Chapter Thirty-Seven Xandril
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Xandril
Golden light streams in through the foliage above, the early dawn sun bathing everything in the color. Birds are just beginning to rouse in their nests, finally rebuilt after years of winter kept them vacant. The air is perfumed with the scent of halemercy and fresh spring growth…
In short, it’s a perfect morning for a coronation.
I’d feel better prepared for a battlefield.
Ingrid looks at me from her place a few paces away.
We’re stationed at two separate doors in the same hallway, and we’ll emerge on opposite sides of the throne when we enter.
One door would have been preferable. One door would mean Ingrid would be at my side right now, not down the hall giving me an encouraging smile instead of squeezing my hand like I want.
“You’re going to do great,” she says with a confidence that makes me almost believe it.
With the glow of dawn surrounding her, Ingrid is even more beautiful. She stands tall, confident, poised—every bit the queen she’s destined to be.
Only a few minutes more…
“If you forget everything, I’ll whisper the answers to you,” she teases, eyes glinting with mischief.
With the number of times I recited the expected answers in preparation for this day, I’d be more likely to forget my own name. But knowing Ingrid’s there with me, at my side, supporting me and believing in me the way she always has, helps me shake off some of the nerves.
With her, I can do this.
With her, I can do anything.
The doors open into the throne room, a mixture of visiting royalty, Emerald nobility, and a fair number of Wardens all gathered to witness the historic event.
I want to turn and flee.
Ingrid seems to know, hesitating with me before stepping through. She gives me an encouraging nod, and I take the first step.
Together.
The first to question me is Viscount Velmarch, stepping forward with a drunken swagger.
“By what right do you claim this throne?” he asks, watching me carefully.
“By the choosing of Crownwood,” I recite. Banishing the Calessevans didn’t win me many favors with the nobility, but they weren’t well-liked, so the harm has been relatively minimal. Many have held out for this day. I’ve even heard there are bets whether we’ll be rejected in the end after all.
Ingrid joked we could replenish most of what Farandir’s addiction drained from our coffers by betting on ourselves. As confident as I am that Crownwood has chosen us both, that feels like a step too far. The fates laugh at those who are led by hubris.
“Do you intend to rule, or keep?” asks Countess Fenrelle, doing an admirable job to keep a straight face considering the things she’s seen Val and I do in our bounty hunting days. At least without him here, she’s less likely to want to relive the glory days.
I’d originally been sad to think my best friend wouldn’t be able to attend my coronation, but I’ve had enough ‘I told you so’s from him for a lifetime. He can stay on his mission a bit longer as far as I’m concerned.
“I will keep what has rooted and tend that yet to grow,” I answer, enunciating every word.
Countess Fenrelle’s stony expression cracks, and she winks at me, flashing a smile to Ingrid.
Hilduin approaches in full armor, staring me down like I’m a new recruit rather than an old friend or the soon-to-be-crowned king. But it’s all part of the ritual. A king who can’t even handle a ceremonial interrogation is not fit for the throne.
“When the reach demands more than you have, what will you give?”
Of course that’s the question she chose. There are a number of possible options for each questioner, which means I had to study the expected answers for all of them.
I hold her gaze. “I will give my strength until the roots hold fast again.”
Hilduin’s steely eyes stay locked on me, a silent challenge I don’t back down from. Finally, she steps back.
“Against what do you stand?” Archdruid Iskra asks in her toad-like voice, beetle eyes glittering under a curtain of moss.
“I stand against rot, ruin, and that which would break Crownwood’s roots.”
Iskra flashes a jagged, yellow smile before scurrying back to the crowd.
I take a step back, no more relieved now that it’s over than I was before it began.
Ingrid steps forward and faces the same battery of questions. She’s magnificent. Effortless.
Absolutely radiant when she looks back at me after answering Iskra, extending her hand toward me.
Countess Fenrelle comes to the front again as I take Ingrid’s hand, finally feeling rooted once more.
“One final question, since this is an…unusual situation,” the countess says, still smirking.
I don’t share her amusement, only panic washing through me. One more? What?
There are supposed to be four questions.
We answered the customary four.
I look to Ingrid for any sign that she knows something I don’t. She squeezes my hand, and I don’t know how to interpret that in this moment.
“Do you stand as two, or one?” Fenrelle asks, expression serious again.
Ingrid squeezes my hand once more, and this time I have no doubt what she’s saying.
‘I got this.’
And I know she does.
“We stand as one with Crownwood,” Ingrid says.
Countess Fenrelle breaks into a wide grin, signaling to the room that we passed.
We passed?
I hardly believe it even as the room breaks into applause and cheers. It’s no less believable when the crown is placed atop my head, or when I see a similar one on Ingrid’s.
It’s not real until Ingrid pulls me into her arms, smiling up at me with those lips that are begging to be kissed.
“You did an incredible job, my king,” she says, face flushed halemercy pink.
“And you were perfect, my queen. As always.”
We kiss under the flowering throne tree, the rest of the realm forgotten while we’re lost in each other. Just as it should be.
No matter the seasons coming and going, no matter how brutal and unforgiving the winter might be, I know as long as we’re together, spring will return.