Page 50 of Queen of Thorns
I nod.
Her eyebrows rise in surprise. “This way,” she says in lieu of any additional questions, and I follow her down a corridor off the back of the great hall. Our feet echo through a stone hallway, and she swings open a wooden door to expose a small room. It’s stale and dusty, but there are couches and tables and a bare fireplace in the corner.
I lay Caelynn on one of the couches and squat beside it. Her lips are cracked and dry, and her skin is clammy.
“She’ll be fine in a few hours,” the Whisperwood Queen says.
I nod, but it still bothers me to see her like this. And it worries me that she’ll continue to put too much of herself into that fountain. The more she can give, the better off her people will be. She’ll kill herself if it would help them.
“She’ll need to be instructed on how to control it. She can’t use all of her magic every time.”
The queen nods.
“You will likely need to regulate it for her. She... she’s more than willing to kill herself to help people she cares for, and I worry she won’t know when to stop.”
My magic flickers against my palm, seeking a way to aid Caelynn. She has no injuries, but even so, I press my hand against her belly. Light sears its way into her skin, and her back arches, then she relaxes. Her cheeks are flushed immediately.
An audible pull of breath catches my attention, and I turn to see the queen’s wide eyes, swirling with curiosity.
“What was that?” one of two males standing behind the queen says, his face sharp and unkind.
“And who are you?” the other says, shorter than the first but with similar features—sharp cheek bones, dark hair, and small, near-black eyes.
“This is Prince Reveln. The High Prince,” the queen says.
Both men’s lips part.I stand and brush my pants of the dust clinging to them.
“Why are you here?” the shorter male asks cautiously.
I consider many possible responses. “I have come to deliver your rightful queen.”
“Deliver?” one asks.
“Rightful queen?” The other frowns, eyes cast to the ground. “Caelynn is powerful. We’d welcome her as a queen,” he says, brow furrowed but no longer accusatory. “But that is a right given, not forced. If you are placing her here as a—”
The Whisperwood Queen holds up a hand, and the male stops mid-sentence.
“Caelynn is truly the rightful ruler of our court. Even if I wished it, I could not stop her from taking the crown.”
“Wh—how?” the taller male asks.
“It’s a long story,” I answer, and the queen’s lips quirk up in a small smile.
“It is indeed. I am glad to know you are aware of the truth in her blood. It will make this transition easier. And there is no longer any risk to her taking the throne, I presume?”
“There will always be risk.” I shrug. “Those creatures are not our friends nor allies. But the deed is done. The curse no longer exists.”
The queen nods.
“I’ve been introduced,” I say. “But I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.”
“Of course!” the queen says. “These are my nephews, Rian and Cillian. And you may address me as Emberly. As I am no longer queen.”
Rian and Cillian flash a look to their aunt. “You are queen,” the taller says.
Her chin remains high. “I am relieved to shed this responsibility to the rightful heir. But first, we have much to discuss.”
