Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Athick gold frame surrounds my clear reflection as I nervously smooth out the wrinkles in the first dress I’ve worn in years.
Tila will scold me if I look like a mess the first time I emerge from this room as queen.
The dress is simple, but detailed enough so that everyone who was not in the throne room, everyone who is seeing me for the first time will have no doubts that things have changed.
The woman staring back at me isn’t the girl who stood here years ago, getting ready to leave her kingdom for a chance at a better life.
Though she looks almost the same, I can see the subtle differences.
The sun-kissed skin that will surely fade the longer she is away from true sunlight.
The set of her shoulders pulled back and ready to speak her mind.
The glitter in her eye that has known hope but has also seen despair.
She’s endured so much in such a short time.
She’s learned to trust, been betrayed, and learned to trust again.
She’s learned to love and be loved, not only by a man, but by friends who made her feel whole.
She’s lived and hoped and grown, all because she found the strength inside herself to leave the place that held her back, and find something more.
And now she’s the queen.
I wasn’t prepared for my life to change so drastically before I even had time to catch my breath or readjust to the cold, but I have no choice now.
A tall, broad frame appears in the reflection behind me, and I feel Weston’s warm hands settle on the curve of my hips. He leans down and presses a kiss into the side of my neck, right over the skin that is still purple and blue.
“You look beautiful, my queen,” he murmurs against my skin, and goosebumps cover all the exposed flesh that peeks out of the tight bodice.
He presses another kiss just above the last, as his arms circle my middle and pull me against his body.
Resting his cheek on my hair, he meets my gaze in the mirror.
“I can hear you thinking.”
I grasp his forearms tightly and let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not ready to do this.”
“You don’t have to,” he murmurs. “I will take care of everything as long as you give me permission.”
“But I need to. I will regret it if I don’t.”
His eyes soften as he holds my gaze in the mirror, and I try not to notice the nerves etched into my face.
“It’s normal to doubt yourself and feel you can’t do something, while still staying strong and confident on the outside. If you only knew how many times I look like I know what I’m doing, but inside is a raging storm. You’ve already seen some.”
I think back to what times he might be referencing, because I’ve never thought Weston didn’t have every confidence in his decisions or his abilities.
Even when he had the tip of his sword pressed into Dane’s neck, he looked as sure as ever.
But back at the ship, back in the infirmary, he looked ready to explode, and couldn’t even speak to me.
My chest tightens at the thought that he was suffering inside more than he was showing.
His thumb slides across the dress at my waist, his slow caress a comfort. “It’s alright to feel like you’re falling. No one needs to know except for the person standing behind, ready to catch you.”
My voice is small when I answer. “I might need you to catch me.”
“Always, my queen.”
I straighten, and Weston follows suit, but one hand stays pressed into the small of my back. “Alright. Let’s go.”
He leads me through the room and opens the door widely, stepping to the side and waiting for me to pass.
The moment we are out in the open, his hand drops away, and he lets me take the lead, falling into step closely behind.
Our footsteps echo in sync on the stone, and I try to pretend that this is just another walk on the island, back before we knew each other intimately, when he always stood at my back to make sure I didn’t actually fall.
I’ve been dreading this moment for days and doing my best not to think about it as it loomed over us, but I need to move forward.
Move on. I’d gone my entire life without being in this part of the castle, and now, after everything and the memories it holds, I want to stay away from it for another twenty-three years.
Unfortunately, there is no other option.
The corridors leading toward the dungeon get colder as we descend, and I’m grateful for the thick fabric and long sleeves that help ward off the chill.
That we survived down here in the cold after leaving the humid heat of the island still amazes me, and I make a mental note to tell Weston to ensure the prisoners are kept warm.
They may be traitors, but I’m not a monster. That isn’t the queen I want to be.
A new set of guards was assigned to the dungeon antechamber after Weston questioned the involvement of the previous set, and he must have made sure they were aware we were coming. When I step into the doorway, they are already standing at attention, waiting for us to pass through.
“My queen,” Weston mumbles, and I step to the side, giving him just enough room to pass by. He strides across the room and pulls open the dungeon door before stepping to the side and ushering me through.
“Your Majesty,” the guards say in unison as they each fall into a deep bow when I pass by.
The keys on a large ring jingle as the guard closest to him reaches out and hands them to Weston, before he wordlessly leads me through the corridor.
I follow a few paces behind, trying to slow my breathing and push away the memories of Weston being overpowered and beaten the last time I walked through these halls.
“Back away from the bars!” Weston shouts, the threat of enforcement clear in his voice. He turns back toward me, and his voice lowers to a murmur. “Stand near the wall as far from the cell as you can.”
I nod, and my agreement must be enough for him because he turns back and continues to lead us through the dark and frigid hallway.
“On your feet for your queen!” he barks again. The command is followed by the scuffle of movement from some cells, but it is obvious it did not come from all of them.
I pull my shoulders back as we walk, keeping my chin held high. I refuse to let any of them see any of the vulnerability I feel coursing through my body. It will also ensure that they see firsthand what I endured and survived in their failed attack.
As I pass by, I look into each cell but don’t recognize most of the guards locked away. Some cells have multiple men inside, despite Weston’s command to keep them separate, and it makes me sick to my stomach to think that we didn’t have enough cells for the number of guards involved in the plot.
When I see Storm lying across the floor, staring at the ceiling with his head resting on his hands, I scowl.
Of course he isn’t on his feet. I’m not his queen.
Storm isn’t from Blackwood. I knew the moment I shook his hand back at camp that it was customary to another kingdom.
So why was he involved? Why, after all that time on Dawnlin, did he follow Dane like this?
We pass Guthrie, who also refused to stand, but unlike Storm, he sits with his back pressed to the stone wall, sneering.
His beady eyes track me as we walk by, and I don’t break the contact.
He deserves to know that he didn’t break me; that his words were only that, words.
He may have been a snake, waiting for the right time to strike, but in the end, he did not win.
Weston slows as we approach the last cell, and I already know who I am about to come face to face with: one of the three people I thought cared about me for most of my life.
Surprisingly, Brynne is actually standing with her gaze trained forward and her hands held behind her back. When we stop in front of the thick iron bars, I step back as Weston instructed, giving him the foreground, but staying directly in front of her.
I want to look into her eyes as she tells me everything.
Or lies to my face.
“It is only because of the mercy shown by your queen that you are able to plead your case,” Weston says as he steps closer to her cell. His eyes narrow, and she refuses to look at him. “Your time starts now.”
“I have nothing to say.” Her tone is sharp, her mouth forming a line, but her face gives away nothing.
“I find that hard to believe. You manipulated the queen for years, lied to the crown, plotted to overthrow the king, and then murder the heir. Start talking.”
“I don’t deny it, and I know nothing I say will change whatever decision I’m sure you have already made for me. I know how this works.” Her stony gaze stays locked on the wall above me, and she looks completely unfazed that her life is about to change.
When I told Weston I wanted to be here for the questioning instead of having him report the details to me, I swore I was only going to listen.
I didn’t want to get involved. The weight of having some of my greatest fears realized, that she had been plotting against me for years and that our relationship, our friendship, was never real and was only part of her duty, her fake duty at that, was too much for me to handle.
But now that I stare her down, and recall the last conversation we had about her being proud of me, of wanting me to find Dawnlin, of worrying for my safety, all I feel is hatred.
“What kingdom are you from?” I snap. Her eyes fall to mine, but she stays silent.
“After what you did to me,” I snap, taking two quick steps toward the bars, “the bare minimum you owe me is answers.” From the corner of my eye, I watch Weston shift closer to my side, but my eyes stay trained on her.
“Nafria.”
“How long were you…there?” I feel the tug of something in my throat when I try to utter Dawnlin’s name, and I know instantly it is the magic, preventing me from spilling secrets to those who can hear from the other cells.