Page 9 of The Crowned Fae Queen
The “princess” comment is more for jabs than anything, because Mr. Cranky Pants has to take me to meet his most coveted and well-kept secret. Even Rigs, my personal guard trailing behind in silence, isn’t aware of our secret wedding.
“I said what I said.”
Rigs reaches past me, twisting the golden knob and pushing my door open. The gems of my skirt trill against the wooden door as I press myself into it and peer out at Miranda.
“I’ll be dressed and out in one minute.” I hold up my pointer finger, urging him not to leave me yet. I know he wants to disappear or find any excuse to avoid what has to be done tonight.
The door clicks shut behind me at the same moment that I’m crossing the room for my wardrobe. Behind gowns of silk or beads or rare stones are the less appropriate queen attire. Pants. I live for this blissful time when my thighs don’t have to touch.
First decree as queen. Better options for women’s clothing, for example, fucking pants. I’d love to see Bear try and prance around getting his kingly to-do list done in eighty-five pounds of unwanted material.
“You know, all this could make you a few enemies in the council. I’m not sure this is the right timing for that.” Miranda calls, his voice muffled through the door.
“Yes, I know. Chaplain, Mathis, and Sir Bartley might be the hardest to make the sale to. Though I could see Sir Marken going either way. But I know the Krows. I know their type.”Always willing to please. Eager to make their new Queen happy and to stay loyal members of the council.“I just have to plant the seed of doubt in their minds and watch it grow. They’ll see the truth. Give it time.”
“We don’t have a lot of time.”
I slip my shoe from my foot, tossing the heel at my door. It smacks the wood with a thunk. “Don’t remind me.” I yell.
“If you put a dent in this door, I don’t think Bear is going to be happy.”
If I dent my door from throwing a shoe at Miranda’s imaginary face, will you get me a new door?I slip the pants over my waist, buttoning them as I feel down our bond. My breathing automatically syncs with Bear’s.
Gladly. I’m assuming he deserves it.The deep rumble of Iri’s voice inside my head leaves me with a spoiled grin.
“He says you probably deserve to have a shoe thrown at you, and you’re lucky there was a door in the way.” I chuckle under my breath, slipping my arms into a loose blouse, and tuck the excess material into the waistband of the pants.
“Tell him to eat my ass.”
Wind whistles from the speed I open the door with. A daring smile and my wide-eyed expression make Miranda take a step back. Bear’s response is already a ghost of him inside of my head.
“He says he would be happy to arrange for someone to do his bidding for him if that is what it takes to make you happy.”
Miranda snorts, slapping his face with his palm, before dragging his features down. His shoulders fall away from his ears. He’s relaxing with the banter. If only I could relax, too.
I mean, I hate to ruin the mood, but I have places to go and people to see. Mom people. Potential evil, plotting mom people. Person. One potential mom person. Witch?
I’m not saying that my life is bad. It’s not. I live in a fancy castle with all of my needs met, and I’ve been saved from the brink of death not once but fucking twice, which is more than the stack of bodies on the pile can say. But... I have been banished. I have had to learn to fend for myself on a deserted island. I have been forced to marry the asshat who banished me (at least that turned out for the better). And somehow, here we are getting ready to travel to see a water witch who is rumored to be my long-lost mom and who may also have played a hand in this fucking curse.
So, sorry, not sorry, my privileged ass has some complaining to do.
“So, how do we get to this witch?” I smooth my hands over my already-unwrinkled top.
Quickly and without a word, Miranda sets the pace, walking in long strides down the hall. I tug my hair back into a braid, struggling to cross the strands as I jog after him.
“It’s not going to be fun.” Miranda grumbles. “She’s protected in many ways.”
“But it’s going to be worth it, right?” I ask mostly for myself, for the panic of my heartbeat and the sweat building in a fucking wet mustache on my upper lip.
“It’s always worth it to see Aspasia.”
I don’t have to look him in the eyes to feel the sincerity of his words. Yet I still earnestly hope that it will be worth it for me, too.
4
A Brave Death
Syren
