Page 89 of Return of the Vengeful Quee

“You do?”

“I— Yes, but I’m not going to tell you about those, so don’t even ask.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“A decision I regret.” His eyes softened. “I have a lot of regrets, Charis, but you aren’t one of them. I love you, and I’m with you every step of the way.”

She bent swiftly and pressed her lips to his, swallowing his words as she kissed him. He froze for an instant, and then his arms came around her, and he crushed her against him.

Everything else faded away until all that was left was his lips, his hair in her fists, and her desperate need for him. She kissed him as if she meant to conquer him, and maybe she did. She wanted his surrender. His loyalty. The way he made her laugh and the way he understood her before she even said a word. She wanted every part of him to belong to her, and the sword at their backs left no time for hesitation.

When she finally pulled back, her heart racing, her breath catching in her throat, she felt as if the torch he’d lit in her heart had spilled into her veins, wild and delicate.

“I don’t want to go into tonight without telling you that I still love you, too,” she said, and he gave her his crooked smile before kissing her again.

Then he let go of her and stood. “I could kiss you all night, but we don’t have that luxury. We need to do something about your hair.”

She turned to face the mirror and found her curls in a wild halo around her face. “Have any ideas?”

His smile widened. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

When the Rakuuna guard opened the door to summon the Calerans, Charis was standing in her silver heels, her gorgeous gown glittering in the lamplight, pieces of her hair twisted into small rosettes above her ears and secured with hairpins that looked like snakes. The rest of her hair fell free down her back. Nalani was glowing in a sea-blue gown, Holland looked dashing even if he’d refused to give up his battered duster for a dress coat. Even Reuben looked more like he used to in his freshly pressed palace uniform.

Tal turned and offered his hand to Charis. “Ready?”

She lifted her chin and called on the fury in her heart to be her shield. “Ready.”

Together, they followed the Rakuuna from the room.

Thirty-Two

CHARIS’S STOMACH CHURNED as she entered the palace’s formal dining room, Tal and Reuben at her side with Holland and Nalani following behind.

Jeweled chandeliers glittered above rows of tables draped with dark blue linens. Vases of bold red winter roses were flanked by ivory candles dripping wax, and the palace’s best gold dishes graced the place settings.

Charis and Tal were surrounded by Rakuuna guards, the scales covering their nearly translucent skin shimmering in the golden light. More Rakuuna were stationed around the room, sealing off every exit. They carried no weapons, but the talons on their long fingers could cut like a blade, and the double rows of fangs in their mouths appeared needle-sharp.

Was the extensive Rakuuna presence due to the Everlys making sure Charis’s allies didn’t try to rescue her? Or was it Queen Bai’elsha ensuring that the Everlys didn’t double cross her? Maybe both were worried that Charis, Holland, and Nalani would try to run.

Charis had no intention of running. She’d promised herself the night she’d sailed away from Calera that she’d return with a vengeance and either secure freedom for her people or die trying. Tonight, one way or the other, her quest would come to an end.

Queen Bai’elsha sat at the end of the table to the far right—a place of honor without being given the same ranking as the Calerans who would be seated at the head table with the Montevallians. Charis studied the Rakuuna queen in her sheer green sleeveless gown, its flowing swaths of fabric reminding her of the ocean’s current. Bai’elsha’s dark eyes were watchful, her pale lips parted to reveal her fangs.

Did the Rakuuna know she’d been slighted? Did she care? Or was she so singularly focused on making sure her deal with the Everlys came through that nothing else mattered?

She hoped it was the latter, because Bai’elsha’s desperation and the small pouch of moriarthy dust were the only leverage Charis possessed.

“Your Highness, how lovely you look.” Ferris approached, his voice carrying to the surrounding nobility, who immediately fell silent. “Of course, I realize you’d prefer we address you as Your Majesty, but since we haven’t held a legal coronation yet, the council feels obligated to proceed according to Caleran law.”

Charis tore her gaze from Bai’elsha and faced him. So he’d already begun to make his case against her. Accusing her of flaunting Caleran law in a clear grab for power would only play well with nobility who already suspected the Willowthorns of caring about power above people. She took the measure of the room again, slowly this time, and her heart sank.

Every person in attendance was a name on Lord Thorsby’s list of those who’d chosen loyalty to the Rakuuna above their own people. There wasn’t a single ally to the Willowthorns in the room. Would they even care if they learned of the Everlys’ complicity? Or would they believe the Everlys, like themselves, bore no responsibility for the invasion and had simply been pragmatic in their choices?

Of course, people whose loyalty was only to themselves were also no true ally to the Everlys. Maybe if Charis could somehow convince them she was the better choice to help them save their own wealth and position, they might turn on Ferris and his father like starving wolves.

She faced Ferris and spoke with icy precision. “I’m curious which members of the council decided to meet in secret and declare that the coronation held on a Caleran ship by a Caleran captain before the required number of noble witnesses was illegal. Since Lord Thorsby and Lady Ollen have already accepted the coronation’s outcome, that would leave your father, Lady Whitecross, and Lady Channing. Lady Whitecross has not been seen since the night of the invasion. Lady Channing was revealed to be a traitor and is dead. So that leaves . . .” She pretended to tick council members off with her fingers until she had just one finger raised in the air. “Your father, acting without the rest of the council, deciding that he alone could dictate whether the true heir to the throne received her crown. Am I missing anything?”

Holland made a scornful noise behind Charis, but thankfully kept his thoughts to himself. There might be a moment that evening when Charis would need Holland’s forceful insistence on speaking only the unvarnished truth, but that time hadn’t come yet.

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