Richelle Mead - Iron Crowned

I ignored Dorian, both because he expected me to and because I knew I didn’t look so amazing. My clothes were ripped and dirty, and I’d accrued a few cuts in last night’s battle. Judging from the haze of red I kept seeing out of the corners of my eyes, I had a feeling my hair was frizzy and sticking up in about a hundred different directions. It was already turning into a hot day, and my stuffy castle was making me sweat profusely.

“No,” gasped the Rowan soldier. “You can’t be alive. Balor swore he saw you fall—he told the queen—”

“Will you guys stop this already?” I demanded, leaning in close to his face. This made a few of my own guards step nearer, but I wasn’t worried. This loser wouldn’t try anything, and besides, I could defend myself. “When is your fucking queen going to stop turning every rumor about Dorian or me dying into some huge proclamation? Haven’t you ever heard of habeas corpus? Never mind. Of course you haven’t.”

“Actually,” piped in Dorian. “I know Latin.”

“It won’t work anyway,” I growled to the Rowan guy. “Even if I were dead, it’s not going to stop our kingdoms from trampling yours.”

That pulled him out of his stupefied state. Fury lit his features—fury spiked with a little bit of insane zeal. “You half-breed bitch! You’re the one who’s going to be blighted from existence! You, the Oak King, and everyone else who lives in your cursed lands. Our queen is mighty and great! Already she’s in negotiations with the Aspen and Willow Lands to unite against you! She will grind you with her foot and take this land, take it and—”

“Can I kill him? Please?” This was Jasmine. Her gray eyes looked at me pleadingly, and she’d taken the headphones off. What should have been teenage sarcasm was actually deadly seriousness. It was days like these I regretted keeping her in the Otherworld, rather than sending her back to live with humans. Surely it wasn’t too late for reform school. “I haven’t killed any of your people, Eugenie. You know I haven’t. Let me do something to him. Please.”

“He’s under a truce flag,” replied Shaya automatically. Protocol was her specialty.

Dorian turned toward her. “Blast it, woman! I’ve told you to stop letting them in with immunity. Wartime rules be damned.” Shaya only smiled, unconcerned by his mock outrage.

“But he is protected,” I said, suddenly feeling exhausted. Last’s night battle—more of a skirmish, really—had ended in a draw between my armies and Katrice’s. It was incredibly frustrating, making the loss of life on both sides seem totally pointless. I beckoned some of my guards forward. “Get him out of here. Put him on a horse, and don’t send him with any water. Let’s hope the roads are kind to him today.”

The guards bowed obediently, and I turned back to Katrice’s man.

“And you can let Katrice know that she’s wasting her time, no matter how often she wants to claim she’s killed me—or even if she manages it. We’re still going to see this war through, and she’s the one who’s going to lose. She’s outnumbered and out-resourced. She started this over a personal fight, and no one else is going to help her with it. Tell her that if she surrenders immediately, then maybe we’ll be merciful.”

The Rowan soldier glared at me, his malice palpable, but offered no response. The best he could manage was to spit on the ground before the guards dragged him off. With another sigh, I turned away and looked at the breakfast table. They’d already brought up a chair for me.

“Is there any toast?” I asked, sitting down wearily.

Toast was not a common item on the gentry menu, but the servants here had gotten used to my human preferences. They still couldn’t make decent tequila, and Pop-Tarts were totally out of the question. But toast? Toast was within their skill set. Someone handed a basket of it to me, and everyone continued eating peacefully. Well, almost everyone. Ranelle was staring at all of us like we were crazy, which I could understand.

“How can you be so calm?” she exclaimed. “After that man just—just—and you …” She looked me over in amazement. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but your attire … You’ve clearly been in battle. Yet, here you are, sitting as though this is all perfectly ordinary.”

I gave her a cheerful look, not wanting to offend our guest or project a weak image. I’d just arrogantly told the Rowan soldier that his queen would never gain any allies, but his comment about her negotiating with the Aspen and Willow Lands hadn’t been lost on me. Katrice and I were both scrambling for allies in this war. Dorian was mine, giving me the edge in numbers right now, and I didn’t want to risk any chance of that changing.

Dorian caught my eye and gave me one of his small, laconic smiles. It warmed me up, easing a little of the frustration I felt. Some days, it seemed like he was all that was going to get me through this war I’d inadvertently stumbled into. I’d never wanted it. I’d never wanted to be queen of a fey kingdom either, forcing me to split my time between here and my human life in Tucson. I certainly hadn’t wanted to be at the center of a prophecy that claimed I’d give birth to humanity’s conqueror, a prophecy that had driven Katrice’s son to rape me. Dorian had killed him for it, something I still didn’t regret, even though I hated every day of the war that had followed in the killing’s wake.

I couldn’t tell Ranelle any of that, of course. I wanted to send her back to her land with an image of confidence and power, so that her king would think allying with us was a smart move. A brilliant move, even. I couldn’t tell Ranelle my fears. I couldn’t tell her how much it hurt me to see refugees showing up at my castle, poor petitioners whose homes had been destroyed by the war. I couldn’t tell her that Dorian and I took turns visiting the armies and fighting with them—and how on those nights, the one who wasn’t fighting never got any sleep. Despite his flippancy, I knew Dorian had felt a spark of fear at the Rowan soldier’s initial claim. Katrice was always trying to demoralize us. Both Dorian and I feared that someday, one of her heralds would show up telling the truth. It made me want to run away with him right now, run away from all of this and just wrap myself up in his arms.

But again, I reminded myself that I had to brush those thoughts away. Leaning over, I gave Dorian a soft kiss on his cheek. The smile I offered Ranelle was as winning and upbeat as one he might produce. “Actually,” I told her. “This is a pretty ordinary day for us.”

The sad part? It was true.

I retreated to my bedroom as soon as etiquette allowed, collapsing onto the bed the moment I entered. Dorian had followed me in, and I tossed an arm over my eyes, groaning.

“Do you think that display helped win us over with Ranelle or scared her off?”

I felt Dorian sit on the bed beside me. “Hard to say. At the very least, I don’t think it’ll turn her king against us. We’re too terrifying and unstable.”

I smiled and uncovered my face, looking into those green and gold eyes. “If only that reputation would spread to everyone else. I heard a rumor the Honeysuckle Land might join with Katrice. Honestly, how anyone could call their kingdom that and keep a straight face is beyond me.”

Dorian leaned over me, lightly brushing hair from my face and trailing his fingers along my cheekbone. “It’s quite lovely, actually. Almost tropical. I mean, it’s no barren wasteland of a desert kingdom, but it’s not half bad.”

I was so used to his jibes about my kingdom that there was almost something comforting about them. His fingers ran down to my neck and were soon replaced by his lips. “Honestly, I’m not worried about this Honeysuckle place. It’s other potential allies worrying me. Hey, stop.” His lips had moved down to my collarbone, and his hand was starting to lift my shirt. I wriggled away. “I don’t have time.”