Chapter 26 #2
Attalus snorted, disgusted at the suggestion of playing politics now. Leita stirred in his arms, but he clutched her to him, unwilling to let her go.
“You don’t have to,” he insisted. “Their fears are their own.”
“No. As Queen, they’re mine.” Leita sat up on her knees beside him, her exhaustion writ across her pale face. Attalus opened his mouth to argue, but her hand on his chest stayed him. “Come with me?”
His protestations fell back down his throat.
“Is that wise, my Queen?” asked Charis.
“Who cares,” Attalus growled. “She won’t be going without me.”
“We can put all their worries to rest. Assure them I’m safe with my dragon azai protecting me.” Leita nodded, perhaps trying to convince herself as much as him.
“Very well,” he finally conceded. “But no lengthy speeches. You must eat and rest.”
“Agreed,” said Charis.
Attalus pinned her with a baleful look. She hadn’t earned his forgiveness yet.
After a handful of nuts and grapes, they followed Charis through the palace to the north tower, where they were led to a wide balcony. This was far grander than theirs overlooking the sea; an ornate balustrade of red granite rimmed the curve, and a platform of marble had been set in the center.
Nearing the edge revealed the city expanding below, and when Leita stepped up onto the platform, it was clear this balcony was meant for speeches and royal viewing.
A sea of faces met them, even in the dimming twilight. Gasps and murmurs ran through the crowd as surely as the breeze at the sight of Attalus beside Leita.
Raising her hand, Leita projected, “Thank you for your concern. I assure you all is well. The situation has been dealt with and Fallorian is safe.”
Up above them, some of the crowd’s cries reached Attalus and Leita. They called out to her, wishing her well, hoping she wasn’t hurt. And, of course, “What about the dragon?”
With a squeeze of his hand, Leita finally introduced him to the people. “I’m safe in large part because of my brave azai. He is Attalus Princeps of the Droplets, and he is your prince consort.”
Murmurs abounded, and Attalus wasn’t sure if the crowd believed her. It’d likely be smart to do this again in the daylight, when he was obvious for all to see, but Attalus didn’t care about smart right now. He cared about Leita and getting her fed.
They could just hear the crowd’s questions, about the dragons in the sky.
Rather than answer, Leita declared, “I know it’s unprecedented, but much about my reign already is.
I trust that you will welcome him as I have and support our family.
” The promise of progeny, of a secure royal line, hung in the air.
Leita shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and he saw her swallow in his periphery.
Attalus stepped forward to give the crowd an even better view of him.
They were his people now, he supposed, but he felt nothing for them.
Perhaps that bond would grow, but for now, his only concern was the safety and welfare of his mate.
In all honesty, the people would need to prove to him that they could be trusted with what he held most precious.
Until then, he would watch them as closely as they did him.
“I am Attalus Princeps, twelfth born of my father, diadochos of the Droplets. I have pledged my fealty and troth to your Queen, my mate.” His titles were somewhat lost on the crowd, but that didn’t matter.
What did was that they understood, “Should anyone else entertain ideas of regicide, I promise, all that awaits you is dragonfire. Pleasant eve.”
The crowd stared at him in shock and Attalus waved back. Leita waved too and then they made their retreat.
His hearts were a little lighter to hear her tired laugh. “That last part definitely wasn’t necessary.”
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree, agae. Now they understand me.”
When her council met the following day, Attalus ensured they all understood him, too. Gone was the princely consort who smiled and bowed. Instead, they got the protective, possessive mate who would sooner bite their heads from their bodies than suffer the smallest threat or indignity to Leita.
The mood had palpably shifted, and it wasn’t just because of more guards stationed nearby.
In the second meeting Attalus had attended some time ago, a seat had been procured for him—and set opposite Leita in the circle.
He’d made a small fuss about moving all the chairs to her right down one to make room for his, so he sat where he belonged: beside her.
His seat hadn’t moved since, and today, Attalus was beside his mate again.
Standing at her elbow. Arms crossed. Mouth unsmiling.
This was no time for pleasantries. He wanted answers. And Ondra’s head.
Although Attalus hadn’t slept much himself, Leita had, and so he was able to look upon some of the council a sliver more graciously today. When Charis began to speak, he didn’t even growl or snarl.
“Preliminary interrogations have been carried out, my Queen, and Ondra’s rooms both here and at home have been searched. Those inquiries continue, but a few things have been found. Ondra hasn’t admitted anything, so a stronger hand may be needed.”
Attalus smiled without humor. Excellent.
When Charis noticed his bloodthirsty grin, she paled.
“Interrogators can pull at the mind,” said Lady Eilean, “but someone who’s trained to resist them can endure. The Queen must compel Ondra.”
It was Leita who paled then, swaying in her seat. “My…predecessor did such things. I don’t think I can.”
“She stabbed you, my dear,” Lady Eilean argued, and Attalus hated agreeing with her. “And in doing so committed high treason. Whatever is done to her is justified. Assassins know the consequences of being caught.”
“Her life was forfeit the moment she drew her blade against you,” Attalus added.
Leita looked up at him, those dark blue doe eyes troubled. He hated seeing her distress, but on this he wouldn’t yield.
Her mouth drew thin and she looked away, at no one in particular. “To invade someone’s mind…it’s worse than death.”
“She doesn’t deserve your sympathy.” He gentled his words with a supportive hand on her shoulder. That she didn’t want to do such a thing proved her noble heart—and how wrong Ondra was to want to slay her.
“Let’s see what we can learn in the days to come,” Charis suggested, ever the voice of reason. “She will die for her crimes, but we need her for now.”
Leita took the escape Charis offered. “What’s been learned?”
Pulling a sheaf of paper from her stack, Charis informed them, “It seems Ondra is part of a larger faction, although they aren’t numerous. Most are younger fae who haven’t known a time before Amaranthe. Under her tyranny, they came to decide the faelands must be freed from having a Queen at all.”
Attalus shared the council’s anger at hearing such a thing. To fight against Amaranthe, known as a cruel despot across the continent, was one thing. But to turn that hatred on the one who’d delivered the faelands from that curse? To usurp her place as Queen and hero of the faelands?
He wouldn’t stand for it.
It seemed his outrage would have to do for them both, as Leita was unmoved by the revelation. Or, if not unmoved, only more troubled. Her hands, folded in her lap, twisted around each other, fingers gone white.
“That’s utter madness,” hissed Lord Boros. “The fae have never been without a Queen.”
“It seems they’d prefer the unknown to the evil of Amaranthe.” Charis sighed. “Although, continuing their plans against Queen Leita is…unwise.”
“After centuries spent at the whims of a creature such as Amaranthe, it’s not surprising some might begin to think such things,” Lady Idrisil agreed. “But our Queen Leita proves herself time and again to be everything her predecessor was not.”
“It seems…” Leita’s gaze fell to her hands as she quietly voiced her thoughts. “They perhaps fight against the cycle as a whole, not just the singular head.”
“They endanger us all in doing so,” Tamerlan said, arms crossed unhappily.