40. Lysandra
The days leading up to the coronation pass in a whirlwind. There are dress fittings, crown fittings—yes, that’s a thing—rehearsals, and plans for the coronation ball. I’m so sick of balls. If I never attend another one for the rest of my immortal life, it will be too soon.
After I caught a glimpse of Puck from the throne room, I ran after him, but he was too fast. The one time I tried to go to the treehouse, it was empty, and I haven’t been able to get back there since. Every time I try to leave the palace, someone pulls me into another meeting. I haven’t stopped thinking about him. I even refused to let Farah change my sheets so I could stay wrapped in his scent. It feels wrong to be in the palace without him.
“You’re stunning,” Farah says, her voice clogged with emotion as she takes in my coronation dress.
It is a work of art. The base is a pretty blush color with sparkling lace appliques everywhere except the bodice, which is covered in real purple flowers. The sweetheart necklace is just high enough not to be indecent, and the off-the-shoulder sleeves make it seem romantic. The skirt is ballgown style with a train that stretches for miles.
It’s a dress fit for a queen.
My hair—which is double my usual length because Farah insisted I take a hair-growth tonic—is curled and styled in a low ponytail with wisps of curls framing my face. It took Farah an entire drawer full of tonics, potions, and every spell in her arsenal, but she got my hair to hold the curl. It’s entirely too much work to be done regularly, but it’s perfect for today.
I release a deep breath and try to relax. I’ve been waiting for this day for my entire life, and I’m determined to enjoy it. It doesn’t matter that I can’t stop thinking about Puck, or that I don’t know how he feels, or what it will be like when I see him at the coronation.
The one glimpse I got of him through the door of the throne room was unreadable. He looked…well, he looked how I feel. Confused. Torn between being happy and miserable. The desire to talk to him is still incessant, but it will have to wait. It’s not like I can do anything to change today; the magic surrounding the trials is set in stone.
There’s a knock at the door, and my heart leaps. “Come in,” I squeak, praying with everything I have that Puck will be the one to walk through that door.
It’s not. It’s the last person I’d ever expect.
Gwyneira is dressed in the fashion of her court, a large white ballgown made of satin that glimmers when she moves. The neckline is high and her sleeves are long—which seems odd since the ceremony is taking place in the Etherealia Meadow and it’s warm today—and her hair is in an elaborate coronet atop her head.
“Your Majesty.” I bend my knee in a small curtsey. Farah excuses herself and hustles out of my sitting room with a swish of her skirt.
Without a word, Gwyneira approaches, standing beside me and meeting my eyes in the full-length mirror. Even though Im wearing a small heel and standing on a pedestal, she’s still my height.
“My advisor said you wished to speak to me,” she says, her ice-blue eyes a laser so sharp I’m convinced she’ll shatter the glass of the mirror.
I did send a message to Gwyneira asking for an audience, but that was the day of the trial. Three days ago. I wanted to ask her about the magic surrounding the trial, to see if it was truly unbreakable. Not that I know what I’d do with that information, but I wanted a monarch to tell me the parameters. Even though she hated my mother and our courts have been on opposing sides more often than not, I trust the Winter Court Queen to give me an honest answer.
That was before the plans were made and most of the realm was gathered in the meadow waiting for the ceremony to begin. It’s too late. I couldn’t cancel things now, even if I wanted to.
Something tells me Gwyneira knows this, and that’s why she waited to make her appearance.
“I apologize for wasting your time,” I say as diplomatically as I can muster. “It can wait until after the coronation.” Her head cants to the side, but she makes no move to leave. It’s hard not to fidget under her stare. “Your Majesty—”
“Before I was crowned,” she interrupts, speaking slowly. “I had doubts. At the time, I was in love with six males and my advisors wanted me to dismiss them all and marry for political gain. I was afraid being queen was tantamount to a prison sentence, and my life would no longer be my own.”
I’m not sure how this pertains to me, but Gwyneira rarely speaks unless it’s important, so I listen with rapt attention. I’m also terrified to blink during her story, let alone interrupt her, but that’s neither here nor there.
“Do you know what I found after my coronation?” She doesnt wait for my response. “You can do anything when you are queen. Advisors can make suggestions, but at the end of the day, the decision is yours. As soon as that crown is placed on your head, you have more influence than everyone in the realm, save for the other monarchs.”
She pauses while I parse her statement for hidden meaning. I can’t tell if her words are a warning or advice; if she wants me to be wary of that level of power or to use it. And, while I’m sure this little speech will mean a lot to me in years to come, I can’t see how it’s relevant right this second. Why would Gwyneira wait to say this until minutes before the ceremony?
Unless…
I can’t undo the magic of the trial. I can’t step aside, so I have to become queen.
You can do anything when you are queen.
I turn, needing to see her expression without the mirror. Her eyes dance with mischief, which for Gwyneira, is the equivalent of jumping up and down. She pats my arm and starts to leave my suite.
“Your Majesty?” I start. She pauses when she reaches the door. “Before I arrived, before you knew I existed, were you going to vote for Puck to be king?”
With a soft smile, she says, “I think you already know that answer,” and departs.
By the time Farah returns to the room to escort me to the meadow, I know exactly what I’m going to do.
One of the traditions of the coronation is a procession that starts at the palace gates and finishes at the ceremony location. When I was told the ceremony would be held in the Etherealia Meadow, I was surprised but ecstatic. Not only is it a place steeped in nature, but the field is large enough to accommodate the entire realm. Monarchs only change so often, especially with Fae immortality, so everyone gathers to see a coronation.
The palace grounds are odd without the usual hustle and bustle of the servants and courtiers. Only the Fae holding my train—one member of each race—are present.
My grandmother, the representative for the harpies, stands at my side, holding my elbow. She looks beautiful wearing a high-neckline, emerald gown that leaves her muscular arms bare and hugs every inch of her curves. If possible, it makes her look taller.
“Are you ready?” Farah asks. When I insisted she be the elemental Fae that walked with me, she cried, I cried, it was a whole thing. It was one of the easiest decisions I’ve ever made.
“Ready.”
Outside the palace walls, music starts to play—a song sung by the sirens to inspire hope and celebration. The magical melody sinks into my bones as the drawbridge lowers. Lifting my chin higher, I expel the last of my nerves with a breath and walk under the archway.
The Fae who line the path to the ceremony are all citizens of Spring Court. Earth elementals create flowers and toss them at my feet, centaurs raise their bows high in the air to shoot off celebratory arrows that burst into fireworks, and countless others chant my name.
I have to walk slowly so as not to drag the poor Fae behind me, but it’s nice. My grandmother speaks to me in soft tones, telling me how proud she is, and how proud my father would have been. She doesn’t mention my mother, with good reason, but I think I’ve come far enough that people don’t associate me with her. And I vow never to do anything that will let them.
Before long, I see the ceremony location. The meadow is typically lovely, vibrant green with grass that sways around my ankles in a loving embrace, but even it seems to have outdone itself. It sparkles with dew like it just rained, and yet nothing is wet. Small patches of daisies have popped up overnight, mimicking the fluffy white clouds in the sky.
The troll behind me—he was specifically told not to hold my train, only to walk in back—lets out a thunderous cheer that calls everyone to attention. The crowd waiting is unrestrained in their joy as I reach the aisle that leads to the elevated dais. I nod politely to those I recognize, try not to laugh when my aunts and cousins hold up a banner with my name on it, and let the warm smiles of my friends encourage me until I reach the front row.
Even though I tell myself I won’t look, I scan the crowd for Puck. He has to be here, everyone has said as much, but I don’t see him.
My grandmother kisses me on the cheek like she’s giving me away at my wedding before she joins the rest of the second generation in the front row. The priestess, a female with skin the color of onyx, steps forward and I drop to my knees in a curtsey. She wears white robes decorated in swirls of gold that represent all the races of Fae, and the golden circlet atop her curly hair has the symbols of each court.
Everyone falls silent as she raises her hands toward the sky. “We thank the goddess on this joyous day—”
I feel the moment his eyes are on me, like a bolt of lightning to the chest. I’m supposed to be bowed down, listening as the priestess asks the goddess to bless my rule, but I can’t help myself. Everyone else is supposed to be praying anyway, they won’t see.
Subtly tilting my head to the side, I find Puck sitting beside Edina in the first row. He must have just snuck in. Goddess, he’s gorgeous. He’s wearing a black tuxedo that’s perfectly tailored to fit his lean frame, and his auburn hair is styled with exquisite care.
And then, he smiles.
It’s not forced or placating. It’s not mocking or snide. It’s completely genuine, as if he’s never been happier than to see me crowned. It’s almost too much for my heart to take. There’s so much I want to tell to him. So much I wish I could say.
He jerks his head forward and I realize the priestess is looking at me with a less-than-impressed glare as she continues to chant to the goddess. Biting my lip, I bend forward, all the way to the ground, but I still see Puck’s shoulders shake in silent laughter.
When the opening prayers have concluded, I ascend the dais and the true ceremony begins. It passes in a blur of vows in the ancient language of the Fae, remembered lines and motions, and stolen glances between me and Puck. Every time I look at him, he’s beaming. It makes me want to jump off the dais and run straight into his arms. It gives me a small sliver of hope that we still have a chance. Goddess, please let there be a chance.
As we reach the end of the ritual, King Simi of the Day Court hands me a crystal ball that represents the future, and Queen Talia of Summer Court hands me a scepter that represents sovereignty. Gwyneria, Zahir, and Oakley of the Unseelie Courts all fasten a cape to my shoulders that symbolizes my commitment to my court, the weight of that commitment literally on my shoulder. It’s made from the same material as my dress and fades into a field of real wildflowers at the hem.
When all that’s finished, the priestess instructs me to kneel—the last time I’ll ever bow to anyone. She produces a golden crown with a large green gem in its center; prongs made of diamonds that are fashioned to look like leaves.
“Do you, Lysandra of Spring Court, promise to serve your court above all else? Do you promise to rule with kindness and mercy as the goddess bids?”
“I solemnly promise so to do.”
She sets the crown atop my head, and I feel the magic of the binding agreement settle on my skin before ricocheting throughout the court.
“Please rise,” the priestess says.
As I do, the entire realm drops to their knees.
“All hail Lysandra, Queen of the Spring Court.”
They all echo the statement before raucously cheering. I let their elation fill me as a tear slides down my cheek.
I did it.
I’m the queen.
The priestess takes the scepter and crystal ball from my hands. I meet Gwyneira’s eyes and she nods like she knows precisely what’s coming. It wouldn’t surprise me; the female is terrifyingly intuitive.
I raise a hand and the crowd quiets. It’s customary for the new monarch to make their first royal decree in front of everyone. It’s usually something small, like decreeing the week a holiday—which was important when everyone was at war, but not so much right now—or abolishing taxes in our court for a time to increase commerce.
I clear my throat before magically amplifying my voice.
This is it.
Goddess, I hope this doesn’t blow up in my face.
“For my first royal decree.” I find Puck in the crowd and deliver the next message to him. “I am dissolving the monarchy.”