The Mirror King (The Orphan Queen, #2)(82)

“This morning you were ruled by a tyrant. Tonight, your rightful queen returns, and I promise you this: I will protect you.”

A low cheer rolled through the crowd as Chrysalis and I reached the front of the convoy. Melanie and James hopped off their horses to make way for me, but it was unnecessary. No one wanted to get too close to the wraith boy. The threat was gone, for now.

Then, the chanting rose up again.

“Wilhelmina. Wilhelmina. Wil-hel-min-a.”

I glanced over my shoulder. An ocean of eyes looked up at me, some with tears making them shine.

Our procession moved through the gates of the inner curtain and finally the castle rose above me, blocking out the sky.

Melanie and James helped me off the wraith boy’s shoulders, and we all crossed the vast courtyard with wild, untended gardens, quiet fountains, and elegant but crumbling staircases that led to the main doors.

It was to the thunder of my name that I stepped back into Sandcliff Castle for the first time since the One-Night War.

The doors thudded closed behind me, muting the noise of my name. The Gray brothers were sitting on a nearby bench, with Paige standing over them. She wore a simple, smart dress with nothing to indicate rank; she should have been a duchess.

“Ronald,” said Melanie, “get that arrow out of your arm.”

“Cordelia is coming. She’s our physician.” Paige looked up at me, hopeful, but greeting her would have to wait a moment longer.

I faced the wraith boy. “How many people did you kill?”

“I didn’t hurt anyone.” Chrysalis tilted his head. “I was very careful, because that’s what you wanted.”

Relief poured through me. “Very good.”

“Tonight’s demonstration won’t be the last.” Patrick stood at the back of his cell, hands clasped behind him. His shoulders were straight, and his feet a hip’s width apart. His eyes stayed level on me. “They will riot again, until you do something about Colin.”

The riot was Patrick’s doing. Of course. As punishment for us not returning in the way he’d wanted: with him as my general and future king.

James stepped forward as though to silence Patrick, but I held up a hand.

“Perhaps.” I lowered my voice and glared through the bars. “But you won’t be there to see it.”

He was a statue; the flickering light of the oil lamp danced across his face, making his scar flash. “Even if you do send Colin back to the Indigo Kingdom, the people won’t be happy. Not until you’ve sent away every one of the Indigo Kingdom’s soldiers. Until you’ve exiled or executed every one of the loyalists.”

“My friends from the Indigo Kingdom are here to help maintain order. They’re here to help me assert myself as queen.” A lie, maybe. The only one I might call a friend was James, and he’d do whatever Tobiah ordered.

“The people will see through your deception.” Patrick took a measured step forward, putting his face in a banner of shadow created by the bars. “You might think you have power. Control. But soon you will learn that it’s an illusion. Real power comes with willingness to obey necessity. You don’t have that. Not now. Not ever. But when you need it, before the anniversary of the One-Night War, you will unlock those bars and together we will take Aecor.”

“Not now,” I said. “Not ever.” I turned and strode down the hall, shoulders thrown back and chin high. Haughty. Like a queen.

James stayed at my side. “Prison is too good for him, after all he’s done.”

“I know.” The cells we passed were crammed with blue-jacketed soldiers and loyalists; most didn’t look up as we passed, but a few muttered insults.

“He acts like he’s exactly where he wants to be,” James said.

“Typical Patrick.” I tightened my hand around the key to his cell. “He always acts like that. Everything is part of his plan. Maybe it is. Maybe he can plan for anything we’ll do.”

We stepped into the guard room and paused at a desk where an Aecorian sergeant flipped through a stack of papers. Keys rested at his elbow.

“Sergeant.” James’s voice came like steel. “You should rise when your queen enters the room.”

The young man scrambled up so quickly his chair fell backward with a loud clack. He bowed. “Please forgive me, Your Majesty.”

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Theodore Wallace, Your Majesty.”

Wallace. That name was familiar. Merchants, perhaps, or— “Your family had a clothing shop. Your parents made suits and gowns.”

His eyes widened. “Yes. My mother still does, though business has been limited during the occupation and revolution.”

“And your father?”

“Died during the One-Night War.” He lowered his eyes. “It’s been hard without him. I was drafted and sent to the wraithland, but recalled a few months ago. When Patrick arrived, he said your group freed us. That’s why I joined the Red Militia. To show my gratitude and help my mother.”

James waved that away. “Queen Wilhelmina wrote the letter that freed you. Lady Melanie had it delivered. If you want to show your gratitude, serve your queen. You’re out of the Red Militia.”

“I will.” Theodore stared at me. “I will serve you.”