chapter eight

“If we make the choice, do you think our neighbor countries will support it? We can’t make more enemies than the ones we already have, and with Spilten growing every day we can’t risk any chances.”

The council’s murmurs rise again as the man, Lord Denly, points out our weaknesses. I understand the whole point of the urgent council meeting. I know I’m not welcomed here. But I don’t have to be welcomed to be the queen.

They don’t want a queen on the power when the decree won’t be dropped. For obvious reasons, they’re hesitant of me. If father was their puppet, I intend to make it a bit harder for them to control me.

The room is spacious, decorated sparsely with paintings of previous rulers with dull faces but similar features. Green or brown eyes. I’m the only one who doesn’t follow the trend.

An antique oak table where we sit, the chandelier above our heads bigger than the fireplace at our backs. Twelve council members lean down, make some notes, listening. I only drift away.

Odin, Lucas and I are the only ones intruding the spectacle. The council is trying to change the line of succession. They think people will agree. They won’t. Even if they did, Lucas is younger than me and would need a regent beside him to rule. We have no one prepared enough to do the job. Even if he’s about to marry, he doesn’t have any heirs, meaning he’s less probable of obtaining the common folk’s understanding. He doesn’t want the power.

I won’t let this curse fall on him, too.

A woman to my left stands up. With strawberry blonde hair, gorgeous features, brown doe eyes and taller than me, she looks like a doll rather than a politician. “If you’re trying to alter the line of succession in hopes the commoners will agree, Denly, you’re wrong. The line of succession is there for a reason.”

Odin sits at my right, Lucas at my left. A strategist and the next in line for the throne flank my sides. I’m glad they do. Otherwise, I might just get up and leave, tired of listening to this nonsense.

Lord Denly bows his head at her in a show of respect. He has a beard. Cunning, blue eyes inspect every false move you make in a face suitable enough for nightmares. “We know Alexandra tends to... lean to the side against our choices. She saved the child. Have you forgotten, Lady Elle?”

I smile to myself, clearing my throat. Beside me, Odin musters a sly smirk. “I wouldn’t have had to save him if you hadn’t decided to murder a ten-year-old in cold blood,” I snap. I don’t need to make my tone fierce. Sharpness bleeds through the pain I’ve felt since yesterday. “Need I remind you we, as monarchs, have mercy on our subjects? You all here are my subjects, whether you want to acknowledge it or not. You just came here to talk nonsense. The line of succession won’t be ignored.”

The man doesn’t reply. He knows I’m right, but he holds on to his hope. Maybe he’ll have an easier, more malleable pawn to control. I look around the room, faces and eyes blending. They’re all the same. Murderers. Of thousands of people, thanks to those decrees. Of father.

The question is which one of them killed him?

Lucas raises his head, green eyes flickering across the chamber. He knows the faces of these people better than I do. He might not know what they did, but he knows enough to be an asset. “For over ten centuries the line has never changed. Why would it do so now? Yes, the heir to the throne isn’t a he, but she has the same power— the same birthright—Lennon had.”

Lennon.

Just the word brings about a sharp pang of pain. Dull, throbbing, it smarts. It’s still there, never leaving, like pouring lemon to a wound. I will have revenge. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday.

I will.

A day after and it hurts the same. Part of me thinks it’ll never go away. I’ll just have to learn how to live with this pain. For however long I live. As a queen who had enemies long before she took power, I suspect it’s not much time the one I have left.

Besides Lucas, a man grins. He’s older than most of the council. Gray hair, same gray eyes. There’s not an ounce of sympathy in him. His face is drawn in boredom. I steal a glance at the page under his hands. Scribbles, drawings, anything to distract him from the idiocy he’s listening to. Whatever little power he wields, he wears it proudly. Poor thing.

“And after ten centuries, the three women who have ruled this country have ended up returning us ashes. Late Queen Sophya reduced the taxes. People starved. She left a dead country in the hands of Rodrick. The accords, the decrees we placed and the troubles we still face for them are her fault. How can we let another woman rule?”

I don’t say anything. Still, calm, I grip the cold sides of my chair at the head of the table, letting my anger bleed through. How dare they say this is her fault? The council, their ancestors, decided the accord was a good idea.

Odin raises his hand, elbow on the table, features drawn. “What about the Late Queen Roel? She was one of the best leaders this country ever had. My country was under her protection for nearly forty years. We are what we are because of her. Saying all queens before Alexandra have done nothing is just a blunt lie.” He smiles, proud with himself, before adding, “Lord Yunil.”

Yunil clucks his tongue. “That was almost four centuries ago, boy.”

“General,” I sneer, eyeing the man. I am not to fear him. He’s to fear me. “He is a general, Yunil. You will address him as such.” I feel Odin’s eyes on me. I would smile at him if I could, but before the council I must be every bit of imposing as I’m expected to be.

Elle, the woman who has dared to speak back to the men, giggles softly, standing up across from me. Her black dress heightens her features, sharp against her pale skin. “How will we know she won’t be a good queen if we don’t give her a chance? Four centuries ago. Yes. Now we have the chance to do the same again, get the same opportunity in hopes Her Majesty will change our country for the better.”

I hold her gaze as she lowers herself to her chair. Thank you.

I’m exhausted by following the train of thought here. This morning I stood by while they put my father and my mother in an oven. They returned with the ashes to place on our church, and then they were gone. The ceremony was small, quiet, private. Half the council members didn’t attend. Their hypocrisy is to laugh at.

Another woman, this one shorter and older than the last one, brown hair with gray ends and what seems like a permanent sneer, stands up, her seat opposite Elle. “You are the first queen for over forty years. Back then, the decrees didn’t exist. When you are queen, can we expect for you to keep them?”

All eyes turn to me. No, I want to say. They’re wrong. Inhumane. Especially the last ones, rules tightened on our people because of the rebels. I can’t say so aloud.

Instead, I smile politely, biting my tongue. This is a game I know how to play. “You trust in me, and I trust in you. This is the only way this will work Lady Martos.” She stares at me, wide-eyed, surprised I know her name. She’s peculiar, the only face I cared to memorize in all the years of tutoring bought for this exact moment. A scar rises at her throat, stopping by her chin. Black pebbles as eyes bore into mine. Scary looking, one might say. I wonder now how she got the scar.

A sour taste remains in my mouth after I say those words. I don’t trust them, and they don’t trust me, either. We’re both on the edge here, about to jump off a cliff. Poker players trying not to let their emotions betray their dealt hands. My reply seems to ease some of them, at least.

If Lucas feels the weight of this conversation, how close they are to strangulate him, he doesn’t show it. His face remains composed, stoic. The only part of him not showing peace are his eyes. They move back and forth, seizing the people before us. Odin’s eyes flicker too, but more often than not they fall on me. I’m not a fool not to notice. Still, I don’t look beside me, only ahead of me. None of these people deserve my attention.

Across from me, directly beside Lady Martos, a man no older than Odin stands. Lucas’ eyes never leave him, like a prey assessing its victim. Odin beside me stills, pulling to his full height on his chair. “Our late king, Lennon Coltrane, died at the hands of rebels. If you have any intentions of giving in to those rebels, they’ll think they are stronger than the crown. Who’s to say your father’s fate won’t be shared by you, Alexandra?”

To the ears of the crowd he’s performing for this might sound fair, sincere. He’s even smart enough to add a tint of concern for me in his voice. But I know better. Behind his perfect charade and broad shoulders, he’s posing another threat, clear as day. I’d be stupid not to see it.

My chest heaves. Is it him? Did he do it?

He’s young, and probably doesn’t have enough support outside or inside the council to pull this off on his own. Or maybe he’s just as cunning and shrewd as father was. His young mask does well to hide him from the rest. I memorize his features, from his set jaw to hazel eyes, shaven face, and talented smirk. He might not be to blame, but I’ll keep him away from me.

Lucas grunts. “As a king, father always knew what he had to give up. Time, patience, safety. No monarch is immune to threats or death. King Lennon knew, and Queen Alexandra does, too.”

I bow my head in agreement. I know it better than anyone.

“King Lennon knew what to do well. He followed his advisors and still got killed. What’s to be expected of this reckless child?” Funny. He looks barely older than me, but already

has more courage and arrogance than I’ll ever have. Power makes people foolish.

“This reckless child is the heiress to the throne, Lord Jacons.”

Next to the empty chair on the other side of the room, father’s chair, Duncan stands up.

His voice booms across the chamber, imperative and loud. It demands to be heard. The others stiffen in their seats. Even Jacons seals his mouth. “As Lucas said before, the line of succession won’t be altered just because a man feels like it.”

I exhale, slow and steady. Dad’s most trusted advisor, his best friend. He’s the only man who has shown me support this far. I need it, even if I certainly shouldn’t. By law, I’m the queen in line. The pettiness of the council amuses me.

“Isn’t she too young, Lord Duncan?” Another voice joins the bickering. By the way Odin and Lucas both wince at the tone of the man, he’s someone who wields power, could sway the whole council his way.

Odin bows his head, ruffling his hair. “For fuck’s sake,” I hear him mutter.

Duncan only stares at the man sitting between Lucas and Yulin. He’s has a body similar to a tree trunk. Chubby face, brown eyes. A mustache makes him look older, even though he can’t be more than fifty. He would tower over me if he stood up. Thankfully he remains seated, his voice carrying away an air of arrogance. “She doesn’t know how to obey her father, let alone rule a nation. We’d need a regent, and we don’t have those luxuries, either. What are you, seventeen?”

His mock disguised as a question isn’t acknowledged. “She’s young, so is Lucas. Younger, in fact. If you need a regent with her, you’d need a nanny with Lucas. She’s not the first young queen to step onto power.” Odin seems bored by this point, voice steady but loud enough. Lucas doesn’t even flinch at the implication; his demeanor never shifts.

Odin has a point, and the man knows it.

“Lord Iges, what do you suggest? I don’t understand why we’re having this meeting if you’re thinking of getting my sister, the legitimate ruler, out of power. We could be planning her coronation instead.” Lucas smiles weakly, showing he means no harm, yet his tone drips venom. Pain and hatred blend in his regal features.

“Excuse us, Your Majesty.” With a lean figure, blonde bob hair and piercing, gray eyes, a woman stands to my left, next to Duncan. Her smile is genuine, bringing crinkles to her eyes. “It seems like people are just afraid of the coming change. Your father left a legacy, becoming one of the most honorable men to ever wear the crown. My companions are a bit weary of the change of power, especially under these circumstances. My condolences to the late king, as well.” She ducks her chin in an even motion.

I smile. Appearances to the last. “Thank you.”

Her thin lips part with determination. “I suggest we put this to vote. Of course, there should be no vote whatsoever. Lord Iges, Lord Yulin, she is the legitimate ruler, whether you like it or not. You could overrule the council any time, my queen, but that, of course, has never been seen for some reason.” Her eyes hold mine for the last part, as if trying to get me to understand. She doesn’t seem as evil as her companions.

“I agree with Lady Genim,” Duncan insists quickly, bald head shining with sweat. “Let’s put up a vote. Of course, the quiet faces around us have voted already, and at the queen’s favor, it seems.”

The faces of the people that haven’t spoken show nothing. No sign of agreement or disagreement. Yet, they must be friends with Duncan.

A grunt is heard from beside Odin. The first man, Lord Denly. “While I understand the future of our country is at our hands, I need vengeance for whatever the king and queen were put through. I suggest an inspection.”

I doubt I even saw him at the funeral. Why would he care whether the people responsible for this get punished or not when he could even be the one with blood on his hands?

Odin shifts forward. His eyebrows attempt to reach his hairline, betraying his surprise. “A what?”

Denly doesn’t miss a beat. The beast in him all but growls. “We should question the personnel closest to the king. The guards, the maids, both of the late queen and of princess Alexandra.” Even after my father’s death, he refuses to acknowledge the power I was given by blood. One more enemy to track down.

Why would he suggest checking the guards and maids if they did it themselves? To seem good? Genuine? I don’t buy their ruse.

I feel myself smile, my hands balling into fists under the table. My nails dig into my palms, anything to seem calm. He expects me to decline. Besides him, everyone turns, waiting for a decision. Even with hesitation and strain, they don’t seem to be too keen on deciding. Twelve pairs of eyes examine. Looking at me, through me. I’d be a fool if I didn’t notice the fear in their eyes.

I have the power of the choice now, it seems. Whether I say no and cover these murderers and prove myself to them—my legal authority. Or I say yes, and I stare at them, weak and frightful. Submissive. The word is out before I weigh my options.

“No.” It’s not a question. I hoist myself up with my hands in the table, my dress sprawling around me. I draw all the courage I can muster, laying my hands flat on the table with a thud. “We will do no such thing.”

Lord Yulin has the nerve to chuckle. Gray eyes twinkle. “Why, my queen? Is there something you’d like to hide from us?”

I don’t pull back. I am not surprised. In fact, I was sure a comment like this would arise as soon as I didn’t say yes. With a wave of a hand, I dismiss his comment. Father’s skills I perfected through the years. “If I had something to hide, something you could see, I wouldn’t be here right now. Lest you decide to strike me down and call it an accident.” I laugh, intending it as a joke, but none of the people here are stupid enough not to notice the hidden meaning behind it. A threat from me to them.

Duncan holds my eyes for a second, his chin barely dipping. I could almost smile if it weren’t for the other eleven pairs of eyes on me. Tracking me, looking to see mistakes in my face. I will not succumb to fear.

“My father and my mother were victims of a country; rebels stared back at us despite everything we gave them. Our stability, our dignity, might, and power, will not be diminished so much so we have to be frightful of the maids. I, your queen, fear nothing.

And rest assured I will stop these outbursts, or I’ll die like father did, trying.”

The room quiets. Some pull back, shrinking, swallowing my words. I lean myself against the table, my palms on the wood, keeping me steady.

I must get to power. Not because of my legacy, of the birthright taken from me even if I despise it. If I want to avenge my parents someday, I’ll have to be powerful, and this is the only way to obtain real power.

My mouth moves on its own, recalling the strength mother displayed, the brutal force of father’s words. “Whoever dared to raise a hand against my former king and queen, my parents, will pay. The crown, you and I, won’t allow the indiscretion to go unnoticed. We will make them pay, tooth and nail, and we will raise this nation from the dead hole the war has us in.”

Look at that. You sound like a queen.

Beside me, Odin moves just so, his thigh brushing against my dress. The reassurance he gives me carries me forward. “We won’t perish against those who wish us evil. We will thrive and work forward, keeping Alemiss together, united, and stronger than ever. As father did, I will. I refuse to give our enemies more power and satisfaction than the one they already have. They may have taken my father and my mother—your monarchs—from us, but they will perish. The Coltrane legacy will succeed.”

I’m aware of how my knuckles turn white as I grip the edge of the table. I pretend I can draw physical strength from it. Like a warm bath, I can feel Lucas’ and Odin’s gazes fixed upon me. More now than ever, I’d die to hug Lucas. I saw him earlier at the funeral, but he said no word. I guess his pain was too much back then. I was forced to conceal my tears, the pain, but he cried freely. I was jealous of him then, and I am jealous of him now.

He spoke for me when I was being bashed, and even if it doesn’t seem like it, it takes a lot of power, courage, to impose the council. I know now.

Taunting, seizing their prey, the eyes of the council fall on me. I can only smile, my face hurting. Switching from a sneer to a gleaming smile, all fake, is tiring.

I know I’m not the one they would’ve chosen. Hell, I wouldn’t have chosen me, either. But now with father gone and the country in need of a ruler, they can’t do much more. Half of my family isn’t royal. They wouldn’t be able to play regents. The other half is in Lanese. I’m the best they got. To calm the riots and the multitudes waiting for an official speech.

I’m their last choice.

Lady Elle stands up, this time her smile is gone, replaced with a frown. Her hair twists under the light of the chandelier, a flickering flame. “Shall we vote now, gentlemen?”

I sit back down, gifting her the space she needs, forcing a glance to Odin. He bites his lip, eyeing the people around us. I feel the same nervousness, if not more. My stomach seems to be coiled, and my hands sweat. Lucas offers a weak smile my way, but I can see through his pain.

Lord Yulin stands. “Against.” I nod. Obviously.

“Against,” says Lord Iges. I want to shave the mustache off his annoying face.

Lady Elle smirks, bowing her head. “My queen. I pledge my loyalty to you.”

I must contain a sigh of relief.

Beside her, an old woman, black hair and wild, green eyes, nods her head. Lady Pert. “I stand with the queen.”

“I am with you, my queen.” Lady Cloem.

Duncan stands, all proud eyes and even a small smirk. I can see the same kindness my father radiated when we were alone in Duncan’s eyes. “You’re the legitimate ruler, Alexandra.”

I stare at the empty chair belonging to father. I need to make him proud. I can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Duncan. He lost a friend and a king; I lost my father. We’re both suffering, struggling with wounds that won’t heal, but he’s still here, helping whatever piece of father was left on this earth.

Genim, the woman with the kind eyes, smiles at me. “She is.”

Jacons and Martos are next. Jacons’ reply was expected. He is against a woman in the throne. I half expected Martos to impose me, too, but she didn’t. Instead, she stood up, bowing before me. I narrowed my eyes at her. “I believe in you, Your Majesty.”

Denly scoffs from his seat, not bothering to stand up. “You’re making a big mistake,” he mutters, flickering lazily with a hand winking with rings.

Bonesm follows him suit. An ugly man. One more beer and the cheap buttons of his suit would burst. “I am against her.”

Nobody expects what happens next.

Heels clank against the wood like thunder on the sky.

“I, for once, am not part of the council, but I guess my opinion still matters. She is the Coltrane’s legitimate ruler. My queen. And yours too.”

If there’s something Aunt Heaven knows how to do, is making an entrance. In a rather risqué dress—black and white, the black for mourning—she stands at the head of the table opposite from me, her face contorted to an angry glare. For once, the glare is not for me. I almost laugh in relief.

Beside me, Lucas’ eyes grow wild. Odin makes a motion to stand. I place a hand to his thigh, glancing his way. Wait.

I don’t allow the shock I feel for having her here disturb me as I smirk. My pulse returns to normal as I hoist myself up. “Council overruled.”

The words taste bitter on my tongue.

For the first time, I understand what power is. I can taste it. And I won’t let go of it.

*****

hiii! i love this chapter so much, but i guess i say that about every chapter lol. sorry. let me know what you think of all this drama / if you wanna be tagged!

thank you so much for reading

- goldenmel