Page 83 of The Witch Queen

I look around the room, staring into the eyes of every advisor to convey my certainty in my position, and again looking for anything useful that might indicate whether Nemesia had allies on the Council. When there are no more challenges, I continue.

“I’d like to create a small sub-committee focused on offensive strategies intended to root out and ultimately quell the rebellion. For too long I’ve left them to attack at will, without hitting back. That ends today. All three of the Velmarans will be members of that sub-committee.” Thankfully, this seems to please the advisors, who have collectively pushed me to take action against the rebels for years. Multiple heads nod in agreement and murmurs of relief break out.

“Excellent, Your Majesty,” Admon remarks, clapping his hands together. “We shall make your intentions realized.” He takes control of the discussion of who will take part in the sub-committee and ideas for how to strike against the rebels. I simply sit and listen, trusting Admon to lead the conversation. After twenty minutes of nominations and voting, the members comprise Admon, Carex, Aria, Margery, and three other advisors, plus the Velmarans. Admon offers to organize the first meeting by the end of the week. Before the Council dismisses, I offer them final words, letting the tiniest thread of aether seep into my voice.

“Nemesia is no longer welcome in this kingdom. If she appears at any port, she is to be arrested and brought to the palace cells immediately. Send the messages out.” They all nod before taking their leave.

Carex hangs back, and I groan internally. I move to a corner of the room, pretending to look out at the city of Arberly from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the Council chamber, hoping Carex won’t follow. But he does, coming up to stand next to me, his arms crossed and shoulders tense.

“Did you want to discuss something further, Carex?” I ask without meeting his gaze, pretending I don’t know exactly what he’s going to say. He doesn’t hesitate at all, his words rushing out as if he can barely contain them.

“Aethers, Laurel, what’s going on with you and the Velmarans? After everything that’s happened, how can you trust them?” His words are harsh, anger written across his features. My own temper rises to meet his.

“Please, do tell me howIshould feel after everything that’s happened tome,”I snarl, finally turning to meet his gaze. “Enlighten me oneverythingthat’s happened and how that somehow means my instincts and decisions should be questioned.” I lose a bit of my control, not because of my anger, but because of the hurt I feel that Carex of all people wouldn’t trust me. That he would use my past and history against me like this. With the wound that is still gaping at Nemesia’s betrayal, I’m even more sensitive to Carex’s barbs. The lights in the room flicker slightly at my slip, and I take a deep breath to wrap a fist around my magic. Even through his ire, Carex’s eyes widen in fear, still afraid and unable to meet my challenge, so unlike Thorne.

“Laurel, that’s not what I meant. I’ve only ever wanted the best for you.” He deflates. “I love—Ilovedyou, Laurel. For decades. I just…” His outrage fully fades. “I just don’t understand. He’s thePrinceof Velmara. The son of King Mazus. How can you trust him so easily? It took youyearsto tell me anything about the kingdom. You would shut down if I even mentioned the Council or your rule. And now, in just a handful of months, you’ve brought him into secret political schemes? Not only that, but youliedto me.Hewasat the tower that day, and it was the Velmarans who helped the rebels escape. I don’t get it. How could you trust him so easily and keep me out of your schemes?”

My temper dissipates. For the first time in years, IseeCarex and understand him. My heart aches for what might have been, for his sake. His issues with Thorne make sense. The two of us certainly haven’t kept our raw lust hidden very well. If the roles were reversed and he had not only lied to me but mocked my rational assessment of a dangerous situation like I’ve done to him multiple times, I’d be incredibly hurt. Carex has patiently waited all these years, hoping I would open up to him, probably working himself up in the Council so he had a reason to be involved in running the kingdom organically.

But what he doesn’t understand, can never understand, is that our issues didn’t stem from just me. Fear of my power and the way he’s always clung to a vision of me that isn’t reality stunted us before we ever even began. He might love Laurel, but he doesn’t love the Queen of Thayaria, much less the Witch Queen, and as much as I wish I could separate the two, I will always be both.

“Carex,” I say softly. I don’t want to tell him, don’t want to take this risk. But he needs to hear it from me, before Thorne in his jealousy and male pride reveals it. More than that, Carex needs to let me go, and I need the Captain of my Royal Guard to trust the Velmarans. They’ll have to work together to stop Krantz and the rebels. Hopefully revealing the information will help him understand. “Thorne is mymate.” His eyes widen. “I know we’ve always been told they aren’t real, and it’s something I’m still figuring out myself. But it’s true.”

His shoulders slump. “Are you sure about this?”

“I am. And I want you to know, it’s not just that fact that made me trust Prince Hawthorne and his advisors. They are good people, Carex. I kept them at a distance initially, but time and time again, they’ve proven themselves to me. Please, give them a chance.” The words are a balm to my frayed heart. I didn’t realize how muchIneeded to admit to myself that my interest in Thorne and the friendship I have with Silene and Fionn has nothing to do with the mating bond. Carex only nods, eyes filled with too many emotions for me to decipher. “I know I don’t need to tell you this, but this is to be kept secret,” I order. “Other than the Velmarans, only Admon knows. I’m still processing what this means and what I want to do about it. I’d rather not do that with nobles and courtiers breathing down my neck.”

“Of course,” he says, hands over his heart. “I’ll try to give them a chance, Laurel. I swear I will.” For the first time in months, his expression is open and genuine, and I feel content I told him this information, that I finally put the relationship we had behind us.

Carex leaves, and I take a moment to look around the Council chamber, looking for clues I know I won’t find. I made it through the meeting, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still reeling from what I had to reveal and feeling emotionally raw in the aftermath. Nemesia ran hundreds—thousands—of Council meetings in this room, standing confidently at the head of the massive round oak table. Mugs and loose papers litter the room, and I react to the normalcy they represent. The room should be charred, broken, dark—anything that symbolizes the inner turmoil I feel thinking about her counseling me after she’d already become a betrayer. When was the last time she was here as my friend?After which meeting did she decide to betray me?

I can’t believe she wasnevermy friend. I know that not to be true, not after the childhood we spent together and the bond forged in the shared trauma of the war. Was it something I did? Did she lose confidence in my ability to lead this kingdom? It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. She knows I’m not the person the rebels have painted me to be, who Mazus has painted me to be. She chose what she knows is a lie over her oldest friend, likely because she knew I wasn’t capable of saving Thayaria. That’s why I feel so unsettled—it’s not the betrayal, per se, it’s that there must have been some moment I didn’t catch when she lost faith in me. What if that happens with the Velmarans, or Admon, or the Council? Will I even see it?

The questions swirl, threatening to consume me. I have to find a way to move forward, have to find the strength to push through the hurt, like I always have. But this time, without the foundation of my friendship to Nemesia, it’s even harder to push everything down and pretend like I’m not dying inside. I cross the room and stand at the door. With a deep breath, I glance around one last time before closing the door on both the room and my pain.

Laurel

The former Queen of Velmara, Esther Vicant, was known across the realm for her ethereal beauty. Daughter of the infamous Luxar Andomer, the third most powerful fae in the kingdom of Velmara after the King and his heir, Esther met a tragic end. Her untimely accident left the kingdom of Velmara grieving her loss. Centuries later, she is still considered the standard of beauty for fae females in Velmara.

The Secrets and Stories of Velmara

I take extra time dressing that evening for whatever Thorne has planned, my stomach dancing with nerves. After trying on at least six different gowns, I decide on a deep olive-colored chiffon dress. As I survey the dress in the mirror, I realize this is the second time I’ve unconsciously selected a dress that matches Thorne’s exact eye color. The thought should scare me, but I find that it doesn’t, and I like the way the dark green brings out the bright green of my own eyes. I keep my hair loose and only apply the lightest tint of makeup to enhance my features, no sign of the Witch Queen costume. The only jewelry I wear is Thorne’s lightning bolt necklace, a gift that becomes more and more precious to me every day.

When I’m finished getting ready, I observe the full effect. I’ve always been unsure of my appearance, have always questioned whether my curves made me beautiful or blemished. Thorne’s own father had found me wanting, claiming I wasn’t half as beautiful as his first wife, Thorne’s mother. Would that impact Thorne’s view of me?

I’ve seen depictions of the former Queen of Velmara. She was flawless, tall and lithe like so many fae females. Delicate features, elegant and airy in appearance, with dewy skin that practically glowed from the inside out. Her long, toned and tan legs are on display in every picture I’ve ever encountered of her, peeking through high slits on her clothing. And I couldn’t be more different—shorter than most fae, with wide hips, full breasts, and thick thighs. Even my stark white skin, that won’t tan no matter how long I’m in the sun, is unique. For so long, it didn’t matter to me, because theWitch Queenis supposed to be different, exuding confidence and a sensual demeanor, not bothered by things as petty as appearances. ButLaurel—I’m not exactly sure how the female beneath the cold mask feels about not being the right body type to be beautiful.

A knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts. I take one last look in the mirror, smoothing the chiffon and pulling the neckline of the dress lower to show more cleavage. I know my breasts affect Thorne, so I rely on that feature, hoping he’ll overlook everything else about me that’s different from how females are supposed to look. I cross the room and open the door.

Thorne leans against the doorframe, arms confidently crossed, the very picture of a debonair prince. Not for the first time, I’m reminded of how different we truly are. My mate is effortlessly casual, suave, and comfortable in his own skin. I could never pull off the grace he so easily embodies, nor am I naturally likeable. He’s dressed more formally than usual, a crisp navy suit with cream accents—his signature colors. No gold, no tie to Mazus and Velmara. His hair is slicked back, though pieces fall in his face as always. Those eyes, that I once thought defined Mazus and the entire kingdom of Velmara, openly drift up and down my body, taking in every part of me. I immediately feel the need to look away, to suppress my attraction to him and hide how his assessing gaze affects me, but he catches the movement and lifts my chin so I’m forced to meet his eyes.

“You look stunning, Laurel,” he says resolutely, like he’s trying to speak it into my very being. I feel my cheeks heat and I want to look away again, but his fingers keep my gaze locked on his. Gently, he caresses my lips with a finger and cups my cheek. “Aethers, you’re so beautiful.” Satisfied he’s praised me enough, he lets go of my face before threading his fingers through mine. “Ready for our date?” he asks with his usual devilish grin, though there’s something in it that’s reserved only for me, like a secret between the two of us that no one else knows about. It gives me butterflies in my stomach that are not wholly unpleasant.

“How can I be ready, when I don’t know what we’redoing? Also, you better not be expecting me to walk down all these stairs in this dress.” His lips twitch in amusement.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, witchling. You can aerstep us to the outskirts of Arberly, to the path from the palace into the city.” I keep his hand in mine as I take us there. The foliage has already started its regrowth, and the early blooms of flowering trees and shoots of spring flowers line the path. The air is still quite brisk, but I don’t feel its chill, too heated from being in Thorne’s presence. He wraps my arm in his and leads us into Arberly, though our fingers stay threaded even in this gesture, like he can’t bear to let me go.

“Where are we going?” I ask, impatience to know the plan seeping into my tone. He smirks.

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