Page 79 of The Queen's Box

“No, I’m good. Jace just gave me a refill.” Willow tried to look past Aesra. Aesra moved to stay in Willow’s line of vision.

“Let’s focus on breakfast, shall we?” Severine said. “When you’re finished, we’ll begin the day in earnest.”

Willow looked back at her plate, where the berry she’d bitten earlier had bled into the cream. She picked up her fork and did as she was told.

~

When breakfast ended, Severine rose with languid grace. Willow followed, brushing crumbs from her lap and smoothing her skirts. Her stomach was pleasantly full, her skin still warm from the sunlit balcony where they’d eaten. Everything tasted brighter here—even the eggs had seemed enchanted.

Severine led her through a set of arching doors and into a long corridor lined with mirrors. At first, Willow caught only glints of light and color. Then, gradually, the reflections resolved into her own image—repeating endlessly down the passage.

She looked strange in them. Familiar, but not. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. She looked happy.

The corridor opened onto a descending colonnade, and with it, the hush and breath of open air. Willow stepped into the sunlight and inhaled. The breeze curled through her hair. Her heart beat fast with joy.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Severine asked.

Willow nodded. “Mmm-hmm. I’ve felt it since I got here. It’s like... a pull. In my bones.”

Severine gave a pleased smile. “Do you know why?”

Willow turned to her. “Because... I think it’s because I belong here.”

“That is exactly right, Daughter of Wrenna.”

Willow’s chest swelled.Daughter of Wrenna.In World’s End, Old Nail had called her that in his subterranean cavern. And she’d liked it, but not like this. Here, in Eryth, spoken by Severine, the designation felt sacred.

“Did you know her?” Willow asked. “Wrenna?”

Severine laughed and pressed her fingers to the base of her throat. “Do I look that old?”

Willow felt stupid and embarrassed, but as she worked the numbers, she didn’t see why her question would be so far off. Wrenna was Willow’s grandmother. Willow was nineteen; her own mother was forty. Was forty so old as that—so old as to be taken as an insult?

True, Severine didn’t look old at all. She looked like a statue that had been wished to life, poised and radiant. Her skin glowed. Her black hair shone.

Willow laughed awkwardly. “Sorry. I guess not.”

They continued on. The path curved beneath a low arch of pearly stone, then widened into a covered arcade lined with trees. Willow slowed, marveling. There were fae everywhere, in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some were barely knee-high, with wings like beetles and hair like spider silk. Others were tall and slender, with skin like polished agate and eyes that shimmered opalescent. Some wore elaborate silks. Others wore frothy concoctions like the yards of tulle Poppy was so fond of. Others yet dressed in what looked, astonishingly, like castoffs from another time entirely.

That group—the faeries playing dress up, if that’s what they were doing—carried themselves with a pleased and almost daring air, as if to say,Yes, I know. I’m so bold. Isn’t it fun?One faerie wore denim overalls, complete with brass buttons, though she’d paired them with a sleeveless blouse that moved like water. Another wore a dress straight out of a 1930s Sears catalog: Peter Pan collar, nipped waist, full skirt. White bobby socks cuffed above her ankles. Her shoes were unmistakable Mary Janes—but they weren’t made of leather. They were made of delicate sun-bright feathers, every one fluttering in the air.

As Severine passed, the faeries in her court bowed or bent, murmuring soft greetings and well wishes. They all glanced at Willow. Some stared openly. One of them smiled at her—a broad gap-toothed smile full of warmth.

“That’s been happening since I got here,” Willow said. “People looking at me like... like they’ve been expecting me, I suppose.”

“Because they have, and for quite a while,” said Severine. “Serrin is their prince, and they love him. Your fate is entwined with Serrin’s, so they love you, too.”

“Is that where we’re going?” Willow asked, hoping foolishly that the queen had relented and was taking her to see Serrin after all. “To see him?”

She pictured it: Serrin waiting at the end of a marble balcony, leaning against a railing of twisted glass. His eyes lighting with recognition when he saw her. The moment they would touch. Speak. Begin.

But Severine was shaking her head. “No, Willow. You reallymuststop pushing.”

Disappointment hit Willow hard, accompanied by the shame of being scolded. Though she deserved the scold, she supposed.The Mating Ceremony—Willow would meet Serrin then and not before.

If, that is, Willow followed the rules. Sheshouldfollow the rules.

Would she?

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