Chapter 8
RYLIAN
My coronation should have been triumphant, the start of the most powerful era of my life. But at the moment the crown comes to rest on my brow, my ascension feels a lot more like a chain closing around my throat.
It should not have been this way. My coronation should not have happened in the spring, or because of my father’s death. It should not have happened with all the crystals gone, the weight of the kingdom already heavy on my shoulders even before I could bear the crown.
But now it all feels even heavier.
The auras in the crowd are a rainbow patchwork, colors awash in other colors.
Many hide their auras, but not all. At my side, Warden Jahan is happy for me.
There’s some merriment, some jealousy, some shades of fear and trepidation.
The fear, I think, is good. Either they are wise enough to know that things are perilous, or they fear me personally.
As they should. There is a great deal of elation in the crowd, but it doesn’t buoy me.
Father spoke about how the people’s energy would bolster him, give him strength. To see the way his words would strengthen people, draw them to him. I’ve seen it happen too.
But today, I’m too weak to martial wisdom. I’m barely strong enough for this extended affair. All the wards depend on me now. I swallow hard, gripping the arms of the Oaken Throne hard.
A deep blue shade of concern twists through the crowd, denoting some of the more level-headed and perceptive ones.
Some can see the strain in me. The shade grows as the celebration wears on.
Thankfully, it’s not a hostile color. There’s an affection to it, and that is a little bolstering, I’ll admit.
They see. They know I am struggling. They wish they could help.
The court members can’t help directly, but their concern does, oddly. My chin lifts a little higher.
It’s enough. I won’t let them down.
Right now, I can’t help but think of Castelis, what she would think to be here this day.
I’d kill to see that golden aura dancing through the crowd.
Although that is not her style. Perhaps she’d make me a sketch of the dancers, or take notes on the many speeches offered.
Somehow, though, jotting down a record seems a disappointing task for her.
She’s meant for more than that, I think.
I pin my eyes on Duke Alred. “News on Castelis.”
“Nothing yet, sire,” he says, not looking at all concerned, his smile unwavering. “Relax. Enjoy your day. Trust me.”
“You’ve never had the right to tell me to relax, and you definitely don’t have it now. I haven’t forgotten.”
“Of course, sire.”
Between the genuine concern and spending some time plotting increasingly elaborate punishments for Alred if he cannot produce Castelis, I make it through the ceremony and celebration. Exhausted, but I make it through.
I stand as the day concludes.
Warden Jahan takes one knee and calls out, “All hail, High King Rylian!”
“All hail!” the crowd answers, also taking a knee.
“To the future and glory of the Autumn Court,” I say. “Raise your glasses on this day and be merry.”
And then I’m gone, off to bed, praying sleep will restore at least some of the magic.