Page 143 of A War of Three Kings

“I demand to know where you are taking me!” I yell.

A guard reaches for me and I hitch up my light silk skirts in a single hand, not caring that I reveal the leggings beneath. I kick him straight in the stomach. The man staggers back a few paces. Another guard grabs at my arm from behind and I elbow him in the face, just as Caitlin taught me.

“I am your queen, and you do not touch me unless I allow it!” My eyes dart between them furiously, waiting for the next to make his move.

I will not be powerless here. These people will not bully me further.

The guards stare at me with confusion. “We have our orders to ensure you’re brought to the great hall,” one says. “Forcefully, if necessary.”

“Well, now you have new orders from your queen.” I put my hands on my hips. “You will not touch me unless permission is granted in advance. You will inform me of where the king hasrequestedmy presence.”

Some of the guards gape at me and others cannot hold my eye. I walk through the center of them, forcing the soldiers to scurry after me.

“I assume the king is holding court and wishes me at his side.”

“Yes,” one guard grunts, and I give him a dark look. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Finan has given me some power in this court, and I would be smart to take as much of it as possible.

The great hall hasn’t changed since I last sat on that royal dais with Finan. The guards have brought me to the rear doors, where the king and his family usually make a stately entrance at the beginning of the proceedings.

I peer past the huge, gold-inlaid double doors. Neat rows of pews before the dais seat dozens of people, and a buzz of conversation flows from them. I recognize many of the nobles seated there, wearing courtly silks and brocades, or the formal military uniforms of the king’s generals.

I commit many of those faces to memory, considering which of them could be an ally.

Three thrones sit upon the white marble dais. The largest is of wrought gold and purple velvet, the one King Willard once sat in. Beside it is a second of almost equal size. The one for the heir. Surprise ripples through me. Only Prince Niall could sit in it, but I always thought Finan was too threatened by his younger brother to name him heir.

The last small throne must be my own. There is none for the queen mother, but I hear poor health has kept her in bed.

I don’t register the footsteps approaching from behind until an arm slides around my waist. I elbow whoever has the audacity to touch me, but fast, strong fingers catch me and hold me in place, digging in painfully. I jolt as I turn to Finan, who peers into my face. Our eyes are level and there is a feral gleam in his ice-blue gaze, as though he enjoys any scrap of power he can take over me.

“Not so threatening without your magic, are you?” His thick lips spread into a wide, cruel smile. “You will play the good wife, you will sit beside me while I hold court, and you will keepyour pretty mouth shut. Any reservations you have about this marriage, you can tell me about in private. I tire of explaining the consequences of any inconvenient outbursts.”

I am a patient woman. I can play along with his games while I assess the perfect way to destroy him.

I become numb as Finan takes my limp arm and folds it in the crook of his, leading us out through the grand doorway and toward the dais. A herald announces our approach to the room, his small trumpet blowing twice, but the lords gathered don’t stop bickering between themselves.

Astonishment slams into me, widening my eyes. I glance at Finan to gauge his reaction to such aninsult, but he stares at my face with tenderness as he leads me to the queen’s throne.

It makes my stomach turn.

He unfolds my arm from his and kisses my hand before I snatch it away, then motions for me to take the seat.

A huge smile grows on his face as he stops to admire me there, where he has probably imagined me for the entire war. My head spins from the extremes he treats me with. One moment he threatens me and the next he looks at me with adoration.

I don’t know which is more dangerous. Alarm bells ring in my head as my fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, but I cannot do either before this amassed crowd.

We have been seated for mere moments, Niall still nowhere to be seen, when the far doors of the public entrance swing open. Lord Desmond strides through, wearing decorative armor inlaid with elaborate gold patterns.

My breath hitches as he walks straight through the pews of nobles and up the steps of the dais, and takes the throne right next to the king. Every single person in the hall stops talking as his mere presence steals their attention. Finan simply looks at him and nods.

My throat turns dry and my breaths catch in my throat until I have to remind myself to breathe.

I had no idea how far things had deteriorated for the royal family. No wonder Prince Niall came to us for an alliance that betrays his brother. No wonder fear and desperation peeked through the cracks in his courtly mask.

“Shall we speak of the most important matter at hand?” Lord Desmond booms. “The rebellion in the North, which still drags on.”

I whip my head to him, shock rippling through me. The audacity for him to speak first, to direct the proceedings as though he were king himself! It is something King Willard would never have tolerated. Heads would have rolled for lesser offences.

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