Chapter Thirty-Two
Only slightly the worse for wear from Lydia’s coronation revel, Emmett and I meet Marion and Faith the next morning in the
great hall. Emmett carries a trunk of remnants from his life here in the Otherworld, mostly books, clothes, and a few earrings
(I insisted upon it), but the rest of us are traveling light.
Rhion and Lydia wait for us at the base of the staircase, standing on the polished marble floor bathed in a streak of sunlight
beaming in from the high windows.
Rhion wears a guard’s uniform, a sword hanging at his side, and Lydia looks something like an angel next to him, in her white
gown and gold diadem. Her blond curls hang loose around her shoulders, made even more beautiful by the faint otherworldly
glow she has about her now.
“Great party, Lyd,” Emmett says, and she laughs.
“There’s only one way to win over this court.”
Rhion shakes his head. “Nonsense. They were already in love with you.”
I raise my brows and shoot him a knowing look. His eyes flit to the floor as he ignores me conspicuously.
“Ready?” I ask the gathered group.
Rhion places his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Ready.”
Marion looks around the great hall, smiling sweetly. “I don’t know. I think I might miss it.”
“Which part?” Faith asks. “Us being tortured or watching Ivy be tortured?”
“The food.” Marion rolls her eyes.
Lydia lays a hand on her arm. “You’re welcome anytime.”
Lydia then looks to Emmett.
“I’m going to miss you, Lyd,” Emmett says, a shade quieter.
She opens her arms, and they embrace. “You’ll visit so often, there won’t be time for all that,” Lydia replies briskly, but
her voice is thick with tears.
They pull apart, and then she turns to me. “And you.”
I wave my hand dismissively. I’ve never been good at goodbyes, not when they hurt this much. “No more tears, I can’t take
it.”
“See you soon, then, yes?” and I reach for that space inside of me I still don’t quite understand, where the door resides,
just to make sure it’s still there. I brush over it mentally, and it gives me comfort.
I nod, my eyes stinging. It feels so unnatural to leave her behind, even if it is what she wants, even if no other future
is possible for us.
“I’ll see you soon.” It’s a promise.
I open the door and the rest of them follow me like good little soldiers. Lydia waits until the very last moment it closes,
waving the whole time, silent tears sliding down her cheeks and a smile on her face.
Rhion is back in England as her official emissary to track down the members of Bram’s court who remained here. We’re lucky that most of them returned to witness the spectacle of the trials, and Lydia will handle them back in the Otherworld, but Rhion is here to deal with any stragglers who remain.
London is still and sleepy after the sparkling chaos of the Otherworld, but when Emmett and I slide into bed that night with
Pig nestled between our legs under the covers, there is no doubt that I am home.
It’s at breakfast the next morning that we’re startled by a pounding on the door. A footman opens it to reveal a palace guard
in full regalia, clutching a scroll in his hand. I set down my toast and look at him with raised brows.
“It’s for you, ma’am.” I unfurl it as Emmett looks on silently.
“So?” he asks after a sip of tea.
I sigh. I knew this was coming but I’d hoped we’d have more than a few meager hours back home before it did. “We’ve been summoned
to Parliament,” I say glumly.
Emmett sighs and rolls his head back. “Then we’d better get dressed.”
Lottie is still in Bath, so I have a skittish housemaid help me into the most regal gown I can find in my old wardrobe, something
made of cream silk with a square neckline dotted with pearls. On my head, she places a tiara fashioned of diamonds in the
shape of ivy leaves I received as a wedding present from some lord or another.
Emmett is waiting for me in the foyer, looking unfairly handsome in his black frock coat, his dark hair tucked behind his
ears. He’s kept his earring in. His hands are clasped behind his back and he turns as I descend the great staircase.
“You look perfect,” he says, and kisses me.
I push him off with a playful shrug. “And you look distracting. How am I supposed to do any political dealmaking with you in the room?”
We walk out into an uncommonly sunny October day. Emmett laughs and helps me into the awaiting carriage.
It’s a little dizzying to see London unchanged when I feel so different. What has been weeks for us in the Otherworld has
only been three days here.
Our carriage slows in front of the Palace of Westminster and we can hear the roar of voices inside from the road.
“Surely that’s not all for us?” I ask, nervous energy suddenly coursing through me.
Emmett pulls the folded-up summons from his breast pocket and reads it once more. “We’re in the right place, it says the Painted
Chamber.”
Hand in hand, Emmett and I enter the ancient palace on the banks of the Thames.
There’s a section of roof caved in from where a faerie’s firework show got out of hand a few months ago. I remember asking
Bram to fix it and he said he’d get around to it eventually, but never did.
But most of the hallways are still intact and Emmett and I walk in silence until we reach the main chamber.
I brace myself, then press the doors open, and at least one hundred eyes snap to me in unison. They take a collective breath
upon seeing Emmett and me. Lord Langley stands in the middle, in front of the central desk, paperwork fanned out in front
of him. The rest of the lords are on either side of the room, sitting on risers.
“Good!” he barks as Emmett and I enter. “Let us begin.”
Emmett and I are waved to two chairs next to where Lord Langley stands. We sink down into them, passing a tense glance between us. It’s as if we’re on trial.
Like the palace, Parliament, too, bears the scars of Bram’s brief rule. Every face in the crowd looks drawn and sallow. I
can name at least three different lords in my direct eyeline who lost property or business to bad bargains with Bram’s fae
court. Lord Dudley even lost his wife, who ran off with one of them.
“Now that the children are here, we can commence with the day’s agenda,” Lord Langley says.
“Which is?” Emmett asks.
Lord Langley looks down his nose at us. “Determining the future of England.”
A cry goes up from the crowd, one hundred voices shouting in a collective roar.
Lord Langley bangs his walking stick on the floor three times, sending a boom echoing throughout the long, rectangular meeting
space. “Silence!”
A hush falls and Lord Langley continues. “We have never been in a more precarious position as a country. Queen Mor may have
had her flaws—”
Another cry of dissent goes through the crowd.
“—but she also kept this country stable and at peace for four centuries. As we look toward the future, we desperately need
a monarch who can guide this ship with a steady, capable hand.”
Again, Emmett and I share a charged glance.
Lord Langley shuffles through the paperwork on his desk. “Through the line of Edward the Fourth of York, son of our last human
king, the crown should pass to Wendell, the tenth Duke of York.”
In the crowd, the duke, a balding, owlish man, blinks a few times in surprise. “Oh—” he sputters, and stands from a riser on the right side of the room. “Oh, well, I suppose . . .” he bumbles.
Emmett springs from his chair. “This is ridiculous!” he shouts.
Lord Langley turns to him, his brows upturned. “Do you have something to say about these proceedings, Mr. De Vere? You’ve
been conspicuously absent these many months we have suffered.” From somewhere in the crowd someone snickers and mutters something
about the prince desperately needing a haircut.
“Of course I have something to say,” Emmett roars. “You already have a queen!”
He gestures to me. I straighten my back, unsure of how I want this to go. I have a strong sense of duty and a vision for justice
and a better world, but I am so very tired, and perhaps it would be nice to leave someone much older than me in charge of
fixing Bram’s great big mess.
“Ivy is not a queen, she is a queen regent.” Lord Langley adjusts his spectacles.
“Bullshit!” Emmett yells.
“Decorum, Mr. De Vere,” Lord Langley snaps. “I won’t be disrespected by an irresponsible drunkard who is barely more than
a boy.”
Emmett’s face is deadly serious as he stares down Lord Langley. “Is that where you think I was? You believed Bram’s gossip
that I’d slunk off to drink myself to death in a country estate?” His voice is venomous and low, barely more than a whisper.
“I was in the Otherworld, which means I know exactly what true power is, and you may sit here and attempt to insult us, but
Ivy has it.”
Emmett turns around and glances back at me, aching love evident in his face. “It is Queen Ivy who killed Bram, freeing us from his tyranny. We owe her a debt of national gratitude.”
A chorus of gasps echoes through the room.
“He won’t return?” Lord Langley asks.
I shake my head as guilt crawls up my throat. “He won’t return.”
“She alone was brave enough to face him and powerful enough to defeat him,” Emmett says.
“That is not evidence she should be queen,” Lord Langley retorts.
“Not on its own, it’s not.” Emmett walks to the front of the room, sidestepping in front of Langley and his papers.
“But Ivy is more than just brave. She is kind and just and steady. She held this country together while Bram attempted to
turn it to ashes. You all bore witness so do not deny it. Her first thought is always of others, and she turns those thoughts
into actions. England needs a ruler who is not only powerful, but just and kind. No one in this room fits that description other than her.”
I wipe a tear threatening to escape. My first instinct is to respond with humility and shyness to Emmett’s impassioned speech.
I’ve been raised and trained all my life to be sweet and agreeable. But why would I want to be sweet? The only thing being
sweet has ever done for me is make me easier to consume.
I take a steadying breath and rise. “Lord Langley, who looked over your railway proposals? Lord Bexham, who arranged for more wheat for your tenant farmers? When Bram’s actions threatened to plunge this country into darkness, it was I who stood with you all.
I continued to respect this institution enough to meet with you all, to help where I could, even as chaos reigned.
” I pause and look up and down the risers, meeting as many of their eyes as I can manage.
“I don’t believe that any one person has inherent right to rule over another, but if you insist that this country have a figurehead, let it be me.
Together, we’ll build something for the people, a government that serves us all. ”
About half of the room starts clapping, but Lord Langley silences them swiftly with a strike of his walking stick against
the floor.
“Are we really going to hand our country over to an eighteen-year-old girl?”
“Queen Mor was a woman, and she ruled for centuries,” I point out.
“Yes, but she always had a regent.”
“She’ll have a regent.” Emmett’s proclamation cuts through the room like a blade, leaving silence in its wake.
He turns to me, blinking and stunned. “I planned to have a ring when this happened. I commissioned one first thing this morning.”
“Is this a proposal?” I whisper in shock.
“I meant for it to be more romantic than this.”
I beam back up at him. “It’s all right. I’ve always been the practical sort.”
I turn back to the room. “Well, there you have it. You know who I am, and I see no use in a drawn-out debate. Let’s put it
to a vote and be done with it.”
Lord Langley sighs heavily. “All in favor of letting Ivy continue ruling as queen?”
Overwhelmingly, the council cries out. Their voices echo through the Painted Chamber and pierce me right down to my bones.
“All opposed?”
A few scattered “nays” sound out around the room, but the verdict is clear.
Lord Langley pounds his walking stick against the floor one last time. “God save the queen!”
“God save the queen!”
Emmett looks at me, his eyes shining.
“Don’t you dare say it, too.” I laugh and wipe the tears from my eyes.
It’s raining on the day of our coronation. Heavy gray clouds hang over the city like an embrace and raindrops fall gently
down the windows of our carriage.
Emmett and I insisted on taking the same one, despite Lord Langley’s protests. My fiancé sits across from me now, every inch
the prince. He adjusts the diamond star pin on his royal-blue sash and glances up at me.
“Like what you see?” He smiles.
“I’m sad you cut your hair.” I pout.
Emmett runs a hand across his head. “I’ll grow it back out for you.”
“This is hardly the time to be flirting with me, Emmett De Vere. We’re on our way to the most important moment of our lives.”
His gaze flits down to the engagement ring I wear on my left hand. “What about the wedding?” I sigh against the plush seats
of the carriage. From outside the window, thousands of people have gathered to shout well wishes as we pass. The snow-white
horses that pull us are adorned with golden saddles and white feather plumes on top of their heads.
I understand the purpose of all the pomp and circumstance, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.
“Can’t we just elope?” I groan. “I can’t imagine doing all of this again next month.”
Emmett reaches across the gap between us and places a reassuring hand on my knee. “You can convince me to do anything. But you’d break poor Rhion’s heart. He’s assigned himself as my best man.”
“Seems prudent for diplomatic purposes.”
Emmett pulls a face. “I don’t think it’s that. He read about human wedding ceremonies in a book and desperately wants to take
me on a stag night and give a speech.”
One of the things I love most about Emmett is that he always makes me laugh, even at the tensest of moments.
The carriage slows as we reach Westminster and the doors swing open, revealing a plush, crimson carpet leading into the abbey.
“Brace yourself,” Emmett says, and leans forward to give me a quick kiss the moment before the doors swing open.
He hops out first and extends a hand to help me down.
“We met in a carriage,” he says under his breath. “You looked just as beautiful then.”
My feet hit the ground and I gaze up at him, amazed that I ever got this lucky. There is so much work left to do, but I take
comfort in knowing he will be by my side through all of it.
The orchestra swells. Hand in hand, we step through the door.
I have his heart and he has mine. There has never been a fairer bargain.