Page 21 of An Archer's Redemption

He struggled, fought against whatever, whoever, commanded him to act.

I wondered at the strength it took for him to resist the powerful Compulsion, especially for a man with such a passive Gift.

I was unsure how I ended up flying through the mirror, let alone why it had brought mehere. I didn’t remember breaking from his grasp, but somehow I had hurtled from inescapable death to the safety of a room full of dead royalty.

Had the whole episode not been terrifying, that irony would have made me laugh.

The crypt wasn’t large, only a dozen chambers connected by a wide central walkway. Two bronze doors loomed at one end, opening into a room I couldn’t remember ever visiting. At the other end, plain gray stone mirrored their golden counterparts. The walls were polished and held only golden plates memorializing ancient monarchs. As I approached the towering doors at the walkway’s end, I looked to my right intothe last grotto, the one that would soon allow my father his eternal rest.

My steps faltered, and I froze.

I stared into the empty, unlit space.

Its darkness mirrored my thoughts, as images of my father’s face rose to the fore.

With all I had been through over the past few weeks, I had yet to grieve, or even focus on my father or brother—or even my mother—all of whom were lost to me now. Their faces fluttered before me.

My father’s gentle smile.

My mother’s glare.

My brother’s playful smirk.

The last image stabbed into me more deeply than any blade ever could.

“Oh, Justin. Why did you have to be so stupid? Why did you . . .” A wave of long-pent emotion stole the words.

I hugged myself and stared into the darkness of Father’s tomb.

As many times as I relished my personal space, my time without pestering servants or nattering nobles, I had never once felt isolated.

In that tomb, before the resting place of my father, surrounded by the remnants of my distant family, I felt alone.

My younger brother Kendall was all the family I had left, but he was only eleven. He would need me now, need me to be strong, need me to be his rock.

The people of Fontaine would need me—indeed, those of the entire Kingdom.

Then I remembered the looming war.

The entire continent needed me to succeed.

Me. A girl of seventeen. An orphan adrift in a chaotic world refusing to be ruled.

In the silence of the stone chamber, surrounded by the kings and queens of old, I grasped the weight of the Crown,my Crown, and I knew I must bear it alone.

Tears broke free, and I slumped to the floor.

A half hour later, I gathered myself, wiped streaks from my face, and stood. I reached for the wooden lever to open the doors, but a tiny voice in my head stilled my hand.

No one here knows I am Queen now. That means they do not know about Father, or Justin, or Mother . . . or the invasion. Will they believe me when I tell them? What if they do not want me as their Queen? Am I ready for this? Where do I even start?

Tears threatened again, but I sniffed them back and stiffened my spine.

I amQueennow. I cannot act like a scared little rabbit. What would Father do?

I thought back to the endless hours I’d sat in Council with my father listening to men droning on about taxes or land, farming or Constables, fishing rights or disputed ducal decrees, or a thousand other tedious topics thrust before the King. I tried paying attention, but most of it felt so distant from anything I might need as a teenager. And yet, here I was at seventeen—the Queen.

“Father always said to surround yourself with wise men and listen to their guidance. I might have to amend that to include some wise women, too,” I mused. “At least this gives me a place to start so I don’t look completely lost. Start with the Council.”

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