Richelle Mead - Iron Crowned

I came home at last to an empty house, with a note scrawled from Tim saying he had “a gig” tonight and that there was fettuccine alfredo in the refrigerator if I wanted it. Eating in front of the TV, I selfishly felt resentful that he’d go out on one of the few nights I was home. But why wouldn’t he? He certainly had a life, one I was hardly in. What really brought me down was that on a night like this, I once would have been over at my mom’s eating dinner. For a second, I stared at my phone and considered taking the plunge. But, no. If she wanted to get in touch clandestinely, she would. Calling now would risk me getting Roland, who would hang up on me. Or most likely not answer.

Frustrated, I decided I didn’t want to stay here anymore. It was weird, especially since I’d wanted to come home so badly earlier. Yet, I felt like I wasn’t welcome in my own house. I showered off the day’s fights—no gentry baths for me—and headed right back to the Otherworld. I almost never came and went the same day, but suddenly, my kingdom seemed like the only place I had friends at the moment.

They were surprised to see me back so soon. I found Shaya and Rurik playing chess in a formal sitting room, leaning together and laughing as she planned her next move. Both jumped when they saw me.

“Your Majesty,” said Shaya. They’d instantly gone from casual to formal mode.

“Sit, both of you. You should know better.” I sat as well, sinking into a down-filled love seat that I’d inherited from the castle’s previous owner.

Shaya and Rurik returned to their seats, relaxing somewhat. “We didn’t think you’d be back for a while,” said Rurik, ever blunt.

Shaya looked twitchy, like she wanted to get up, despite what I’d said. “Should I have the kitchen start preparing dinner?”

“No, no, don’t bother.” It was common among gentry monarchs for every meal to be a full-fledged banquet, particularly dinner, hosting the full court. With my schedule and the fact that I didn’t even keep a full court—just the essentials—that was not the case around here. My kitchen staff had it easy, and I certainly didn’t want them to get in a sudden panic over a meal they would have normally started on hours ago, had they known I’d be there.

I stared off at the empty fireplace, which had been unused since I’d taken over. Had the Thorn Land shifted into winter, we might have needed it. A kingdom’s seasons bent to its monarch’s will, and although Tucson was in winter right now, my subconscious apparently thought summer was the proper state.

Shaya and Rurik regarded me patiently, wondering what it was I wanted, if not dinner. I wasn’t sure myself. I fumbled for something to say. “News or messages on the war front?”

“No,” said Rurik. Not surprising. Ranelle had probably only just gotten home. She was likely feasting with the Linden King right now.

I met Shaya’s eyes. “It’s probably dinnertime at Dorian’s, huh? Or close to it.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. There were no clocks in the Otherworld, but she had a good sense of the time. “I would imagine so, Your Majesty.”

“Do you think he’d mind unscheduled visitors?”

“You?” Shaya laughed. “Hardly.”

I glanced between the two of them, feeling a smile creep onto my lips. “What do you say? Should we go crash his party?”

“Party crashing” might not be a colloquialism among the gentry, but it didn’t take Shaya or Rurik long to figure out what I meant. Both sprang to action. I couldn’t travel alone during wartime, so Rurik had to assemble a military escort for us. Shaya left to alert the civilians who’d go with us and make herself ready for a royal visit. Both of them were excited, I could tell. Humans and gentry weren’t so different, in a lot of ways. Once at Dorian’s, Shaya and Rurik would have few official duties. This was the equivalent of an Otherworldly night on the town.

In my rooms, I found my handmaiden Nia anxiously awaiting me. Gentry magical skills ranged greatly. I controlled weather. Dorian could rip apart the earth. And Nia? Her talent was in beautifying others, in hair and clothing. Like those of my cooks, her skills were often underutilized.

“Let’s get ready,” I told her.

Her face lit up, and she practically ran to the wardrobe. “Which would you like, Your Majesty?” Her hand hovered near a black cocktail dress from the human world, then moved to a gauzy blue sundress. Then, she hesitated altogether and glanced at me questioningly. It wouldn’t have been out of character for me to show up at a state function in the jeans I already wore.

After my earlier loneliness, I was excited to see Dorian—almost desperately so. He seemed like my only connection right now, and I suddenly liked the idea of surprising him. “The peach one,” I said.

Nia nodded, her fingers skimming the dresses. Finding no peach, she frowned and rechecked them. Then, her gaze went to the other half of my wardrobe, where the gentry dresses she and others had had made for me hung. Her eyes widened as she pulled out a peach silk dress she’d probably never thought would see the light of day.

“Your Majesty!” was all she could gasp. It was like Christmas morning for her.

With coppery hair, I had to be careful with what colors I wore, but this was a warm enough shade of peach that it worked. The fabric was shining and fluid, like some living thing. The dress was one long piece, clinging around the torso and then flaring and falling like water from the waist to the floor. Gold ribbons laced up the back, decorated with aquamarines. Straps, also made from strings of aquamarines, hung loosely off my shoulders around my upper arm, trailing more streams of silk beneath my arm and giving the illusion of sleeves. For all intents and purposes, it was a strapless dress, leaving my arms, shoulders, and a healthy amount of cleavage exposed.

“I think I need a bra,” I said, eyeing the way the thin silk wrapped around my chest.

“But that’s how it’s worn!” said Nia. Gentry, in fashion and other ways, didn’t always share the same taste as humans. Nia knew this, and I could see in her face she was terrified I’d do something human to ruin this dream-come-true of finally dressing me properly.

“Fine,” I said. “But keep my hair down.” Hopefully it would give me some coverage. Lack of a haircut had my ends just barely touching my shoulder blades lately.

Nia took this as an acceptable compromise, going over every lock of my hair so that it was smooth and slightly curled at the ends. Aquamarine barrettes (the gentry loved jewels too) were placed strategically throughout my hair, and she forced more jewelry on me in the same color scheme. After a bit of cosmetics, Nia deemed me fit to be a queen. I planned on bringing her to Dorian’s and was about to tell her we should go when a strange and unexpected thought came to me.

“Nia … can you get my sister ready too?”

“Your … your sister, Your Majesty?” She was equally surprised. “Is she coming?”

I thought about it, wondering the same thing. I never let Jasmine leave the castle and its grounds, for everyone’s safety. Yet, I couldn’t shake the thought of how bored and lonely she seemed. Plus, I’d forgotten her Twinkies.

“Yes,” I decided. “She’s coming. Be fast.” Nia nodded and headed toward my door, off to whatever closet she always produced endless stores of dresses and jewelry from. Jasmine had once been the mistress of this castle’s former king; for all I knew, her wardrobe was still here. “Nia?” I called. The gentry girl paused. “Long sleeves.”

Nia nodded again, catching my meaning. It was no secret among the gentry that the Thorn Queen kept her sister a prisoner. That didn’t mean I wanted her chains flaunted, however. And when my whole entourage met up to leave, I could see that Nia really was magically gifted with beauty. Jasmine—who looked utterly stunned by this unexpected field trip—wore a dress made of pale green velvet. It was floor-length like mine but had long bell sleeves that did a good job of hiding the chains. The dress was more modest than mine too, but I had a feeling Nia hadn’t done it to protect Jasmine’s fifteen-year-old modesty. Most likely, Nia didn’t want the queen’s sister to draw more attention than the queen herself. The minimal jewels on Jasmine proved as much, and the looks from my own people showed that I was definitely attention-getting. I doubted they’d ever seen me dressed up like a full-fledged gentry woman.