Page 4 of Return of the Vengeful Quee

It was real. It was final.

Charis was queen now. There was no looking back, no matter what her heart wanted. There was only the path in front of her and the fortitude she would need to see it through.

Two

UNLIKE THE GENTLE, rolling hills and large fields that graced eastern Calera, Solvang’s shoreline was a long strip of golden sand bordered by thick dunes that backed up to forested cliffs of rugged rock. Roads of pale crushed stone wound their way through the trees and into the capital city of Ooverstaad, where the streets were lined with tall, narrow buildings in dark cranberry, navy, or gray. Every few blocks, a well-tended park with benches, fountains, and swings for the children stood safely ensconced behind an iron fence. Ribbons of fog threaded their way through the city.

Ooverstaad was the picture of elegance, peace, and prosperity. Was it prosperous enough that the rulers wouldn’t balk at helping Charis, though she had no way to pay her debts? Charis could promise to repay them in Montevallian jewels once she’d married Prince Vahn, but there were a lot of uncertainties lying between Charis and safely reaching the court at Montevallo. She would be asking the Solvanish rulers to extend their assistance purely on the hope that she could overcome every hurdle in front of her.

Which meant Charis had to exude unwavering confidence and strength for the entirety of her time in the Solvanish palace.

“Remember that bakery?” Nalani leaned across Holland to point out the window of the carriage the royal family had sent for Charis once they’d learned of her arrival at port. “Best duvacca in the city.”

“What’s duvacca?” Delaire asked, her wide brown eyes taking in the sights. She’d been a member of the nobility in Calera, forever mooning over an irritable Holland, but three weeks of sailing had given her calluses on her fingers, a sunburned nose, and an ability to help with most tasks onboard the boat without losing her considerable patience. The fact that the crew’s morale had remained steady was almost entirely due to Delaire’s sunny disposition and consistent kindness.

“It’s a puffy square of layered pastry with chocolate and berries inside.” Nalani bounced on the seat as they turned a corner. “There’s the Royal Library! Those stained-glass windows depict scenes from Solvanish fairy tales. The library has the best selection of children’s books. Remember, Holland? Great-aunt Estr used to take us there when we’d visit Father’s side of the family. Most of them live farther inland, but she lives here in the capital.”

“I liked the library’s section on combat.” Holland crossed his ankles and glanced at the passing buildings as the carriage sped toward the eastern ridge where the palace overlooked the city streets. His shoulder-length black hair looked windswept, and his already battered duster was definitely the worse for wear after weeks at sea.

“Why is the Royal Library not in the palace itself?” Delaire asked as she smoothed her curly black hair away from her face with a scarf she’d folded down to ribbon width.

“Because the Solvanish people value the pursuit of learning above all else. Placing the Royal Library in the center of the city where everyone has equal access to it shows that the royals share that value with their people.” Nalani sounded as though she was reciting a line from one of Tutor Brannigan’s textbooks. Actually, Charis was pretty sure that’s exactly what her cousin was doing.

Charis barely acknowledged the view outside the carriage windows. She was too busy running scenarios in her head. What she would say to gain asylum for the people on the ship. What leverage she might use to get assistance on her trip to the Rakuuna kingdom of Te’ash if, indeed, rescuing Tal was necessary to force King Alaric’s cooperation. If there were any promises she could make that would convince the royals to commit troops to the cause of retaking Calera.

And most of all, what she would do if King Gareth and Queen Vyllanthra refused to help at all.

As the carriage turned up the long, tree-lined drive that led to the palace, Nalani leaned over Holland and patted Charis’s knee.

“Don’t worry. The king is known to be generous. He’ll help us.”

“Generous enough to send his army to help free Calera?” Charis rolled her shoulders, trying to relieve the tension in her neck.

Holland snorted. “Not sure any ruler is going to be generous enough to send their soldiers to certain death.”

“Honestly, just once, would you think before you speak?” Nalani glared at her twin while Delaire wrung her hands in distress.

“Holland’s right.” Charis sat up straight as the carriage slowed.

“No need to sound surprised.” Holland uncrossed his feet.

Nalani sighed.

“But . . .” Delaire looked between Charis and Holland. “If he’s right, then how are we ever going to go home?”

Charis met Delaire’s eyes and forced every ounce of confidence she could muster into her voice. “Just because we can’t see a path toward victory, doesn’t mean one isn’t there. We’ll get help for our people.”

“How are we going to do that when no one is going to want to go against the Rakuuna? I mean, besides Alaric, who will no doubt rejoice when we return his traitor of a son with all his limbs still attached.” Holland sounded eager to hear her plan so he could do his part.

“One step at a time.” Her stomach clenched as they neared the palace. She had no idea how to make the dangerous mission to retake her kingdom sound like a smart, strategic decision to any ruler but King Alaric of Montevallo, who’d already spent years sacrificing his soldiers in a bloody war with Calera so that he could have port access and a son on the throne. He wouldn’t flinch at the chance to keep those hard-won prizes as long as Charis knew how to defeat the Rakuuna. Plus, she could use Tal’s safety as leverage to sweeten the deal.

But why would any other ruler commit troops to her cause?

The carriage rolled to a stop, and a footman opened the door with a small bow. Charis exited first, moving as though she wore one of her gowns instead of the clean, but wrinkled, sparring clothes she’d worn during their escape from Calera. A dress didn’t make one a queen. It was all in the attitude, in knowing down to one’s very bones that the weight of the crown on your head was yours and yours alone.

Gazing up at the palace, Charis lifted her chin and smoothed her expression into one of icy calm, just like Mother had taught her. The palace was built of navy-and-white marble, threaded through with bands of silver that glittered in the sun. A pair of silver statues flanked the wide stairs that led to the entrance.

Reuben, Orayn, and Finn climbed down from the bench at the back of the carriage. Orayn and Finn took up their posts on either side of Holland and Nalani, while Reuben stepped to Charis’s side, his gaze sweeping the area for threats.

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