“I was rather disappointed, son, that it’s only now I get a chance to come and give you my blessings. I always knew you’d rise to something big. You just needed the right push.”
The corded muscles in my neck tense. “That’s not how I remember it,” I answer, exhausted of the games—and the day has only just commenced.
He smiles at me, a rarity from the man who reminded me daily that I would never amount to anything, that I was weak, who told me that his beatings would strengthen me.
“Enough. Leave,” I growl before I drive my fist into his face.
He doesn’t move. “Son, I will admit some of the animosity between us might be my doing. I taught you the same way my father did me. Plus, I should have visited you here long ago to make peace between us. For that I hope you can forgive me, and we can begin a new path of truce.”
I stare at him incredulously. Is he fucking joking? Who the hell is this man? My father would never grovel.
“What do you want?” I snarl, my pulse racing, throbbing through my veins.
The usual anger I'm used to seeing on his face is replaced with something pitiful. Has my father gone senile? Or did my father invite him not just for the sake of diplomacy but because she has accepted the past as just that. Is this a clue that maybe we ought to do the same… if Mother can stand to face this fae for a few days to ensure relations with us and the east of the realm aren’t broken, then maybe I can do the same?
“To be with my sons, and make up for lost time.”
I struggle with my thoughts about following Mother’s direction and blink at him in disbelief. Flames engulf my insides still the same. When I look at him, all I remember are his angry fits, the beatings, and the repeated times he ripped the flesh off my wings until it never grew back. That shit is something I'll never get over or forgive. I should have made it clear to my mother not to invite him.
“I don't have time for whatever scheme you have going, now that you know I’m about to take the throne. Maybe it’s fear or stupidity that brings you here, but Father, the bridge between us fell apart long ago and there is no mending it.”
He stares at me with contempt, an expression I’m much more familiar with. There’s my real father. “I hope, over time, you can reconsider.”
Without waiting, he lifts his chin high and turns around, his coat whipping around him as he leaves my room.
Today is going to kill me. It pisses me off that Mother insisted we invite that asshole to my wedding and coronation. It's a day I'll never forget, everyone tells me. And I agree, except it won't be for the reasons they assume.
Moments later, several maids appear at my door, looking at me expectantly. The brunette curtsies as she announces, “Your Highness, we are here to finish dressing you.”
I huff. I know fighting this is futile. Such events are planned down to the most minute detail, so I wave them in, then let them fuss about with my clothes. I’m already wearing my black pants, and I remove my top to make it easier for the maids, who now flutter around me like fairies.
The thought of fairies brings Guendolyn to mind, and my heart constricts. Neither of us asked for this ending.
When the maids are finished, I look down at my deep blue, cut-velvet coat that drapes down to the floor. The edgings of the front and high collar are richly embroidered in gold, the designs resembling the sun and stars, the river and earth. The elements that combine to make up our realm. A maid takes my hand and pushes golden rings on my fingers, as is customary. Only one finger remains bare, waiting for the bride to adorn it during the ring exchange.
The ladies step back and admire me. They smile, proud of their work, but I feel like a fraud. Am I deserving of this role when I carry such heavy doubts?
“Thank you,” I offer, and they bow, then hurry from my chamber.
Before I can take a peaceful breath on my own, my mother walks in. It’s like my chamber is an entertainment hall. Is there a line outside my room of everyone in the palace coming to visit me?
“You look spectacular, just like a king should.” She's at my side in moments, her embroidered silk gown as blue as the bright sky. Long-sleeved, her dress carries a high collar and follows her form before falling to her ankles. Small white flowers dot her curled hair, and she wears no crown or tiara, showing she approves of passing the position of Queen to my future bride.
“I’m not ready,” I admit out loud.
She steps closer and cups my face. I study the deep lines at the corners of her eyes, the tiredness in her gaze, the grief still clinging to her forced smile. Now that she's lost her husband, it’s up to me to care for her. Family is the reason I can't walk away from the throne.
“It's normal to be nervous, Ahren. But you've been preparing for this role your whole life. You just need to be yourself; everything else will fall into place. I'm right here by your side.” She beams a glorious smile, and for a few moments, she makes me believe this will be incredible. Then I remember the ache in my chest, the emptiness in my heart, and the unbearable decision I’ve made.
“Are you ready to become king?” she whispers, the glint of tears collecting in her eyes with pride.
I used to dream about the day someone would ask me that question. Now, I wish more than anything I could turn it down.
Guendolyn
“Please hurry,” I
