Chapter 20
Aurora
Theron had admitted he was wrong. In public. He’d said she was sane to that odious nobleman who had insinuated otherwise. He’d called her a gift from the goddesses—that the seat of queen was hers if she wanted it.
Aurora paced her room. A small miracle in and of itself. No longer was she a prisoner, watched at all hours from every angle.
Had Orithyia been right? Was Theron finally free of the influence of Lies? Was this the man he was meant to be now that the agents of the sinister goddess were no longer whispering in his ear?
That morning she’d woken feeling hollow, like someone had reached inside her and scooped out every last flicker of emotion she’d ever held for Theron.
It had been almost peaceful. She hadn’t cared anymore.
His fate was his own, and Aurora had nothing to do with it.
Now? Hope sank its claws into her, dragging her through the muck kicking and screaming, just to toss her back into that murky pit of loathsome feeling.
She didn’t want to have this hope that things would be better.
The only thing that would do was make her choose between the man she was bound to and the friend who had died to save her.
And that was only if this change in Theron was lasting.
She’d seen it once before, after the bandit attack.
Aurora had convinced herself that things would be better only to have that hope crushed.
Was Theron even capable of such radical change?
Had she ever truly known him when he was free of the influence of Lies? Free of his own creed to rule as a good king rather than a good man?
She didn’t know, and she wasn’t ready for another confrontation.
Aurora needed to know her own mind before she allowed him to sway her one way or another.
She scratched off a polite refusal to dine with him and kept to her rooms, pacing long past the time when her attendants were dismissed to their rest.
By the time she finally put her head to the pillow, she knew only one thing—her plans could not change.
Drakon needed to die. The cycle of calamity needed to end before it began.
And Aurora? She wanted to go home. Now that she was gaining confidence, there was no reason to think it would take her years to return home.
Everything she’d suffered for—everything she’d shed blood and tears over—was three thousand years in the future. She had to return.
And if that home was one in which Phaedra no longer knew her?
Then she supposed she could come back, knowing Hyllus and Epicasta would welcome her, and maybe she would consider giving Theron another chance.
Until then she would do what she had to in order to ensure a future existed where Phaedra would live.
But the next morning proved to be disastrous for her resolve. When she entered the throne room, a second throne had been placed beside Theron’s—a twin of his own, carved sunstone with a dragon’s head facing the petitioners from the backrest, and dragon’s wings playing the part of armrests.
Yet by the foot of Theron’s throne was her customary cushion.
What was he trying to do? Make her choose? Was the throne even for her or would he once again stick a knife in her back?
“Do you like it?” Theron purred in her ear.
Aurora gasped and turned to him. She hadn’t even heard him approach her.
“To what do you refer?” she asked hesitantly.
“The throne, of course. It’s yours to sit in if you wish.”
“And yet you set my cushion beside your throne. Do you intend to take another woman as your concubine if I sit in the queen’s throne?” she huffed.
He smiled, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles reverently.
“Never. It is there if you choose it. I promised to aid you in whatever way you need. I offer you the power of the throne if you wish it—power of your own.”
“And you think just sitting on that throne will be enough to give me that power?”
“No, but it will send a message. That message is yours to use as you please. Know that I will keep my court from causing you too many headaches in the meantime.”
Aurora swallowed, looking back to the queen’s throne. She’d told herself she would use the position of queen to her advantage, to seize power wherever and however she could if it meant destroying Drakon. Her choice was clear, and yet she hesitated.
“This…it doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”
“That is your right.”
She frowned at him.
“Why are you being so reasonable?”
“Did you want me to be unreasonable?” He raised a brow.
“No, but can you blame me for my suspicion? You always try to sweeten me just before you stab me in the back.”
“Yes, I suppose I have.” He grimaced. “This is no trick or trap. It is merely the gesture of a man who has wronged you, doing what he can to be the man you need him to be.”
“And what kind of man is that?”
“A good one.”
Her heart fluttered. Traitorous organ.
“And what of being a good king?”
He swallowed, looking thoroughly ashamed.
“My pursuit of that ideal has been ruinous. I cannot change what I’ve done—who I’ve been—but I can change who I am now and what I do from now on.”
Merciful Triad, how she wished to believe him. And yet she fought against it, succeeded in wrestling it. If he wanted to prove he could be someone else, she should let him while she watched his every move.
“We’ll see,” she said.
Aurora passed by the cushion, and she could swear she heard his relief.
She stood in front of the queen’s throne and grimaced.
Of course it had been fashioned with those of giant blood in mind.
Theron walked behind the throne and placed a few cushions on the seat.
Then he knelt by her side and placed something at her feet.
A stool carved in the same fashion as the thrones.
He held out his hand to help her up. She took it, doing her best to ignore the heat in his golden gaze as she sat on the throne.
As she got comfortable and Theron sat beside her, a strange feeling came over her.
Gone was the cold stone. Heat like that of a banked fire enveloped her.
A steady pulse, not her own, thundered in her ears.
The scales of her throne seemed to waver, as if they belonged to a real dragon coiling around her, the stone becoming flesh.
Aurora froze, hovering in a strange sense of unreality and holding her breath lest the throne swallow her like a beast.
It was only a few heartbeats and then it passed. Aurora blinked and found the seat was as it had been—made of stone, no more alive than the columns, cool and hard rather than as hot and as giving as flesh. A shiver stole up her spine.
What had happened? A hallucination? There was no other explanation for it.
Her hands gripped the armrests as unease slithered through her.
Was this it then? Had madness begun to take root?
After everything she’d done to convince Theron she was sane and now this.
Aurora held back tears, releasing a shaky breath.
She’d always known this magic would take its toll, but she’d thought she had more time.
“Aurora?” Theron asked quietly as his advisors entered the throne room.
She shook her head. There was no good to be had in telling Theron. It just made her all the more determined to finish her mission as quickly as possible.
He reached across the small space between their thrones and squeezed her hand, a reassuring smile turning up the corners of his lips.
“If any of them think to step out of line, I’ll put them back in their place. You have nothing to fear.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Thankfully Theron proved correct. The merchant and commoner petitioners seemed delighted to see her.
The courtiers were, to the last, stunned into silence when they saw her seated atop the queen’s throne.
It was a silence that didn’t last especially long.
Congratulations were swiftly followed by flattery and attempts to get into her good graces.
Invitations to grand affairs, open bribes disguised as wedding gifts, and even a solemn vow to commission a theatrical production to celebrate her had been laid at her feet.
It set her on edge almost as much as the undisguised fury in Lady Ino’s eyes.
She made all the proper noises and gestures, but Aurora knew hatred when she saw it.
When court came to a close, Aurora was happy to finally breathe easy.
One of the attendants handed Polydorus a small scroll and left, the throne room empty save the advisors, Theron, and Aurora.
“I want eyes on Lady Ino and all of her supporters. If they so much as spit within sight of the palace, I want to know about it,” Theron said to Polydorus.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Then the eyes of his advisors turned to Aurora, expectant. She returned the looks, confused as to what they wanted.
“Do you have anything you’d like to ask of my—our advisors?” Theron asked.
“Our?”
“Yes, Your Highness. If you sit upon the throne of Aureum, our hands are your hands, our feet are your feet, our eyes and ears are yours to direct as you wish,” Polydorus answered.
“All I ask is what I’ve always asked. Hunt Drakon down and kill him before…before he can kill Theron and begin the cycle of calamity.”
Canthus, Polydorus, and Nireus all blanched.
“Your Majesty, when were you going to inform us that Drakon was a threat to you specifically?” Nireus asked calmly, though she could see his knuckles turn white as he gripped the king’s spear.
“Soon. Though I suppose now you know.” Theron shrugged.
Aurora flinched as the three advisors began shouting all at once, impassioned and outraged to only discover this fact now. Thankfully their outrage was only directed at Theron.
“How am I to protect—”
“I could have sent soldiers the moment—”
“If I’d known, I could have spun this to—”
“Enough!” Theron shouted back. “Enough. I know. Had I believed my wife when she warned me, we would not now be in this mess. The fault is mine.”
Canthus shook his head.