Chapter 18 The Throne’s Broken Heart
“Fuck this shit,” Malachi groans. “I’m tired of waiting. Where the fuck are they?”
For the first time in as long as I’ve been in this kingdom, the only people in the throne room are the champions of the trial. Malachi, as brazen as he is, is sitting sideways on the queen’s throne with his leg thrown over the arm. Behind him, illuminated by the stained glass windows, Zaries paces.
Oberon and I are standing close, using one of the great pillars as a partial shield from the others. Sylvain and the other Flamepeak warrior, a much older man than I ever expected to enter and survive the trial, are standing across the room and whispering to one another. The man in the red leather keeps looking at me, or more specifically at the scale on the necklace I have tied to my throat like a choker, no doubt wondering why I’m able to have it against my skin.
“Does that guy ever shut up?” Oberon asks, speaking so close to my ear that his breath ruffles the loose hairs from my long braid.
“I think if he ever did, he’d die. I’m pretty sure complaining is like air to him.”
Oberon chuckles, nudging my arm with his elbow. I glance at him, then at the big black scale he’s using as a plate armor for his chest. It fits perfectly, and everyone knows no armor can hold up as well as a scale. The black dragon uses shadow to hide, its fire so hot it could melt regular armor. I wonder how its power will manifest within my friend.
Covertly, I stroke my own scale, wondering in awe at the fact that I’m able to. Anyone else who touches their scale with bare skin would be damaged, painfully so. The power within this tiny scale is astonishing and I’m more than a little frightened of what that could mean for me.
“Are you feeling alright?” Oberon shifts in closer, his voice soft and low. “I wish you could have rested longer.”
“I’m fine, just nervous.” I try to smile up at him, but his startling blue eyes against his golden skin make it hard to hold his gaze. He’s nearly as beautiful as Elysandra was, quite literally the male version of her, and it hurts to see such similarities in him now that the adrenaline and fear from the trial has faded.
Our kiss hovers in the periphery of my memory, once more sparking the warmth that tingled through my body. The feelings are almost as confusing as—
Zaries snaps his gaze to me as if he can sense where my thoughts just went. Or maybe it’s part of the ritual he’s established since we entered the throne room. Every few moments he shoots daggers with his eyes straight at Oberon and me. He paces, turns, glares, then paces some more. It looks as if there's something he wants to say, but his lips never part.
“Would you stop pacing, man?” Malachi grouses. “We’re going to be on our feet the rest of the day. Sit down and relax.”
“Maybe I would if you weren’t on my throne!” Zaries snaps, kicking Malachi’s foot off the arm and making him sit up straight.
“Hey, it's the only chance I’ll ever get to sit on this thing. Not my fault I got here first.”
“You’re right, it’s your only chance, and if my mother walks in here and sees you on her throne, it will be the last thing you ever considered doing.”
Malachi pales, his one eye widening before he hurriedly gets up and Zaries sits in his place.
Somehow, seeing Zaries on the throne and not pacing makes everything worse. His eyes are on me alone now. His lips are a thin line and his dark brows pinched together in a frown. If only he weren’t so freaking handsome, even when he’s projecting fury and hate with every part of his being, being around him wouldn’t be so damn frustrating. I start to turn away when I feel Oberon’s muscled arm wrap around my shoulder as he tucks me against his side. I look up, shocked, and find him grinning ear to ear at Zaries in a very direct challenge.
Rage ripples through Zaries. Rage that doesn’t make sense, yet is palpable. His hands form fists on the gilt armrests. His jaw ticks. His brows are a knife edge.
I tense, this time deciding I’ll leap between them if it comes to blows again, except the great double doors swing open. All eyes turn toward the sound and settle on the queen. She’s in full regalia, her opulent gown embellished with hundreds of golden roses. I embroidered each one, never knowing it would be for the moment I’d say goodbye. Her eyelids are half closed as she stares at the ground. She moves, not looking at anyone, with all the regal grace of the monarch she is.
Serena makes her way down the aisle to the throne, the picture of royal grace and elegance. Behind her, Silas and Thorne walk side by side. They are dressed in traveling clothes, warm ones by the looks of them, which makes me stare in concern at the rest of us in simple armor.
As Serena approaches her throne, Zaries moves without being told. He walks to the right of the golden chair and sets his hand on top of the massive seat back with an air of royalty himself. The silver scale on his back reflects the light from behind and illuminates mother and son like a halo.
Serena sits and folds her hands delicately in her lap and releases a slow sigh. When her gaze finally rises, she zeroes in on me instantly. Her eyes are red, her cheeks flushed with emotion. Anyone can tell from the moment she looks up she’s been crying, but her stoic attitude leaves no room for doubt about her strength.
“In all the history of the three kingdoms,” she begins, her voice so quiet that everyone has to come closer to hear her. “There has never been a situation when the royal family was lied to, betrayed, and deceived. Yet, in one day, two people close to my heart broke that streak.”
All eyes turn to Zaries, then to me. I swallow hard, trying to eliminate the lump thickening in my throat at the sight of her sadness.
“My own son, prince, and heir to Stormcoast betrayed me. My handmaid, whom I’ve given everything and every bit of love in my heart, betrayed me.”
“Mother, I—”
Serena holds up her hand, cutting Zaries off instantly.
“By the laws of the Trial, you both are now apprentices to the dragon slayers. By law, decreed by my own ancestors, I have to relinquish you to Lord Silas Ivicarus and the dragon slayer Thorne.” She looks at each of the men, waving her hand in their direction as they kneel and bow their heads.
“By law,” Serena’s voice grows louder, angrier. “I cannot stop my son or my sweet girl from traveling up the deathly slopes of Dragon Mount. I cannot stop them from facing the ghastly tests my brother calls training, nor can I protect them from the harshness of their teacher Thorne, who might be more dangerous than Silas himself.”
Oberon tightens his arm around my shoulders and whispers in my ear, “She was never meant to be your queen. Don’t take her words too close to your heart.”
I nod. I can barely recall the face of Elysandra’s mother, she was never involved with us as children besides ordering my education and fighting skills.
“I stand to lose the two people I love most in this world because of false bravado and sheer stupidity,” Serena continues. “As for the rest of you, I pity your souls and pray you will painlessly reach the afterlife if that is your fate.”
Sylvain flinches, but the other Flamepeak warrior steadies her with a hand on her shoulder.
“I pray some of you survive, but if this is goodbye, gods have mercy on your souls. Be gone.” Serena seems to snarl the last word, her upper lip curling in disgust.