My Beloved Queen

CHAPTER SIX

vi. the princess in waiting

promised
// the cloud grows on the horizon—black and ugly, bearing the threat of war, and the promise of death. she watches it approach, hope curdling in her stomach, and fear flooding her chest.

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The shrine had been built near the aviary greenhouse. Or, rather, the greenhouse had been built near the shrine, to honor goddess Edite. She was your family's patron goddess—the deity you directed all your pleas for protection and admissions of thanks toward.

And there was so much you were thankful for—so much you wanted to be protected from.

Too much.

You took the scenic, curving path to the shrine—the one dotted with vibrant cornflowers and blood-red poppies, where you could walk as close as you could to the willow tree growing near the shrine without stepping off the stony path. Your grandfather had planted it—the willow tree. He'd done it to show gratitude—to make known his infinite thanks to goddess Edite for sparing his life in the war.

You wondered if he'd ever questioned why she had chosen to save him, and not one of the soldiers under his command.

Maybe she'd thought his life more valuable. Maybe she'd thought sparing him would make up for all the persons she didn't save.

Maybe he'd just been lucky.

You chose to think he hadn't been; you chose to think the gods cared for those in their custody.

What other reason would they have to permit you to exist?

"Isn't the weather wonderful today?" The light-hearted question fell effortlessly from your smiling lips, as bright and amicable as the sunlight warming your skin. Your steps toward the shrine were light and feathery, unchained by bothersome concerns or guilt-ridden memories. Stormy worries faded from your mind, burned away by a fierce, joyful sun. A sun that knew no night or rain.

Only day—only light.

For here, in the presence of the gods, mortal concerns held no clout. Here, theirs was the only authority you had to fear.

"Yes." A smile played at Isil's lips, prompted by the sight of your own joyful grin. He followed closely behind you, and as you neared the steps leading up to the shrine, he grabbed you politely by the elbow—to steady you if you tripped. "I suppose it is."

A contented sigh fell from your lips, and you paused to place the mask quietly to the side. You had no need for it while in the presence of the gods.

"How kind of the gods," you mused softly, your gaze flickering to the glorious blue sky, "to bless us with such lovely sunshine."

You felt Isil's grip on your arm tighten, and when he spoke, his words sounded strained—false. An imitation of agreement. "Oh, yes. How wonderfully...charitable of them."

Your gaze fled to Isil, and, for once, you let your feelings run freely across your face. Confusion and concern mixed together in your eyes, and you stared at Isil without worry of needing to hide your true thoughts.

Something like resentment swam in your friend's sharp gaze, and the smile that had once been playing at his lips had soured into a bitter frown. But then he felt your gaze on him, and the sharpness in his eyes was dulled by a sudden worry—a sudden concern for the cause of the troubled look decorating your face.