Chapter 10
The festive spirit permeates the air.
Summer Solstice is a short pause, halfway through the year for a Fae to take an assessing look at what they have already achieved and what else can yet be done. Reinforce the right approach and change direction if necessary, but above all, it is time for self-reflection.
A time when a Fae acknowledges those around them and their role in life. Doesn’t matter if that role is a caring mate who shows you love and stability, a stranger who thrills you, or a friend who forces you to face the unknown.
At least theoretically, that’s how it is supposed to work.
Unfortunately, both summer and winter holidays have their dark sides. For me, it is a mandatory celebration in the morning.
No offence, Gorok, but if it is doable, I will change the formality and strictness of your priestesses. They have sticks high enough up their asses to disturb the flow of information through their synapses.
Sighing, I sink deeper into the chair. My only enjoyment right now is the soothing, cold ambience of the temple and the sour expression on Zulu’s face when she found me on the podium. In comparison, the High Priest was elated.
Despite the chilly reprieve, sweat coats my skin, courtesy of nerve-wracking anxiety. No one talks about the somatic symptoms. My nerves are so wired that I seriously consider running away if I hear one ugly comment.
I can’t take it.
High Queen begging for approval, can I be more cliché?
Jestin talked me into going to the celebration with him. Worst, staying by his side. “Tiny steps first, what better way than to perform a celebration to Gorok.”
Blah blah blah.
He was always skilled at talking me into shitty situations. Dante too. The number of times I got in trouble because I was stupid enough to listen to them.
Once I snuggled an ACTUAL DRAGON EGG into the palace.
Grandpa and Grandma were fuming. They said I could cost us a war between the Dragthralls and the Fae, or even the Dragons themselves.
I was determined never to trust Dante and Jestin ever again.
Then again, the following week we kidnapped a human from Zeznia.
Both of them are freaking silver-tongued.
He convinced you with the feast afterward. Don’t bullshit yourself, Aidon chips in on my monologue, forever helpful. My cheeks go red with the accusation.
Yeah, but that’s what I was thinking about. He knows how to manipulate me. I reply.
Yeah, like it was some master alchemy to figure it out. He catches me staring and smiles. But you are quite skilled in alchemy. Portal magic is your nemesis, isn’t it?
Point taken. Fuck you. Let’s go back to the topic.
Can’t I even bullshit myself a little? Stop being so malicious. It is very tiring. I glare at Aidon, sitting in the third row next to a pretty blonde-haired Fae.
I furrow my brows as I notice how close they are.
What are you even doing there? My mental voice is a bite, while I’m calculating the distance between Aidon’s thigh and the skirt of the harlot next to him.
Less than two fingers.
Aidon moves his leg away from her. My gaze goes up, and he winks.
Are you joking? He asks, his expression betraying his amusement, even despite the distance between us. Do you seriously think I would miss your first sighting as a Queen? Who else would point out your slip-ups?
Of course you are here to make fun of me, I muse dreadfully, as the Great Trumpets echo off the tall walls of the temple.
The gathered straighten in their seats, and conversations pause.
Golden filigree and jewel-toned banners gleam under the sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows, and marble columns carved with intricate runes soar overhead.
Jestin, sitting on my right, shoots a side glare.
Glaring back, I mouth, “What?”
I grimace as the occasional dart of scent hits my nostrils, not from the flowers decorating the temple, but a disgusting clash of perfumes.
I look around. Thousands of folks study me from afar, and I can barely stop myself from grinding my teeth to dust.
On the other hand, some watch with awe.
Others with utter terror.
One worried mother dragged her two boys outside upon spotting me. My Gram would have thrown them into the Fool’s Festival for the insult, while I had to sit tight and take it.
“I guess you don’t want to open the mass?” Jestin whispers, a plastered-on smile still fixed to his face, an impenetrable mask.
“I will be happy as a silent observer,” I reply, and he bites into his palm to stifle a chuckle before rising in one fluid motion and confidently striding to the speech platform.
“Blessed Solstice!” he greets the gathered, raising his hands. The folks are hooked already. Is it possible he is using some kind of charisma charm?
Because a Fae can’t be talented in areas other than drinking and whining, Aidon says.
Fuck you.
Oh, I will fuck you.
All talk, no game, I throw back, and Aidon’s answering grin sends a shiver down my spine.
“Today we gather to honour our beloved Gorok for granting us the simple gift of being here,” Jestin begins, his gaze sweeping over the pups sitting dutifully beside their parents.
“Let us remember our roots, so we may truly value all that we have.” He casts a glance towards the elders, who murmur their assent. He commands the crowd effortlessly, making each person feel seen, acknowledged, and valued.
“Fae-like lives were not always so prosperous,” Jestin continues. “Our ancestors wandered in the Spiritland before coming here. We used to be like ghosts.” Whispers ripple through the hall.
“They were hiding, starving, unable to enjoy the life we take for granted!” he shouts.
Fae-like are no longer adjusted to the Spiritland, Aidon muses in my head.
Why are you saying that? I think, but the question goes unanswered.
“They begged Gorok for a sliver of land to manifest flesh, and he delivered.” The crowd erupts into applause.
“THANK GOROK!”
“HURRAH!”
“But he did not abandon us to a foreign land without guidance. No. He is merciful!” Panic crawls down my spine as I brace myself, already knowing where this is heading.
“Gorok architected the first High Queen of all Fae-likes to govern and lead us into prosperity.”
“Yes, bless Gorok!” someone calls, though the hurrahs are scattered.
“And our Queens are beautiful, generous, fair, and wise!”
“Yes, yes!” the crowd responds.
“High Queen Barbara was beloved by us all, and I was proud to be her subject!”
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, I remind myself.
“Yes, hurrah! Hail Barbara! Good rest!”
“However, we now struggle. Leaderless, cut off from Gorok’s Arken light, wandering in darkness like our ancestors,” he says, voice heavy and dramatic. Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Some sigh, others wipe their eyes. More than a few heads turn towards me. Curiosity. Expectation.
“BUT NO MORE!” He bellows, throwing his hands high, and the crowd explodes in response.
“Give honour to your best,” Jestin declares, then bows before me. The assembly follows suit. General Riven, his Dragthrall brothers, Aidon, those who wept, and those whose faces are carved with horror all pay homage.
He leaves me no choice but to obey, though at least he draws enthusiasm from the crowd before forcing me to speak. What am I doing? What now? My power responds to my emotions, and I fight to contain it.
Not. Fucking. Here!
I meet Jestin’s gaze, and it holds so much undeserved faith. I stand on wobbly legs, almost tripping on my robe.
“Rise,” I command, using the strongest voice I can summon. Slowly, they stand, but the easy-going atmosphere Jestin brought is gone. The silence is deafening.
Recite the blessing, you must know it, suggests Aidon.
Right, I know.
“May the Solstice Night be fruitful for you, may the rest of the year bear fruit, double your crops.” I hesitate. Can I fucking say it? Am I overstepping by speaking on Gorok’s behalf? Please, don’t smite me. “The Great Architect blesses you. Now go with peace.”
“Hurrah!”
“Yes, thank you!”
“Hail the Queen!!”
“High Queen!”
They are celebrating. Dancing, grabbing arms, some crying, some laughing.
I was definitely not prepared for that reaction.
Jestin walks to me with a stunning grin, offering his arm, and I take it. “Wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“It was terrible,” I whine, but I grab tighter, letting him lead me out of here.
“We should go to them,” Jestin offers, and I don’t protest. It is easier with him. Like he walks a path for me, so I can follow.
I know it should be the other way, but I will take any help I can get. I am not strong enough to do it on my own.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Riven steps between us, wings folded, gaze sharp. “We’ve shown our cards today; the market is the most obvious place for an assassination,” he states firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
“None would dare,” I say, ready to argue, but when I look at Jestin, worry paints his face. Clearly, he disagrees.
“Risk,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What was that?” Jestin asks softly, his tone gentle this time
“Nothing”, I reply.
“I am sorry, My Lady, I don’t want to risk losing you,” says Riven, no humour in his warrior face. He wants to keep me safe above anything else.
It’s not like I am dying to go. Am I?
Music and laughter echo from the streets of the market as we head towards the secret tunnels, and one question lingers at the edge of my thoughts; what kind of High Queen cannot walk among her own folks without fear of assassination?
A pathetic one.
We arrived through secret tunnels with a bit of spare time to change before the Banquet, but I was determined to waste some of this on overthinking.
A stunning green dress hangs on my dresser. All cashmere. It must have cost a fortune. A note reads, “Happy Solstice, My Lady. With adoration, General Riven.”