He’s right. I have no idea how to use my magic. And even if I had a way to contact Eldas, I doubt he’d be on my side, or care about my plight. He was the one who had me sit on the throne without warning and then washed his hands of me after. I’m alone here.
“I thought so.” His smile widens. He turns to my bedsheets and his eyes flash again. The sheets wrap around me like a cocoon and I am hoisted into the air. I fight against the constricting linens but they’re too tight. My arms are trapped; my legs are rail straight.
The magic alight in Harrow’s eyes fades as he puts me down, upright, in front of the closet. The sheets fall harmlessly in a puddle around my feet.
“Will you get dressed on your own? Or do I have to make your clothes dress you? Your call.”
With one last glare at him, I try to march into my closet with as much dignity as my exhausted body will allow.
* * *
Harrow callsthis place the lunch nook. Which is an inappropriate name since the room seemingly has nothing to do with lunch or nooks.
It’s large. Of course it’s large. Just as grand as everything else here.
Gilded mirrors line the wall to the right on entry, reflecting off the heavily curtained windows that overlook the city to the left. There are five tables spread throughout the room, four smaller ones set for four people and a large center table set for six.
This is where three people sit. All of them promptly ignore the tower of cakes and snacks in the center of the table to face me.
“Don’t let me distract you.” I approach ahead of Harrow and grab one of the glistening fruit pies off the top tier. “I’m not nearly as fascinating as this food.”
“We wholeheartedly disagree.” A woman with straight black hair to her waist leans forward, placing both elbows on the table.
“Perhaps we should take her at her word. She surely has the authority on how interesting she is.” A brown-skinned man adjusts his thick spectacles and takes a sip of tea from the dainty cup before him.
The third doesn’t raise his eyes from the book he’s reading.
Harrow sits and kicks up his feet onto the vacant chair. “Your Majesty, meet my friends. Jalic is the fine specimen of a man with the glasses.”
Jalic rolls his eyes.
“Our strong, silent type is Sirro,” Harrow continues.
The man looks at me through his long lashes and waves of brown hair. He must ultimately decide I’m less interesting than his book, because he eagerly returns to it.
“And last, but certainly not least, is the loveliest acrobat in all of Lafaire, the one and only—”
“Ariamorria,” she finishes with a snaggletoothed grin. “But call me Aria. Charmed to meet you, Your Majesty.”
“Yes, the pleasure is mine,” I lie, and stuff the small pie in my mouth. I was expecting the taste of cherry. I was not expecting it to be also laced with some kind of pepper so hot steam comes out of my ears. As quickly as the cake went in my mouth, it comes back out. I spit it on the floor and fan my tongue.
“She looks like a dog!” Aria shares in a laugh with Harrow.
“I guess she really is the true queen if Midscape’s food doesn’t taste like ash.” Jalic tries, and fails, to hide his amusement behind the teacup. Even Sirro chuckles.
I race to pour myself a cup of tea. It’s near boiling, but I’m ready to scald off my taste buds to stop the burning from the spices. The room spins and I lean against one of the chairs.
“I think you put too much,” Aria says to Harrow. “She looks faint.”
“If she faints again I’m sure my brother will just pull her off the floor like he did last time. Perhaps we’ll begin calling her the fainting queen? We could have half the city adopt the title before the coronation if we tried.”
More laughter. I grip the chair with white knuckles and struggle to find my voice.
“Why?” I look to Harrow and then swing my gaze to the rest of them. None of them have the decency to even feign guilt.
“Oh, don’t look so murderous.” Harrow pats my hand. “Just a little test is all, to make sure you’re the real queen.”
“I thought my sitting on the redwood throne was enough?” I motion to the windows keeping back a spring day. “Isn’t that enough?”