Chapter 4 #2
That ceiling allowed more light to flood into the room via another set of arched stained glass windows, these ones matching the curve of it as the arches gave way to pale stone.
In the centre of it, a great circular medallion banded with gold caught my eye.
A sun made of gold mosaic tiles glinted at me, its rays reaching out towards the gilt edges, through the teal and cobalt tiles.
It had to span ten feet, but every tile was barely larger than one of my fingernails.
I couldn’t imagine how long it had taken someone to finish it, but it was beautiful.
Befitting of the Summer Court, I supposed.
I sensed the people watching me as I walked so slowly, distracted by the grandeur of this room, and lowered my gaze, settling it back on the raised dais at the far end of the long aisle and all those watching fae.
Behind a golden throne was an arch that was taller than the rest, and within the recess of that arch hung banners of gold, turquoise and white.
They had to be the colours of this court.
As royal blue, silver and black were the colours of the Shadow Court.
Of my home.
Every gaze tracked me. Drilled into me. Every breath was held. Waiting. Waiting for me to do something that would reveal I hadn’t been made to sit on a throne. That I was prey and not predator. Weak and not powerful.
Screw that.
Kaeleron’s voice rang in my ears, his teasing comments about naming me queen.
I could almost see him standing on that dais, an amused smirk curling his wicked lips, and could almost hear how he would laugh at the sight of me, all trussed up like a princess in a stifling gown he would know I despised no matter how fiercely I tried to hide it and play the part expected of me.
I took the steps down into the room, past the first ring of fae who stood on a raised section that followed the curve of the great hall, the inside edge of it lined with a golden balustrade.
Were they lower in standing than the others in the room, or had they simply wanted a better view?
The elevated position meant they could see me clearly at all times, even when I reached the main floor of the great hall and took my first tentative steps towards that dreadful dais where Sylvan was waiting, resplendent in a white tunic jacket trimmed with teal and gold embroidery, and dark gold trousers and riding boots.
Holding his sapphire gaze, ignoring that hint of a smirk that curved his lips as I did so, I walked with my head held high, my wolf at the fore.
This was a test.
Everything here was going to be one.
And I had to ace them all if I was going to survive.
How this moment went could make or break me, so I gave it my all, owning it. My steps were faultless, my poise perfect, and my wolf side kept that glow in my eyes that had many of the fae staring as I passed, a flicker of awe in their dull eyes.
I held the power here. I was heir to this throne. A powerful, courageous, and ruthless female who didn’t need a crown to be a queen. I ruled all who looked at me. I owned them all. All who gazed upon me were below me. Nothing more than my subjects. People put in this realm to please and serve me.
I repeated those words so many times they began to stick, my nerves falling away as I regally glided towards the throne.
My throne.
But not my throne.
My true throne was a vision of dark beauty.
Just like the male who sat in it.
“She looks so much like him,” a female whispered.
My step almost faltered. Him? Sylas, I realised. My father.
Sorrow arrowed through me, but I somehow kept my head high and my mask in place.
I had always thought I looked like my mother, but now that I was here, surrounded by so many fae with hair that matched the colour of hers and the colour of mine, I realised my silver hair had clearly come from the ruling bloodline of this court.
But my eyes, they were my mother’s, no matter what anyone said.
Several people tried to touch me, reaching out into the aisle in some desperate attempt to lay a hand on me, as if doing so would somehow bless them or grant them power.
I ignored them all, tipping my chin up higher, gathering every drop of Kaeleron’s belief that I was fit to rule a court.
This wasn’t me. I was just a wolf. But I was going to do this.
I could be strong, a force, fierce and filled with the self-confidence expected of a queen and the belief that I had been born to rule.
That the throne before me was already mine.
I was sure they would see right through me, but none of them spoke as if they could see the trembling part of me that wanted to lift my skirts and run in the other direction, back to my dark fae king.
Whispered comments followed in my wake, words about my beauty and grace, and my eyes. My little trick worked. Several males and females remarked about the power I had to hold within me to have eyes like the ones I kept fixed on Sylvan.
The courage I was clinging to faltered a little when I noticed that Sylvan wasn’t alone.
Behind him, flanking the throne, stood a male and a female, one on either side of the gilt monstrosity.
The female was beautiful, her platinum hair braided and knotted upon her crown in a similar fashion to mine, a plain diamond tiara glittering in front of it.
Her rosy lips curled in a hint of a smile as I met her bright blue eyes, and she dipped her head slightly, a silent greeting that I returned.
Gold clasps adorned her pointed ears, reflecting the light streaming in from the windows as she lifted her head again and straightened her shoulders.
Her gown was as hideous as my own, a corseted gold and white affair that was so long that it concealed her feet entirely.
It was as impractical and as much a tripping hazard as my own dress.
The male.
My hackles rose the moment I looked at him.
Malice shone in his cerulean eyes.
The wolf in me grew restless, snarling and pacing, pushing for freedom, for me to shift and eliminate this threat to me. I tamped it down, pulling my instincts back under control before white fur could ripple over my skin, and bravely held his stare, not letting him see how he had flustered me.
He had to be almost as tall as Kaeleron.
His pale blond hair matched Sylvan’s, but it had been cut short around the sides, keeping his pointed ears visible.
Both had an athletic kind of build, and both wore the same style of clothing that had been tailored to accentuate their honed physique, but where Sylvan wore a white tunic with gold trousers, this male wore the opposite.
Their eyes were similar too, but I wasn’t fool enough to believe he was the child of the steward.
No, the way he was glaring at me, hatred burning in his eyes, his lips flattening in displeasure, told me all I needed to know about him.
He was another heir.
And somehow just my existence had offended him.
He shifted, his hand coming up to casually rest on the pommel of the elegant gold blade sheathed at his side. A warning. I knew that if I showed any weakness, this male would strike.
I just didn’t know why.
I took the steps up to the dais, lifting my heavy skirts with one hand and forcing myself to take Sylvan’s hand with the other when he offered it to help me.
When I was before him, he moved the hand that still grasped mine forwards, and I took the hint, coming to stand beside him. Coming to face the highborn.
“Princess Saphira, heir presumptive of the Summer Court.” His voice echoed in the room, loud and commanding, and I swallowed as every highborn kneeled before me, bowing their heads to me.
Gods, Kaeleron would really get a good laugh out of this.
He was going to be awful for weeks after I returned, teasing me about everything I told him. I catalogued it all, wanting to remember every detail so I could hear him laugh, because nothing warmed me more than the rich timbre of it when he let the mask fall away and relaxed for once.
I missed him.
I hid that behind my perfect smile as I gracefully curtseyed, only dipping my head a little, just as my handmaiden had instructed me to do when I was introduced to the court.
I must have done it right, because pleased murmurs ran through the fae as they all rose to their feet and I straightened.
“When Princess Saphira reaches her one hundredth year, and if she should reach it without an older heir emerging, she will be crowned queen.” Sylvan raised my hand with his and the crowd exploded in applaud.
But my sensitive wolf hearing picked up the male behind me as he muttered.
“If she reaches one hundred.”
Oh, he was gunning for me all right.
My wolf side snarled right back at him, and I didn’t hide that part of me, or my desire to take him down, as Sylvan turned with me, bringing me around to face him and the female.
“Saphira, these are your half-siblings. Meiryn.” He gestured to the female, who was smiling at me, not an ounce of malice in it. I wanted to find some sort of fault in it, wanted to see through it to the bitterness or vicious plans for me she was hiding behind it, but it was warm. Genuine.
“Hello.” I offered my hand to her, unsure what else to do, and she stared at it. I looked at it too, feeling more than a little awkward now as I withdrew it. “Oh, um. Sorry. It’s a mortal custom… a shifter custom… to shake hands when you meet people.”
“Hello,” Meiryn said and took my hand, holding it a bit too firmly.
I hid my grimace and weathered her clumsy attempt to carry out the custom that was clearly new to her, and frowned as I felt the calluses that marked her palm against mine.
Calluses that told me she hadn’t grown up in a castle. She had either been trained like Vyr, or she was used to manual labour at the very least.
The male scoffed, the sound as haughty as he looked, as if our greeting was beneath him.
“And this would be Lorien.” Sylvan swept his left hand out towards the younger male.
One who looked around my age.
How close in age were we?