Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
QUEEN THEA! QUEEN THEA! QUEEN THEA!
The words crashed over Thea like waves against a cliff, each repetition hitting harder than the last. She stood frozen on the dais, trapped inside her own body, screaming silently while the golden light pulsed around her.
No. No, no, no. I can’t—this isn’t—I didn’t agree to this!
But her mouth wouldn’t open. Her feet wouldn’t move. The goddess held her like a puppet on divine strings, keeping her upright and serene while thousands of voices declared her something she’d never asked to be.
Queen.
The word tasted wrong. Foreign. Impossible.
She was Dr. Thea Monroe, linguistic anthropologist, adjunct professor at a university that probably thought she was dead by now. She specialized in dead languages and ancient burial practices. She lived in a tiny apartment filled with books and survived on coffee and takeout.
She was not—could never be—a queen.
Peace, daughter. Freya’s voice whispered through her mind, warm and amused and utterly unconcerned by Thea’s panic. You will be fine.
Fine? Thea wanted to shriek. They’re declaring me ruler of a city I’ve been in for less than a month! A city in a world I don’t belong to! How is that FINE?
Because you care, Freya said simply. You will make mistakes. You will stumble. But you will always do what is right, not what is easy. That is why I chose you.
But I don’t know how to—
You will learn. As you have learned everything else—with courage and curiosity and that stubborn refusal to give up that makes you so entertaining to watch.
There was genuine affection in the goddess’s tone, but also finality.
Wait—
Be well, Thea Monroe. We will speak again.
And just like that, the presence that had filled her since the ritual began… withdrew. The golden light flickered and her knees buckled.
Strong arms caught her before she hit the ground—familiar arms, scarred and powerful and smelling of leather and pine and safety.
“I’ve got you,” Khorrek murmured against her ear, his voice rough with concern.
She sagged against him, her legs refusing to hold her weight, her mind spinning. The crowd’s cheering seemed to come from very far away, muffled as though she were underwater.
Queen. They made me queen. How did I become queen?
Her thoughts felt sluggish, disconnected. Everything since Lasseran’s death was a blur of golden light and divine presence and words she hadn’t chosen to speak.
What had she done?
“Breathe,” Khorrek said quietly, one hand splayed across her back, the other supporting her weight. “Just breathe.”
She tried to obey, dragging air into her lungs in shaky gasps. The world slowly came back into focus—the dais beneath her feet, the crowd stretching out before them, Vorlag standing nearby with Lasseran’s head still impaled on that ceremonial staff.
Oh gods. That actually happened. We actually killed him.
Her stomach lurched.
“Steady.” Khorrek’s grip tightened fractionally, not restraining—anchoring. “You’re all right.”
Was she? She honestly wasn’t sure.
Movement to her left made her turn her head. Two figures approached the dais, moving through the crowd with an ease that suggested both authority and respect.
Ulric and Jessamin.
She blinked, confusion momentarily overriding her panic. What were they doing here? They should be in Norhaven, defending the Fanged Gate against—
Oh. Understanding clicked into place. There’s no reason to defend it anymore. Lasseran is dead and the threat is gone.
Ulric climbed the steps with Jessamin at his side, both of them looking travel-worn but remarkably composed considering the chaos of the past few hours. The massive orc king stopped a respectful distance away and inclined his head—not a bow, exactly, but an acknowledgment of equals.
“Queen Thea,” he said, his deep voice carrying easily across the now-quieting plaza. “Norhaven stands with you. We pledge our support to your reign and to the new alliance between our kingdoms.”
The crowd erupted in fresh cheers, but Thea barely heard them. She was too busy trying to process what Ulric had just said.
New alliance. Support. Reign.
Her reign. Because she was queen now.
I’m going to be sick.
Jessamin stepped forward, her small human form a stark contrast to Ulric’s massive presence, but her bearing no less regal. The blonde woman’s blue eyes were warm and knowing as she met Thea’s gaze.
“My father, the Priest King of Almohad, has also pledged his support,” Jessamin said clearly. “He believes the balance you’ve restored will bring peace to all the Five Kingdoms. Almohad will honor that.”
More cheering. Louder, if that was even possible.
Her head spun. Two kingdoms—two kings—had just publicly declared their support for her rule. For a reign she hadn’t asked for, hadn’t prepared for, didn’t even understand.
What am I supposed to say?
Before she could formulate any kind of response, another figure moved through the crowd. Golden skin caught the moonlight, white hair flowing loose, and Thea recognized Baralt even before he reached the dais.
The warrior of the People of the Plains climbed the steps with that same fluid grace she’d admired during their journey. He dropped to one knee, pressing his fist to his chest in what she instinctively knew was a gesture of deep respect.
“The People of the Plains also stand with you, Queen Thea,” he said, his accent musical. “You cleansed the Stone Circle. You freed the orcs. You restored the balance our people have guarded for generations. We are yours to call upon.”
The cheering this time shook the very stones of the plaza.
Three kingdoms. Three peoples. All declaring their loyalty to her.
This is insane. This is completely insane.
She opened her mouth with no idea what she was going to say, but knowing she had to say something. These people—these leaders—deserved more than stunned silence.
“I…” Her voice came out hoarse, barely audible even to herself.
She cleared her throat and tried again, forcing herself to stand straighter despite her trembling legs. Khorrek’s hand remained steady at her back, and she drew strength from his presence.
“Thank you,” she managed, and was relieved when her voice carried. “All of you. For your support. For your faith. I…” I have no idea what I’m doing. “I will do everything in my power to be worthy of it.”
It wasn’t eloquent. It wasn’t the kind of stirring speech a queen should probably give.
But it was honest, and judging by the approving nods from Ulric and the warm smile from Jessamin, it was enough.
Vorlag materialized beside her, his ancient face creased with what might have been relief. The other Veilborn priests moved forward as well, creating a protective barrier between her and the still-celebrating crowd.
“Enough,” Vorlag said quietly, though his voice somehow carried. “The queen is exhausted. Let her rest. There will be time for ceremony and formality in the days to come.”
He turned to Khorrek, speaking low enough that only those on the dais could hear.
“Take her away. She needs quiet and safety, not adulation.”
Khorrek didn’t hesitate. Before Thea could protest—or even process what was happening—he swept her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest.
“I can walk,” she protested automatically, but her voice lacked conviction.
“Can you?” His golden eyes searched her face, seeing far too much.
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again.
No. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she could make it down the dais steps without falling on her face.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, but there was no mockery in his tone, only concern.
He turned and started walking, and the crowd parted before them like water. Several familiar orc faces appeared—Declar, Grask, others she recognized from the journey—forming a protective barrier around them without being asked.
The plaza echoed with continued celebration as they left, but the sound grew more distant with each step. She let her head fall against Khorrek’s shoulder, too tired to maintain the facade of dignity.
Queen, some part of her mind whispered. I’m queen now.
The thought should have been terrifying.
It was terrifying.
But wrapped in Khorrek’s arms, surrounded by warriors who’d chosen to protect her, walking away from a crowd that had cheered her name…
Some tiny part of her also felt something else.
Hope.
The Obsidian Keep loomed before them, its dark stone seeming to absorb the moonlight rather than reflect it. Thea had only seen it from the outside during her brief moments in the city, and even now, held safely in Khorrek’s arms, it sent a chill down her spine.
This was Lasseran’s seat of power. The heart of his reign of terror.
And now, apparently, it was hers.
The thought made her want to laugh and cry simultaneously.
They passed through the massive gates—standing open, torches blazing in welcome—and into a courtyard that seemed designed to intimidate. Everything was sharp angles and dark stone, beautiful in a harsh, unforgiving way.
But someone had laid down white petals, creating a path to the main entrance. And the servants who stood waiting—human and orc alike—bowed deeply as they passed.
Not the fearful, cowering bows Thea had seen people give Lasseran in her brief time at court.
These were respectful. Almost… hopeful.
They’re looking to me for something, she realized with a jolt. They want me to be better than what came before.
The weight of that expectation settled over her shoulders like a physical thing.
Khorrek carried her through corridors she didn’t recognize, climbing stairs that seemed to go on forever. The orcs who’d accompanied them fell away one by one until only Khorrek remained, his breathing barely labored despite the climb and her added weight.
Where is he taking me?
Not to the rooms she’d occupied before—they’d passed that level already. Higher. Always higher.
Finally, they reached a door of simple dark wood, unadorned and unguarded. Khorrek shouldered it open and stepped through, and she blinked in surprise.