Crown of Iron (Book 1 of the Crown Trilogy)

One

On the other side of this threshold, a kingdom awaits to witness my arranged betrothal to my best friend and the gifting of a crown I wasn't born to wear. I take a deep breath, keeping my eyes trained on the intricate carving of the sanctuary's wooden doors. My fingertips trace the elaborate silver vines hand-stitched into the cornflower fabric of my dress, and my mind races with images of everything which could go wrong today: tripping on my way down the aisle, or my people contesting that the king chose me—one of the powerless—as their next sovereign. But the most predominant of my fears that sends my stomach roiling.

Today my people have opened the city gates to our enemy. The queen of Stigian—the ruler who has no qualms about draining someone like me of my life force until all that remains is skin and bones. My kingdom has no choice but to allow her peaceful entry; her presence is required for today's ceremony.

A gust of wind billows up my back, and I snap my head around. Salone, my newly appointed assistant and younger sister, fans out the train of my dress. With a wide smile consuming her pale, freckled face, she stands and runs her thumbs lightly over my cheeks. She fussed over my makeup for hours, ensuring it complements my sun-kissed complexion and brown eyes.

"You're all set, Your Grace," she says, wrapping a golden-brown tendril of my hair around her finger and letting it go.

"She is almost ready," counters a deep, commanding voice.

Salone bends into a curtsy, and I follow suit with a grace some would consider magical in my snuggly fitted dress. "Your Majesty," I say.

The king holds out his arm, and I loop mine inside, meeting the familiar buzz of his power. The earth vibrates beneath my feet sending a tremor up my spine. The gentle aftershocks are a calming force to my frazzled nerves.

"You look spectacular," he says, pressing his lips to my cheek.

"As do you." I brush my palm over the soft fabric of his jacket sleeve, admiring the beautiful details of the silver stitching shimmering against a background of maroon. The design of his royal uniform complements his burly frame and tawny skin, but it's the pointed crown encrusted with rubies demanding my attention. He doesn't wear it often, but when he does, there is no mistaking that Micah LeFur is the reigning sovereign of the Lucent kingdom.

And soon, I too will wear a crown to proclaim my status among our people.

"I know this is not how you pictured this day, Raelle."

I glance at Micah from the corners of my eyes and say, "No, it's not."

"He would be proud of you. Your match with Leif is a good one, and you have handled the last year with a dignity comparable to his own."

My stomach stirs and I fight to keep the tears at bay. I kept busy all day, pushing aside even the slightest thought of my father. This was a moment I imagined all my life. I pictured him giving his blessing to the person the king chose as my betrothed, and then kissing me on the cheek. He would whisper how proud he was of me before sitting next to my mother in the front row. Hand in hand, my parents would watch as a crown was placed on my head for the first time. My anointment will be a far cry from the wild daydreams of a child.   

"When I was a little girl, I'd loop my arm with his just like this," I squeeze the king's forearm, "and pretend it was this very moment. I don't know if I can do this without him."

Micah turns on the heels of his shiny boots, and compassion radiates from his green eyes. I may not have my father at my side, but I have the next best thing—his best friend. "I believe in you and chose you because the Statera's gift runs strong within you."