Long May She Reign(11)

They led me to a tightly spiraling staircase in the far corner of the Fort. There were no lamps, and no windows, so one of the guards seized a lantern to light the way. We climbed, to the second floor, and the third.

A door opened on the fourth floor, and someone barreled out, slamming into me.

They were tall, even taller than me, well built. My nose slammed against their collarbone, and they flinched back, feet stumbling on the steps they had just descended. I yelped, more in surprise than pain, and Dagny leaped out of my arms.

It was William Fitzroy. I swayed from the impact, staring at his face. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and his golden-blond hair was spattered with a dark substance that might have been blood. But he was alive. Another survivor. I hadn’t even thought of Fitzroy since I left the palace, hadn’t even considered the possibility of his death, but relief rushed through me when I looked at him now. He was kind of an idiot, but he didn’t deserve to die. He, at least, was here. Solid and breathing and blinking at me in confusion.

“I am sorry,” he said, with a distracted shake of his head. His grief was like a physical presence in the air, painful to breathe in. “Excuse me.” He stepped around us and hurried on. I stared after him, unwilling to look away until he was out of sight.

He had survived. Someone, at least, was left.

I scooped Dagny up again and nodded for my escort to continue.

The guards led me to the top floor of the Fort, where the royal apartments were kept ready for times of crisis. No one was watching the entrance when we arrived, but one of the guards peeled off to stand there, while the other led me inside and through to a large room clearly intended for the queen’s use. Embroidered red cushions had been piled on the four-poster bed, and a thick rug covered the otherwise bare floor. A harp stood against one wall—the queen had loved music—and I could see many unworn dresses through the open door of the wardrobe, each worth more than a year’s income to most people in the kingdom. Pots of color had been lined up on her dresser, along with a brush and jewels. Even in an emergency, the queen would look her best.

“Do you have everything you need, Your Majesty?” The guard hovered by the door. He looked rather eager to leave. Of course. He couldn’t leave my presence without permission.

“Naomi,” I said quickly. “Will she be coming here, too?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked nervous. “These are the royal apartments, Your Majesty. Everyone who comes to the Fort will be given accommodation, but only you can stay here. For your own safety. Is there anything else you need?”

“No.” My voice cracked on the word. “No, thank you.”

“Then I will leave you to rest, if that pleases Your Majesty. It has been a long night.”

I nodded, and, with a bow, he stepped out of the room and closed the door.

But I was in the wrong place, I realized, as the lock clicked. The monarch should have been in the king’s room, not the queen’s.

So much for asserting my place. I was as out of the way here as I would have been in my lab. But perhaps that was the point. It suggested respect, without putting me in the most obvious place for another attack.

I dropped Dagny onto the bed. She kneaded the sheets, her claws snagging on the silk.

A diadem rested on the dresser. Diamonds glinted in the dim light. I picked it up, careful to avoid touching the jewels, and slid it onto my head. It perched there, looking gaudy in the reflection against my black hair.

Queen. I was queen.

My reflection didn’t seem to believe me. Who would? I didn’t look like a queen. Ruling in Epria meant being as glamorous and luxurious and beautiful as possible. If you dripped with gold, if you were spoiled and selfish, if you looked like a fitting idol at the center of the court’s intricate dances . . . then, you could be queen. I just looked like a gangly child, dressed up in my mother’s jewels. I looked ridiculous.

And not the good kind of ridiculous, the one that everyone in court adored. Weak. Laughable. But what did it matter, I thought, as I tossed the diadem back on the dresser. Everyone was dead, weren’t they? What court did I have left to lead?

I hoped Naomi was all right.

Queens probably had servants to help them undress, but no one would be coming now. I stretched my arms around my back, reaching for the laces, but I couldn’t grasp them, so I kicked off my shoes, washed my face in the basin by the window, and sank onto the sheets. My arms fell around Dagny, and she snuggled close.

I buried my face in her fur and let her rhythmic purring soothe me to sleep.





FOUR


I AWOKE TO SHARP KNOCKING ON THE DOOR. I SAT UP, shoving my tangled hair away from my face. My eyes felt sticky, and a dull ache pounded at the back of my head. I hadn’t slept nearly enough.

“Freya?” It was my father. “Are you all right?”

I tried to step out of bed, and stumbled. I was still wearing that ridiculous dress from the banquet, with its thirty-six layers of skirt and sleeves up to my ears. It had become twisted while I slept, and I fell as I tried to right it, my elbow slamming against the floor. I bit back a cry, tears stinging my eyes.

“Freya?”

“Yes,” I gasped. “I’m all right. What’s happened?”

The lock clicked, and my father stepped inside. “Did you sleep well?”

He could not honestly be asking me that. I had slept, but it had been a strange sort of half sleep, always on the verge of waking.