Getting Rafe secured on his throne was a step in the right direction. His army would be invaluable to us, especially now with the added threat of the blackened iron. I wondered what was going on in Brandor and if Santino had succeeded in convincing the other emirs to shut down the mines.
“Have you heard anything from Santino?” I asked Penelope as we stood watching the procession.
Penelope shook her head. “Not yet, but I am expecting a raven any day now.”
Finding and stopping the shipments of blackened iron was a priority. If Morgana got blackened iron to the dwarves and convinced them to make weapons for her, then the fae would face extinction in battle. Morgana already had a good many dwarves working for her, but she still needed their forges in Stonegate to make the truly powerful weapons that could bring down Izadora’s Elite.
I looked over at Tristan standing beside me, as handsome and dangerous as ever in a black doublet faintly embroidered with steel-gray thread. I had to glamour his swords invisible because, as usual, he refused to leave them behind in his room. I had given up arguing about it; he never went unarmed. If Morgana could make weapons that could take down Tristan, what chance would the rest of the fae have?
“After the coronation, we will meet with Rafe and the leaders of the rebels to devise a plan to move forward,” said Penelope.
The herald announced Rafe’s arrival, and a hush fell over the space as he entered the throne room, looking every inch a king. Dressed in the regal coronation robes of purple velvet edged with ermine and with the Eldorean crest embroidered in gold thread as a motif all over the robe, he walked down the crimson-carpeted aisle of the massive room. The crowd cheered for their king, who had been willing to sacrifice his life and his crown to save his people.
Rafe ascended the stairs of the dais slowly and turned to seat himself on the gilded throne. Danica stood in the front row of the guests on the opposite side from me, gazing up at Rafe. I had to admit, when she was dressed up with her long dark hair elegantly styled, she looked beautiful, with sensual curves that filled out her tight blue satin dress better than I could have.
Rafe gave her a quick smile, and my heart sank. He never even glanced at me.
I looked at Penelope, who was watching me out of the corner of her eye. She put her hand on my arm and leaned over to speak softly to me. “The tiara you are wearing belonged to Rafe’s mother. It was one of her favorites.”
I tried to smile at her blatant attempt to make me feel better, but the truth was that Rafe had probably sent me the first tiara he found. They all belonged to his mother anyway, and it wasn’t like anyone else was wearing them.
Two priests from the temple of Karneth were waiting on either side of the throne, dressed in stately white robes lined with silver and pearls. One of them held the heavy crown of Eldoren on a velvet cushion the color of ripe blueberries.
The priests began the ceremony, reciting prayers from their ancient book. They placed the crown upon Rafe’s head amid the cheering of Eldorean nobility.
It was done. Prince Rafael Ravenswood was now King Rafael the Seventh.
The feast was spectacular, and I knew how much work had gone into preparing everything for the coronation. Even in this time of war, the preparation had been meticulous. Footmen brought out gleaming silver trays of Eldorean delicacies and circulated glazed honey tarts and fragrant meat-stuffed pastries. The tables were piled high with trays of flaky breads and berry-glazed poultry cooked in figs and rosemary, along with roast pork, summer berry pies, and delicious-looking buttercream cakes.
The nobility danced the night away, happy in the knowledge their children were safe and the rightful king had been restored to the throne.
One happily drunk noble tottered over to our table with some of his friends, who were also quite intoxicated. “Who let this monster into the palace?” he slurred, glaring at Tristan. “You fae scum should not be allowed into our lands.”
Tristan slowly pushed his chair back. As he got up to face the drunken lord, his midnight-blue eyes started to swirl with silver sparks. I knew from experience that was never a good sign.
I got up from my chair and stood in front of him, facing the young lord, who I recognized as Viscount Steele, the same lord I had danced with at my first royal ball at the Summer Palace. It now seemed like a lifetime ago, and I had changed a lot since then. “I think you should leave, my lord,” I said politely, keeping my voice even. I didn’t want to cause a scene at Rafe’s coronation.
“You want me to leave?” he spat, his eyes red and puffy as he looked at me with contempt. “You are the one who brought this monster here. Do you even know what he did to our people?” He grabbed my hand. “Come away from him, you are one of us. Stay away from the filthy fae.”
I didn’t move as I held his stare. His eyes moved downward and widened as he looked at where his hand was, probably only just realizing what he had done.
My eyes narrowed, and my hand lit up with silver fire—only a spark, but it was enough to reduce the insipid lord to a blubbering idiot. He let go immediately, squealing in pain as his flesh sizzled. He stumbled backward, cradling his charred hand as I stalked toward him and caught him by his collar.
The throne room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The nobles didn’t move as they watched the scene unfold. Rafe did not interfere.
“You call Tristan a monster,” I growled, my voice
