Chapter 28 Esme
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ESME
The moment my boots hit marble, I know where we are.
The Great Hall stretches before us like a cathedral of shadows and firelight, its vaulted ceilings disappearing into darkness above.
Massive columns rise like ancient sentinels, their surfaces carved with intricate fae script that seems to writhe in the flickering torchlight.
The stained-glass windows cast fractured rainbows across the polished floor.
Court members stand frozen around the perimeter like statues, their elaborate gowns and tailored jackets rigid with terror, their fear so thick I can taste it on my tongue.
The silence is absolute, suffocating, broken only by the soft crackle of flames and the distant drip of something I refuse to identify.
At the center of this theatrical nightmare, seated on the Night Court throne with every ounce of stolen grace, is Queen Lucelle.
She’s draped across the obsidian seat like she was born to it, her blood red and white gown spilling over the armrests in cascading waves of silk and shadow.
Her dark hands rest delicately on the throne’s carved arm rests, fingers adorned with gaudy silver rings.
This is nothing but a show for her, every detail calculated.
This is her attempt to make a spectacle of our arrival, to demonstrate her power before she destroys us.
Well, she won’t have that satisfaction. Not here, not now, not ever.
Kneeling beside her throne, bound in chains that pulses with a sickly green light, is my father.
My father, who wanted nothing but the best for me, who I’ve yet to really know, who should be the one sitting on that throne, looks as if he’s ready to take his last breath.
His once-proud shoulders are hunched like a broken mountain, his silver hair matted with what looks like dried blood.
The chains aren’t just restraining him; they’re draining him, pulling his life force from his body with each pulse of that nauseating light.
I can see it in the hollow of his cheeks, the way his hands shake against the marble floor.
I refuse to let that happen. This ends today.
I don’t look back to see if Locke, Rue, and Sam are still with me.
I feel them like anchors in my soul, Locke’s steady presence at my right shoulder, Sam’s protective warmth at my left, Rue’s sharp energy crackling with barely contained violence behind us.
This confrontation, this moment, this is mine.
I know they have my back, so I have no fear as I move forward across the polished marble, my footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence.
“I’m here for my father,” I say, my voice carrying clearly through the vast space. “To return the crown to the rightful owner. The one you’re trying to kill in front of his people. The one this kingdom still belongs to.”
Lucelle rises slowly from the throne, every movement calculated for maximum drama.
Her gown pools around her feet like spilled blood.
Her hands hang empty at her sides, but I feel danger radiate from her fingers like heat from a forge.
She smiles, her teeth are too white, too sharp, and her eyes glitter with malicious delight.
“You should’ve died on that mountain,” she says, her voice rich with venom that seems to coat each word in poison.
“I gave you to Goddess Ourea, practically dropped you at her feet like a sacrificial lamb. That trial should have devoured you, torn you apart piece by piece until nothing remained but screams and ash, and yet,” her lip curls in disgust, revealing those predator’s teeth, “here you stand. Alive. Breathing. Defiant.”
“You sound disappointed.” I hold back any emotion from my voice, keeping it level and cold as winter steel.
“I’m furious!” she shouts, the word echoing off the stone columns like thunder.
Her shadows writhe behind her like living serpents, coiling and uncoiling in patterns that hurt to look at directly.
“You weren’t supposed to survive. I opened that portal specifically so your father could watch you die.
I wanted to see the exact moment hope left his eyes, wanted to watch his spirit break as his daughter was torn to pieces before him.
Instead, imagine my surprise seeing you alive and dripping with power that should never have been yours to claim. ”
My chest burns as anger churns from deep within me, golden light crackling beneath my skin like electricity in my blood.
The magic responds to my fury, eager to be unleashed, to burn away the shadows and lies.
“You talk like I was some mistake. Like I didn’t earn every mark, every scar, every moment of agony.
Every inch of power I carry is mine, paid for in blood and pain and choices that nearly destroyed me. ”
“You didn’t earn anything,” she spits, taking a step down from the dais with predatory grace.
“You were given too much by forces that should have known better. You’re an abomination!
Fae and witch and something else entirely, something that shouldn’t exist in any realm.
Your coven should never have been allowed to flourish.
You should never have been born.” She points an accusatory finger in my direction, the gesture sharp enough to cut.
The court around us erupts into soft whispers and gasps, but with a single raise of her hand, everyone goes silent once more, cowed by her obvious power.
Honestly curious now, I step forward across the marble. “You’re afraid of what I am.” I don’t understand what she means about my coven, about us not having the right to exist, but her fear is obvious in every line of her body.
“I’m disgusted by what you are.” Her nostrils flare as if my very presence offends her delicate sensibilities. “Do you even know the truth of your precious goddess? Of Ourea’s real origin, her actual history?”
My eyes narrow as I wait for her to continue, my magic coiling tighter beneath my skin.
“Why do you think there was a portal between the Blue Mountains and Vanir?” Lucelle demands, circling the dais like a predator stalking prey.
“Why do you think your mother fell into our realm so easily, as if the barriers meant nothing? Why were you born able to carry both human and fae magic without being torn apart by the conflicting energies? Because Goddess Ourea wasn’t always a goddess, child. She was once fae, just like us.”
The revelation hits me like a physical blow, and I feel my eyes widen despite my efforts to remain impassive. Lucelle’s smile widens at my obvious shock, her delight in my surprise clear as crystal.
“Oh yes,” she continues, her voice taking on a storyteller’s cadence, “she lived here, in this very court, thousands of years ago, before your father’s bloodline even existed.
Until she was banished for crimes against the crown, treason, I believe the records state.
The sentence was death, handed down by the ancient court that would one day birth your father’s bloodline, but she was clever.
She fled to the Mortal Realm instead of facing execution, declared herself divine to a handful of desperate humans, and built a temple in her own image.
That coven, your beloved witches of the Blue Mountain, they’re nothing more than her legacy.
Twisted, half-blood daughters of a condemned exile. ”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as parchment. “So, you’ve known. All this time, you’ve known exactly what I am.”
“I used it. Used her connection to you, used the ancient bonds she forged.” Her smile sharpens into something that could cut glass.
“I fed your scent to the wraiths, tracked your every movement through the trials, manipulated the very fabric of your journey. All of it was orchestrated, planned, calculated to bring you here so I could watch you die. I could have had your precious Sam killed at any time, nothing in this court escapes my notice or my influence.”
“You used this opportunity to position yourself to take my father’s throne.” I take another step closer to her, close enough now to see madness glittering in her dark eyes.
“He’s dying,” she snaps, her composure cracking just slightly. “With him gone and you dead, the crown would’ve passed to me by right of marriage. As it should! I am Queen of Shadows, the only ruler this court deserves, the only one strong enough to lead us into the future.”
I raise my hand, golden magic spinning across my palm like liquid fire, casting dancing shadows on the walls. I’m tired of her bullshit monologuing, regardless of what revelations I’ve gleaned from it. There’s only one way this ends now.
“I’ll say this once,” I say, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “Release my father. Step down from that throne or die where you stand.”
“You dare threaten me?” Lucelle shouts, baring her teeth like a feral animal. “You think you can kill me, little girl? Then let’s see what you’re truly made of.”