Page 69 of Kiss the Filthiest King
The scream comes from beyond the pews. All turn to the doors I just came from, and I see a woman rush forward, coming straight at me.
Caenan is on her before she can take more than a couple of steps, but while he restrains her, he doesn't stop her from speaking.
"You stand here, claiming to hold yourself above all, yet you've killed my husband, though it wasn't your right! You don't respect this world or their laws!"
Junis's wife. From a distance, I didn't recognize her at first, but it's her.
She holds her face in her hands and pretends to weep, prettily.
All eyes fly between her and me, hungrily, eagerly. They're no longer sad now, but eager.
I wonder who planned this. It can't have been her idea to interrupt the coronation; she didn't strike me as someone quite that intelligent. A follower more than someone likely to make a decision. I think of the bright queen, but I stop myself before my eyes dart to her, remaining on my abuser's fake-crying wife instead.
"I did not murder anyone, least of all Junis. Nor did I order it." It's a struggle to stop the smile curving up my lips.
Thank you, thank you thank you, Rachel.
"He tried to wed me, you know," I tell the wife, to add insult to injury. "That begs the question: what would he have done with you?"
She's shocked into looking up, her dry eyes wide.
"Now, if the theatrics are over, we'll resume the ceremony. See her out."
"If a lord has been murdered, there ought to be an inquest. We need answers," someone says.
"Were you not his thrall? And you say you have nothing to do with it? Unlikely."
And suddenly, the whole crowd is talking of nothing but this, demanding answers. It was orchestrated to interrupt my coronation, likely to stop it. And I don't think I can talk my way out, or order every single person to just sit and obey. That's not the point. I have the power of the high queen if all the lords swear to obey me.
I try to catch Ryther's eyes, panicking, hoping they can't see.
His mouth is set in a line, clearly displeased, but he's not doing anything. Loch, standing on the dais, steps forward.
Before he can say a word, Rachel screams over the chatter, "I did it!"
There's too much noise for everyone to hear, but enough people turn to her and fall silent for her second cry to register.
"I killed him. He threatened me with rape and servitude, and tried to hurt my sister. I killed him in self-defense."
"You?" the bright queen spits, looking at her with her lips curled, from head to toes.
Rachel's wearing a dress similar to yesterday's, if a little more austere, in sage green. It shows a great deal of chest, her tits practically falling out of it. I'm guessing it was meant for someone far less curvy, and no amount of adjustments were going to hide those. Rena's eyes pointedly set on them.
"How could you?"
She doesn't mean that as, “how could you morally think to do something so awful,” but very much like, “you don't have the ability, unless you smothered him with your tits.”
"You're clearly lying to protect your sister's misdeeds.”
"No, I cut his throat with an iron sword," she retorts.
"That's true, I was there," Caenan says.
Rena shoots him a murderous glare—because she can't claim he's lying, of course.
"Well, what's a coronation without a little drama?" Loch calls lightly over the whispers. "But I think that's enough interruption for now. Sit, and let us return to our affair."
Caenan drags the woman to the closest pew and none too gently pushes her down. Since her hand's no longer over her face, it's clear she's not crying at all, but glaring murderously. Not unlike Rena.
