Richelle Mead - Iron Crowned

Riding a horse in that dress was a pain in the ass. It wasn’t the first time I’d done so, and I was glad the skirt wasn’t as snug as the top. I was also glad our route was short tonight. The Otherworld folded in upon itself, taking travelers through ways that seemed impossible but which often proved the most direct path. These paths also cut through other kingdoms—often my neighbors’. Knowing this, our party was on high alert as we rode, everyone tense. To my relief, the road didn’t take us through the Rowan Land—as it frequently did. The only transition between my land and the Oak Land was a brief stint in the Willow Land. Not comforting, but safer than enemy territory.

Once Dorian’s castle was in sight, my group’s mood lifted, and the party-crashing spirit returned. His home was exactly what you expected from a castle, multi-turreted and made of heavy dark stones, with stained glass windows. As always, it was autumn in the Oak Land, and although night prevented me from seeing the orange-leaved trees, the smell of harvest and touch of fall chill on my skin reaffirmed for me what season it was. Scattered on the castle grounds, I spotted small clusters of peasants around campfires, watching us curiously. Like me, Dorian had war refugees seeking aid from their monarch. The sight of their faces twisted my stomach, and I forced myself to look away.

Servants took our horses, people scrambling at our unexpected arrival. Guests dropped in all the time for dinner—especially at Dorian’s—but we were VIPs. I walked briskly toward the banquet hall while groveling stewards scurried at my side, promising proper accommodations for my companions and checking on anything else we might need. I came to a halt when I reached the banquet doors. Even I with my bad human etiquette knew I had to be announced first.

A herald swung open the door, revealing light, color, and noise. Dorian had about a hundred people in there tonight, gathered around various tables on chairs and couches. Most were gentry nobility. Some were his soldiers. Others were creatures of the Otherworld, types I fought when they crossed to the human world. As I’d guessed, dinner was already being served, with servants scurrying around and the guests chatting and eating.

That all came to a halt when the herald’s voice rang out: “Her Royal Majesty, Queen Eugenie Markham, Called Odile Dark Swan, Daughter of Tirigan the Storm King, Protector of the Thorn Land, Beloved of the Triple Moon Goddess.”

I would never get used to all those titles. Conversation dropped, and then there was the usual screeching of chair legs as people hastily stood up. Once I would have cringed from this, but I knew what was expected now. I began to stride forward but stopped after two steps. Most of my soldiers had stayed at the doors, and none of the rest of my retinue would be announced since I had no high-ranking nobility with me. Almost. I glanced at the herald.

“My sister, announce my sister.”

His eyes bugged, and I could guess his confusion. Not only was that kind of a weird request coming from me, it was also hard for him to manage since Jasmine didn’t have any official titles. The guy was fast on his feet, though. That was his job.

“The Lady Jasmine Delaney, Daughter of Tirigan the Storm King, Sister of Eugenie the Thorn Queen.”

That got a few surprised glances. I smiled at the herald. “Thank you,” I said softly. “Only next time, announce my name before our father’s.”

He blanched. “Y-yes, Your Majesty.”

I entered the room at the head of my party, startled I’d said that to the herald. Where had that come from? A need to diminish Storm King? A desire to tout my own importance? Whatever the reason, I already regretted the words.

A long walkway stretched through the room, and halfway down it, Dorian emerged from the crowd and stood to meet me. I reached him, and he took my hand, giving it a long and languid kiss. Among the gentry, that kiss was perfectly acceptable for receiving one’s lover or a visiting monarch.

“My dear,” he said, lifting his eyes. They swept over me in that clever, efficient way of his. To all those watching, he was as calm and in control as always, his lips curved into the devil-may-care smile normal for him. Still, I could imagine his surprise. He hadn’t expected to see me this soon. He certainly hadn’t expected to see me in full queenly glory. I might have been Christmas morning for Nia, but for Dorian, I was dessert being served before dinner. “You and yours are very welcome.”

It was a formality, one that returned the guests to their seats and declared my party was under Dorian’s hospitality, meaning no one here could do us any harm and vice versa.

“I guess ‘soon’ does mean all sorts of things,” he murmured. He glanced toward my cleavage. “All sorts of things.”

“Hey.” I kept my voice as low as his. “Are you looking down my dress?”

“My dear, I want to do much more than look down it. Much, much more. And I want to do it now. I don’t suppose,” he added, “that your transformation came along with an embracing of many of our other superior customs?”

He was referring, of course, to couples scattered about the room who had promptly returned to amorous activities after I was announced. People made out, took off clothing, and even had sex with ease in public. Some guests watched, but most went on with their meal as though nothing out of the ordinary were happening.

“No,” I said firmly.

“Are you sure?” he asked, leaning closer. “No one would take it amiss. Indeed, many would find it reassuring to see their king and queen consummating their relationship. It’s a sign of dominance and power.”

“I’m here for dinner,” I said sweetly. Underneath my prim attitude, his words and his body language were already getting to me. You would have thought we’d last had sex a year ago, not this morning. I might not consent to his exhibitionism, but if I said I wanted to go to his bedroom right now, he’d immediately turn around and walk out with me.

“Dinner, it is,” he said regretfully. “Perhaps I’ll serve you something special. And I’m sure you’ll enjoy our guests tonight.”

He began steering me toward the hall’s front. His throne sat on a high pedestal, and below that was the head table where he’d been dining. My eyes fell on the aforementioned guests, and I nearly stopped walking. Instead, I glanced behind me and called, “Rurik?”

I’d given instructions for Shaya and Rurik (and a handful of guards) not to leave Jasmine’s side. They were seeking out their own table, and even though they were halfway across the room, Rurik heard me and turned. With a sharp head nod, I gestured for him to join us. He crossed the room swiftly, arching an eyebrow when he saw the dinner guests and understanding why I’d want one of my own people around.

There, sitting at the head table and watching me with cold blue eyes was Ysabel—Dorian’s former lover.

“Damn it,” I muttered to Dorian.

He simply squeezed my hand tighter, his smile growing bigger. I wasn’t afraid of Ysabel, not at all. I didn’t think for an instant she could hook Dorian back in, and magic-wise, she was no match for me. She’d actually helped teach me control of air and wind—her specialty—and I’d quickly surpassed her. Nonetheless, she was sharp-tongued; I was certain dinner with her would be an onslaught of snide and passive-aggressive remarks. Rurik’s blunt nature made him good at throwing out barbs of his own, so I was hoping he might assist me.

Once we sat down, though, I soon learned Ysabel wasn’t the only one I had to worry about. Other nobles of no consequence were there, but a new face took precedence. Her name was Edria—and she was Ysabel’s mother. She had an attractive, matronly look about her, though her hair and eyes were dark. Ysabel was blue-eyed with rich auburn hair that made her stunning. Ysabel’s body went a long way to contribute to her allure as well. What the two women definitely had in common was a crafty, sly demeanor that told me both had few scruples when it came to furthering their own interests. And it was clear that my being with Dorian was not in their interests.