Chapter 47 Elaina
ELAINA
The morning of Dorian’s coronation dawns gray and heavy, as though even the sky mourns what’s to come.
They wake me before sunrise. Two maids I’ve never seen before—stiff-backed and silent—enter my cell carrying a gown draped over their arms and jewelry glittering in a silver casket.
“The Queen requests that the Princess be properly attired for the coronation,” one says, her tone flat, her eyes carefully averted.
I’m surprised—I can’t imagine why I’m being invited since I’ve been branded as a traitor to the Kingdom and a King-killer. And now they want me “properly attired.”
Properly attired. As though I’m still welcome at Court. As though I’m not the disgraced woman locked in a cell, blamed for a crime I didn’t commit, I think bitterly.
Still, I let them dress me. What choice do I have? And what other chance will I have to get out of this cell?
The gown they bring is crimson—so deep and rich it almost looks black in the dim torchlight.
The bodice clings tightly to my ribs, the neckline scandalously low.
The sleeves fall away at my shoulders, leaving my arms bare except for thin golden chains that loop around my biceps and wrists.
My hair, unwashed for days, is brushed until it shines, then twisted into a high knot.
A heavy circlet of gold and garnet is placed atop my head.
Truly, I am dressed like the Princess I once was—what can be the meaning of this?
When I catch my reflection in the small mirror they hold up, I hardly recognize myself. My cheeks are pale and my eyes shadowed—but the gown makes me look like a queen from one of the old tragic ballads.
Beautiful, doomed, and dressed for execution.
I try to push the awful thought away. Despite my fancy dress, they don’t allow me slippers.
The stone floor is cold beneath my bare feet as the guards come to escort me out of my cell.
They march two in front of me and two behind, boxing me in.
Their swords are drawn and their expressions hard.
I know what they must think of me—not that I care, or so I tell myself.
“Where are we going?” I whisper, though I already know.
“To the Great Hall,” the head guard says curtly. “You will attend His Majesty’s coronation.”
His Majesty. The words make bile rise in my throat. And what ever happened to the trial, I was supposed to undergo? I wonder if Dorian has decided to cancel that—doubtless he doesn’t want me shouting out the truth in the middle of Court again.
The halls are draped in black silk and crimson banners—the colors of mourning and blood.
Hundreds of candles flicker in golden sconces, casting long, trembling shadows across the carved marble walls.
Every surface gleams, scrubbed spotless for the occasion, but beneath the polish lies the same rot as always.
The Citadel has a black heart—I know that now.
I don’t know why I didn’t see it from the very first.
The guards march me through the massive double doors into the Great Hall, and the noise hits me like a wave.
A sea of Nobles fills the space—waves of velvet gowns, jeweled collars, powdered wigs, and perfumed fans rise and fall as they all whisper together.
The air reeks of cloying rose oil and sweat.
Everyone is wearing black but me. All of them turn to stare as I enter in my red dress, their whispers darting like arrows.
“There she is…”
“The poisoner…”
“Look at her, dressed like a queen—how dare she come dressed all in red?”
“I know—not a speck of mourning black on her. Disgusting.”
“The filthy murderess!”
They think I killed the King—of course they do. That’s what Dorian’s been telling them and all this time I’ve been locked away with no way to defend myself or clear my name.
At the far end of the hall, the throne platform has been draped in mourning silk. The Queen sits stiffly on the lower seat, her face carved from stone. Behind her, Dorian stands on the dais, resplendent in black and gold. A crown of dragonfire rubies gleams in his pale hair.
When he sees me, his lips curve in a smile that chills me to the bone.
“Ah,” he says softly, his voice carrying even over the murmuring crowd. “Our honored guest.”
The guards lead me to a place near the front, behind a cordon of silk rope meant to separate the Royal family from the rest of the Court. I stand there, trembling, the Queen’s cold gaze burning into me.
The ceremony begins and passes in a blur. I’m barely aware of the solemn chanting from the priests of the Flame…the low hum of the temple choir…the rustle of silk as everyone kneels, then stands, then kneels again.
I should be watching. I should be praying. But all I can think about is Xaren, no doubt left unattended since everyone in the Citadel is here, attending the coronation.
Is he still alive down there? Can he feel what’s happening above? Does he know that his brother now wears the crown that should have been his?
I have no answers to my questions. My stomach twists and my chest aches for my Dark Prince—for my husband.
When I glance toward the doors, I see that the guards near the main entrance have turned, distracted by some commotion outside—a servant dropping a tray of ceremonial cups, perhaps, or a messenger arriving late.
After a moment, everyone is staring. The Nobles crane their necks to see what’s happening…
the choir falters in their latest hymn. And meanwhile, I can see a small door that’s unattended, not thirty feet from where I’m standing.
A door that leads into the bowels of the palace, no doubt—a place to run… a place to hide.
No one’s looking at me. For the first time in weeks, I see an opening in the gloom—a faint glimmer of hope.
My heart hammers so hard I’m afraid the distracted guards will hear it.
If I can just get to that little door…if I can reach the eastern stairs, I can find the tunnels—get down to the dungeons—get to Xaren.
Without letting myself think, I start to move. Slowly, casually at first—slipping along the edge of the crowd, head bowed as though in reverence.
One step…another. And then another. No one’s looking at me—they’re all still attending to the commotion outside the Great Hall.
Don’t look up. Don’t draw attention. Just keep walking, I tell myself.
I’m almost there. The small wooden door is only a few paces away. I reach for it and my fingers brush the cold iron latch—
“There—the murderess! She’s escaping!”
The voice rings out like a trumpet. I freeze, my blood turning to ice.
A Nobleman points a jeweled finger straight at me. All heads whip in my direction.
For one wild heartbeat, I consider running anyway—trying to get through the door. But before I can move, the guards are already on me. Hands seize my arms, twisting them painfully behind my back. Someone yanks the crown from my head—it clatters to the floor, scattering garnets across the marble.
“Let me go!” I cry, struggling. “Please, you don’t understand—I didn’t do it! I didn’t’ do it!”
“She was trying to flee!” the Nobleman shouts. “During the coronation, no less! Treason! King-killer!”
“Treason,” Dorian repeats, his voice dripping with mock sorrow. “How very disappointing, Princess. I had hoped for so much more when you became my bride.”
The guards drag me forward and I’m forced down on my knees before the throne. My wrists burn in their iron grip.
“Your Majesty,” the Queen begins stiffly, looking at her younger son, but Dorian cuts her off with a raised hand.
“No, Mother. I think it’s time we put this to rest once and for all.
” He steps down from the dais, the new crown gleaming on his brow.
“My father lies dead. My brother rots in the dungeon. And this—” he gestures to me “—this poisonous little viper dares attempt escape on the day of my ascension? I give her a chance to attend the most important Court function in a century and she tries to run from her crimes!”
He turns to the gathered Court, spreading his arms dramatically.
“There will be no more secrets. No more whispered accusations in dark corners. Let the whole kingdom see justice done!”
The Nobles murmur, excitement crackling through the air like static.
Dorian looks down at me, eyes glittering like cold fire.
“I, King Dorian of the House of Virelda,” he says, savoring every word, “Do hereby declare that the trial of Princess Elaina for the murder of my father, shall begin… now.”