Page 75 of The Queen's Box

Severine glanced at her. “It’s not mere pageantry, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s the culmination of years of preparation, of sacred alignment. When Serrin sees you, Willow—trulysees you...”

She clucked her tongue impatiently. “It has to happen on the day of the ceremony. That’s simply the way of it. Please don’t push me on this, Willow. You’re nineteen and capable of managing your emotions, yes?”

“Y-yes?” Willow said.

“Good, because I don’t have the energy to deal with the pouts of yet another sullen teen.”

Willow frowned. What other “sullen teen” was Severine referring to? Surely not Serrin. Princes didn’t pout.

“At any rate, you deserve to be seen in your fullness,” Severine said. She gestured at Willow. “Not like this, half-tired and dazed from travel.”

Willow nodded. She saw the logic in Severine’s words, even if she didn’t like it. “Tomorrow, once I’m rested and clean...” She glanced at Severine. “I understand about... the ceremony. But tomorrow, can I at least say hello to him?”

“No, you cannot,” Severine said sharply. She must have seen the way Willow blanched, because she softened the lines of her mouth. “You’ve waited a long time to get here. We’ve waited a long time for you to arrive. To wait a little longer, with so much at stake—trust me when I say that everything is unfolding exactly as it must.”

Willow frowned.

“He will be king one day, my Serrin. And you—” Severine broke off. She looked both directions down the hall, although no one was present other than Aesra, a respectful distance away. “The Mating Ceremony will make it official. Until then, it’s best not to tempt fate.”

She walked to a window and beckoned Willow to join her. “Our court is beautiful, is it not?”

Willow placed her fingers on the stone sill of the open window and took in the hustle and bustle below.

“One day soon, this realm will be ruled by Serrin. Serrin and his queen.” Severine grew solemn. “It is an enormous responsibility.”

Beyond the castle window, tiny figures moved along bridges and terraces—tending to lanterns, carrying bundles, vanishing through doorways carved into the mountainside.

“He wants to be the finest king Eryth has ever seen,” Severine said.

Willow’s heart swelled. “He will. I know he will.”

“And you, Willow, will help him. But you must be patient. These things—they matter, they can’t be hurried.”

Severine led Willow down a final corridor, narrower than the rest, its stone walls marked not with gold or stained glass but with simple carvings of vines and crescent moons. At the end stood a heavy wooden door, half-open, warm light spilling through the seam. Laughter drifted out—young, high-pitched, and careless.

“I will leave you now,” Severine said. “Aesra?”

Aesra, in her white guard uniform, appeared at Willow’s side. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll take it from here.” She bowed low. “Good night, my Queen.”

~

The servants’ quarters—for that was where the laughter had originated—were nothing like the rest of the palace. The floors were stone but worn smooth by hundreds of bare feet. The walls bore no decorations. The lighting came from fat wax candles and old iron lanterns, not enchanted orbs or flickering fae lights.

Along the far wall of the room ran a series of bunk beds, not narrow twins but broad queen-sized platforms stacked two high, each made up with thick quilts and dented pillows. Girls lounged across them in clumps, braiding hair, sewing, reading, whispering. There must have been thirty, maybe more.

In the far corner of the room, away from the opulent bunk beds, sat a narrow cot that sagged in the middle. The pillow was flat and gray, and no quilt lay upon the mattress. Just a threadbare sheet.

Before Willow could ask any questions, Aesra put two fingers to her lips and whistled.

Everyone in the large room fell silent as two girls snapped to attention from opposite sides of the room and trotted over.

One wore a waterfall of lavender and plum sashes, her braid wrapped crown-like around her head. Her pointed ears were cuffed in gold. The other had cropped red curls, freckles, and a crooked grin. A silver spoon glinted behind her ear.

“Poppy. Jace. Our guest has at long last arrived,” Aesra said. “Treat her as assigned.”

“Yes, ma’am!” chirped the girl in lavender, bobbing a curtsy.

The girl with the spoon nodded, her expression neutral.

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