidly against the wall.
The soldiers smacked the butts of their spears against the marble floor in salute to their monarch as we passed.
I chuckled as we passed the first pair of guards and Keelan jumped at their salute. “Is the big, bad Guardsman scared of a little noise?”
“I didn’t expect . . . whatever that was. Um, Your Majesty.”
I spit out a laugh as he finally remembered to address me properly in front of the servants and guards. None dared look directly at us, but I thought I caught one maid’s brow raise along with an amused corner of her mouth.
“Fear not, my brave Melucian friend, it is I, not you, who faces the gallows on this day.”
We entered the Throne Room through the side door closest to the dais, and I was surprised to find my Council assembled, each dressed in traditional black robes with the heavy golden chains of their office.
Their ceremonial black hats trimmed in glittering gold made me grin.
As a young girl attending my first state function, I asked a little too loudly why the Council wore fancy cooking pots on their heads.
My father, ever present in his role as monarch, lost all composure as my tiny voice filled the audience chamber and stricken looks spread throughout the assembled nobles.
I never heard the King laugh so hard in the Throne Room.
And now they wore those same cooking pots for me.
I stifled a laugh and strode forward.
Each Minister bowed, far more reverently than I had experienced from the nation’s leaders before.
Each in turn grasped my outstretched hand and kissed it.
I was so distracted by their display of respect that I missed the man standing by the massive chamber doors.
With a start, I ignored the remaining Councilors, lifted my billowing gown, and raced into the stunned man’s arms.
“Uncle Ethan!” I squealed in a most un-queenly manner.
General Ethan Marks had returned to the capital after the Kingdom’s crushing defeat in Melucia.
The wintery journey covering hundreds of leagues and two mountain ranges had taken months.
I had given up on him making it back for my coronation, yet here he stood, shoulders draped with the ridiculous hunter’s fur he always insisted on wearing.
I didn’t care about any of that now.
With my father, mother, and brother gone, Ethan represented one of the last vestiges of family I had left.
“I would have moved the Spires to be here for you today.” He held my shoulders at arm’s length and smiled. “I am so proud of you, and I know your father is proud of you, too.”
At the invocation of my father, my smile drifted from jubilant to wistful, yet it did not fall. “When the ceremony is complete, we should talk. There is something I need to ask you.”
He released my shoulders and bowed. “My life is yours, Majesty.”
A moment later, I turned to face the Council, each of whom watched the exchange with Marks. “I suppose I cannot run away again, can I?”