The Mirror King (The Orphan Queen, #2)(107)

“My gown requires attendants.” Unbelievable.

Rosanne nodded. “Many queens’ clothing required either attendants or magic, pre-wraith. Fashion was forced to become simpler a hundred years ago.”

The gown had a short train, and the cape yet another. “How am I supposed to sit with all this?”

But the clock on the mantel struck noon, and when Rosanne finished clasping my chain around my neck—my child-sized signet ring dangling from the end like a pendant—she hurried from the room.

“I’ll fetch Chrysalis,” Melanie said on her way out. “I’ll keep him out of trouble and make sure he gets back to his room once the ceremony is finished.”

“Thank you.” I stepped out to find James in his dress uniform, waiting to escort me.

I gave him a moment to notice the gown, the sleeves, the enormous cape. A faint smirk appeared on his face.

“Say anything and I’ll smother you with my cape.”

“I was just going to suggest that red is your color.”

With a weak smile, I practiced my glide on the way to the throne room, and James offered unnecessary reminders: when to move, when to sit, what to say before and after the crown went on, and how to respond to the endless line of people swearing fealty to me.

The throne room doors were closed, only a pair of guards outside to watch for our arrival. One in red, one in blue. Both bowed. A rumble of voices came from within.

James signaled to the guards, and they hauled open the doors with a creak muffled by the sound of voices.

A hush fell over the crowd and all eyes turned toward the open doors. Merchants, soldiers, and nobility from all over. I caught smiles from the Calloways and Gray brothers, and a sullen frown from Prince Colin near the front.

I held my place while James strode down the aisle, tailcoats fluttering behind him. When he stood at the dais where the vermilion throne waited, he faced the audience. “It’s Aecorian tradition for visiting royalty to make a speech on coronation day. I regret that my cousin, King Tobiah, is no longer with us. Princess Wilhelmina has asked me to speak in his place. . . .”

There had to be a thousand people here. Everyone was crammed in close, and the stink of so many bodies wafted into the hall. But the tall, narrow windows on either side of the throne were wide open, which seemed rather unsafe, but this side of the castle overlooked a cliff and marsh and the wreckage of Snowhaven Bridge, rather than the city.

James had stopped talking.

Everyone was looking at me again.

I’d missed my cue, but the benefit of being queen was that people waited.

James stepped aside as I began what I hoped was a stately glide down the narrow aisle. As I passed, a couple of people reached out to brush their fingers against my sleeve, or touch the hem of my cape. Sometimes others shooed them away.

I clenched my jaw and kept my eyes on the throne, in silhouette earlier, but now that I was closer and the light had shifted, I could see that it was indeed carved from deep red wood, polished and gleaming, with a thin red cushion.

When I reached the dais, I climbed the steps and somehow—miraculously—managed to maneuver the dress and cape as I turned.

Standing before the crowd, my heart stumbling over itself, I wanted to pull back and slip into a persona. I wanted to wear the mask of a queen, something to hide behind so I didn’t have to think about the enormity of what I was doing. Becoming queen.

But not now. Not this time. These people needed me, Wilhelmina, not my impersonation of what I thought a queen should be. So as I spoke the rehearsed words, I found Melanie in the front of the crowd, Chrysalis close to her side, and said it all to my best friend.

I’d fight for my people. I’d rule fairly. I’d always remember that I served them.

When I finished, she smiled and offered a slight nod, and I performed the miracle of sitting while wearing an impossible gown. A pair of attendants sneaked up to unclip the cape from my sleeves.

A priest approached with a gold crown resting on a scarlet cushion.

Like my gown, the queen’s crown was an intricate display of swirls and angles and knots, all twisted into a delicate dome. There were no gemstones or pearls on it, no bands of silk or pads to soften its weight.

When the priest said the Saints’ Blessing over the crown, and then over me, my breath came in quiet gasps.

This was it. This was the day I’d waited over half my life for. I caught Melanie’s eye just before the priest’s sleeve swung in front of my face.

Then the weight began to settle. First in the front, around the sides of my head, and finally the back. It was forward heavy, but before I could reach up to straighten the crown myself, the priest nudged it back for me.

“Steady,” he murmured. “Try not to move your head.”

Glide. Don’t move my arms. Don’t move my head. Queens weren’t allowed to do anything but sit in difficult dresses.

Someone cheered. Maybe Melanie, maybe the wraith boy, maybe someone else. But all at once, everyone was cheering. The sound shook the throne room, making the stone floor vibrate under my feet.

I was queen.

“Queen Wilhelmina! Queen Wilhelmina!”

Queen when I’d realized maybe I shouldn’t be. Queen because friends had died for it. Queen because there was no one else.

I’d been given more lines to say as people approached to swear their fealty. To some people, I agreed they would keep their lands and titles. To others, I granted what they’d lost during or since the One-Night War. To most, I simply accepted their offers of service.