Page 3 of Return of the Vengeful Quee

Orayn cleared his throat and then spoke in a voice that boomed across the length of the ship. “We, the remnant of Calera, gather on this, the twenty-third day after the enemy invasion, to formally acknowledge and accept as our sovereign ruler Charis Aliya Willowthorn, heir of Letha Roelle Willowthorn and Edias Stephren Lorrinton. Let our allies rejoice and our enemies tremble. Long live the queen!”

“Long live the queen!” the crowd yelled, their eyes lit with fervor.

Charis kept her expression regal and cold as Orayn settled the crown onto her head.

“Your Majesty.” Orayn bowed. Instantly, the twins and Reuben followed suit.

Charis blinked rapidly as the crowd at her feet bowed, their murmured “Your Majesty” rolling through the air and slamming into Charis as if she’d been struck by the hilt of a sword.

Her chest heaved, a silent sob she trapped inside by sheer force of will. The featherlight weight of the crown on her head suddenly felt impossible to bear.

She shouldn’t be queen.

Her family shouldn’t be dead.

Her kingdom shouldn’t be in ruins.

The salty air seemed to scour her throat raw as she drew in a breath.

“Would you like to say a few words, Your Majesty?” Holland asked beside her.

Another impossible thing. Even if she could force herself to speak past the ache in her throat, what could she say? She had nothing but grief and rage and the promise that she’d made to herself to see her vengeance through to the bitter end.

“Charis,” Nalani breathed, a quiet plea that wouldn’t reach the ears of those waiting below.

Tearing her gaze from the distant place where the sea met the sky, Charis looked at the faces below her.

They were full of grief and rage, too. But they had something else. Something more. A flicker of desperate hope as they gazed up at their new queen.

She forced herself to swallow against the ache. Licked her lips with a tongue gone bone-dry. And let her fury blaze within.

“People of Calera.” Her voice shook with anger. She let it spill out of her and fill the air, a vicious, shimmering thing born of bloodshed and loss. “We have been through something unspeakable. We have been deeply wronged by the monstrous Rakuuna from Te’ash. We have been betrayed by our former ally Rullenvor, who aligned themselves with the monsters and set us up for destruction.”

The words tore through her throat, raw and painful. “We lost countless loved ones on our most sacred night of the year. And an invader now resides in the palace. It would be easy to look at all of that and feel despair. But all is not lost.”

She let the statement linger, let them see the unyielding determination on her face. Let the faint light of hope in their eyes burn a little brighter. And then she stepped forward until her stomach pressed against the carved wooden railing.

“We are not running away from Calera. This”—she flung out an arm to encompass the ship—“is not escape. This is strategy.”

Slowly, she swept the crowd, meeting a sailor’s gaze, a merchant’s, a mother’s. “We will go to Solvang for supplies and information about the Rakuuna. From there, we will send out a call to the rest of our allies, and especially to Montevallo. My betrothal treaty with them will ensure that they commit their army to our cause.”

And if it didn’t, then the threat of losing Tal, the king’s youngest son, to Charis’s blade should do the trick.

“I will personally see to your safety. And then I will bring all who are able to sail with me on a journey of vengeance. We will not rest until we march into our royal city of Arborlay with an army at our backs and cleanse our soil of every last invader who dared set foot on Calera’s shores.”

She paused, her words ringing across the water, and Holland pulled his sword free of its sheath with a metallic scrape. Stepping to her side, he raised the blade above his head and yelled, “For the queen and for Calera!”

Reuben’s sword flashed as he lifted it. “For the queen and for Calera!”

The crowd stirred, drawing weapons if they had them, raising fists when they didn’t. “For the queen and for Calera!”

They chanted the words, louder and louder, until the deck seemed to tremble beneath Charis’s feet. The thrum of their voices reverberated in her chest, a heartbeat that would not be denied.

She drew her own sword and raised it high, her skin prickling with goose bumps, the crown on her head the heaviest thing she’d ever worn.

“Death to our enemies and to all who fight against us!” Her voice cut through the air, and the crowd below her roared. Shaking their fists, screaming their approval, the wild light of hope alive on their faces.

She held her sword aloft and let them scream. Let their rage and their hope blister the air while she stood, crown firmly in place. It didn’t matter that her knees wanted to buckle. That she was faint from both lack of sleep and lack of food. That everything in her longed to hear Mother’s cold voice slice through the chaos as the queen took control.

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