North Queen (Crowns Book 1), page 13
Norah’s heart stopped, and her lungs turned to stone in her chest. She couldn’t draw in a breath. “I can’t be crowned tomorrow.”
“This works in our favor,” James said.
“Favor?” she stammered breathlessly.
“We don’t have the luxury of time, and this puts pressure to pull the coronation forward before the state. Pressure we need. Things will move quickly now. You must be ready.”
“Of course I’m not ready!”
Catherine hushed her and pulled her toward the castle. “Not here,” she said sternly.
Not here, not in public. Not that it mattered, with everyone’s attention on the wagon of severed heads. Her stomach threatened to rebel. She needed to get away from the courtyard, and she let Catherine pull her back toward her chamber.
No sooner had the door closed when her grandmother said, “Do you see now?”
Norah scoffed in astonishment. “See? I see that you’ll have me slap a crown on my head so I can hurry and marry! And that’s the only thing on all of your minds, not the thousand heads in our courtyard, the heads James says are in our favor!” Her voice came nearly at a scream now. “In what mad world would that be considered in our favor?”
“It helps secure the crown before your ignorance loses it,” Catherine snapped back. “And perhaps now it will open your eyes! This is only a token of what the Shadow King has done, and what he will do. You don’t want to marry? Well, I don’t want a kingdom of severed heads!”
Her grandmother’s words silenced her. She didn’t want a kingdom of severed heads either.
“Norah, Aleon has the largest army in the world.”
“To help me take a Shadow throne I don’t want?” She shook her head. “I don’t even want this one.”
Her grandmother snatched her arm and pulled her close. “Don’t ever say that again. Not ever. Not even behind closed doors. Do you hear me?”
Norah drew in an uneven breath, then another. Her desperation was talking for her, and she couldn’t let it.
“It’s not about wanting the Shadow throne,” Catherine argued sharply. “It’s about stopping a great evil. It’s about saving yourself and your kingdom. And I don’t mean evil in simply a vile sense, Norah. He’s true evil incarnate. The Shadow King made a pact with Darkness, a pact that required his own heart.”
Her eyes narrowed. “A man can’t live without his heart.”
“He’s no longer a man. And out of his pact with Darkness, he was given a demon to command his armies. The blood of men gives this demon strength. It does the bidding of the Shadow King, and in return, it gains the souls of the fallen. And now, the Shadow King has the power to corrupt this entire world and bring death to us all.”
Norah’s skin prickled. And he was coming for her…
Catherine’s hold on her hands softened. “I don’t say these things to scare you, child.”
It was a little too late for that. Norah swallowed.
“Come. I have to show you something.” Still holding Norah’s hand, Catherine pulled her out of the chamber and down the hall to a side door leading outside. Norah silently begged that they weren’t headed back to the courtyard.
They weren’t, and she let out a sigh of relief. She let Catherine lead her down a cobblestone side path to an adjoining stone building with no windows. Her grandmother pushed open the door without knocking, and Norah followed her inside.
They stood in the middle of what appeared to be a sitting room, but all around them were paintings. Hundreds of them. Panels of stretched canvas stood upright and were stacked against the wall, balanced on chairs, and piled high on a center table.
Norah maneuvered slowly through the images, following her grandmother. There were so many—mainly of war but some of celebration. Some were of individuals; there were countless faces.
“Samuel!” Catherine called as they worked their way back.
An older man with thick glasses dressed in a sand-colored tunic and matching trousers appeared in the doorway of an adjoining hall, leaning heavily on his cane. “Ah, Queen Regent,” he greeted Catherine. When he saw Norah, he gave a wobbly bow of his head. “Princess Norah. A very unexpected but very welcome surprise.”
“The painting,” Catherine told him. As if there were only one.
“Ah. Yes, yes.” He waved his cane for them to follow as he hobbled through a door and into a back room.
“Which painting?” Norah asked her.
“The only one that matters.” Catherine started after the seer.
Norah followed them to the back room. It was much like the first and also had paintings stacked against the walls. This room had more furniture, which, like the room before, seemed to serve only to hold more paintings.
“Are all of these visions?” Norah asked.
“They are,” he said as he made his way toward the back.
Norah let her eyes pass from painting to painting in the room of visions. She didn’t know what to make of them. Images of death and carnage surrounded her: castle ruins, fallen men, blood pooling in the streets. And in every image of destruction, there was a dark, monstrous man with a horned helm—the Shadow King.
“There,” her grandmother said, and she pointed to a large painting against the back wall.
Norah stopped and stared at herself. It was an image of her sitting on a throne of night, with a crown atop her head. She wore white, the color of Mercia, but this wasn’t the throne of Mercia.
“It’s the Shadow throne,” Catherine told her. “Do you see now? You’ll take it. You’ll overthrow the Shadow King.”
Norah could only stare. She almost didn’t recognize herself; this woman looked strong. Powerful. Like a queen. It looked nothing like how she felt right now. Her soul still shook from the courtyard, and her mind was still foggy with the day’s horror. This woman in the painting wasn’t her.
“This can’t be me,” she breathed.
Catherine clenched Norah’s hand tighter. “Of course it’s you, my dear. It will be you. Fate’s written it.”
Chapter sixteen
The day of Norah’s coronation came with the sun, and Alexander sat in his chamber polishing his boots. He brushed them meticulously, trying to keep his mind from the thoughts that threatened to consume him. Today Norah would be crowned queen and would be one step closer to marrying King Phillip. They needed Aleon, but that didn’t make supporting the marriage any easier.
A knock rattled the door. Before he could answer, Adrian stepped inside. Of course he’d come.
Adrian grinned. “Today’s the day, brother.”
Alexander raised a brow, but he knew what his brother was referring to. “You don’t know that.” Sometimes Adrian was too positive.
“What?” his brother scoffed. “Of course I do. You’re going to be lord justice. Really this time.”
Alexander shook his head as he wrapped the boot brush back in its cloth. “No. The decision hasn’t yet been made, and there are others far more qualified than I.”
“Like who?”
“Many.” Catherine would have put forward a list of names. He suspected the decision would be Lord Branton. The Mercian lord had been a field general before he lost his sword arm in the war, and he’d been a trusted voice to the late King Aamon. His opinions sometimes differed from the council, which was a good thing. He was a good man, and Alexander could respect that decision. He pulled on one boot and then the other. “And even if she has decided, she most likely wouldn’t announce it today.”
“Councilman Edward said it’s customary to name the lord justice on the day of the coronation.”
“Councilman Edward has seen exactly one coronation. That hardly represents customary.”
“Alec,” his brother pressed, “get excited! This is real. It’s going to happen. I feel it.” He looked around. “Where’s Jude?”
Alexander had sent his servant away. “I wanted to prepare alone.”
Adrian shrugged. “I’ll help you.”
Alexander couldn’t help a smile as he rose from the bed. Adrian picked up the polished breastplate from the table and lovingly gave it a wipe with his sleeve before positioning it on Alexander’s chest and buckling the straps carefully. Alexander stood as Adrian finished, watching in the cheval mirror. This had been his father’s armor. He remembered exactly how his father had looked wearing it. He looked very much like his father now.
Their eyes met in the reflection and Adrian smiled. “Father would be proud of you, Alec,” he said, seeming to read his mind. “I am.”
Alexander’s eyes welled, and Adrian hugged him. Alexander held his brother close, treasuring the moment. Then he cleared his throat as he collected himself and clapped Adrian on the shoulder. “Thank you, brother.”
Adrian handed him his sword, and Alexander buckled the belt around his waist.
“Are you ready?” his brother asked with a grin.
No, but he nodded, and they stepped out into the sunlit hallway.
They made their way through the crowded castle and toward the throne room. Well-wishers clapped him on the back as he walked through the crowd of people. The lords expected him to be named lord justice. He never considered himself an ambitious man, at least not the way most men were, but he had always hoped to follow in his father’s footsteps one day. He’d hoped it was his destiny. Of all the visions Samuel had painted of him, none showed him as the lord justice. But then, they never showed someone else either.
Alexander left Adrian in the mainway and stepped into a side hall, finding the room where Norah was privately waiting. He paused for a moment, watching her. She was beautiful, as she always was, and she took his breath, like she always did. She was dressed in white, the color of Mercia. Ornate silver trim lined her gown, which was long with delicate beading. Her hair was pinned up, with loose curls swept back in twisted braids.
“Norah,” he said softly. He should have bowed, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She turned and let out a breath. “Alexander. I’m so glad you’re here. I’m a nervous wreck.”
He couldn’t help a small smile. “You needn’t be. Remember, you only say two words. And I’m pretty sure you can say anything and it won’t matter. In fact, your grandmother may speak for you.”
The corner of her mouth turned up through her pursed lips. “So I’m just to stand there and look the part?”
“Well, you do look… very much a queen.”
She glanced down at her gown. “I suppose that’s the intent.”
Time was slipping away from him. “Shortly, I’ll be calling you Queen Norah.”
“As long as it’s not Your Elegance.”
“Your Regal High,” he said, and it finally pulled a real smile from her. Gods, he loved that smile.
“It isn’t the ceremony I’m worried about,” she said. “I’m not ready.”
Neither was he. “No one ever is.”
She let out a wavering breath.
“Norah,” he said. She looked up at him. “It’s not about remembering now. Leading people takes heart, and you’ve always been the heart of this kingdom. Follow yours, and you’ll know what to do.”
She pursed her lips into a fragile smile and nodded. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear right now,” she whispered.
He hoped he could give her some reassurance. If she could only see what he saw in her…
Her eyes moved past him and over his shoulder. He turned to see Catherine. “Queen Regent.” He bowed. She gave him a nod, but her stern eye cued his leave. He looked back at Norah and gave her a reassuring nod. “When we speak again, you’ll be queen.” He gave her a small bow and slipped out of the room.
Norah’s eyes trailed Alexander as he left to give her some privacy with her grandmother before the ceremony.
“Look at you,” Catherine smiled, clasping her hand. “So much like your mother.”
Her mother. Evanya. Had she felt the same when she’d married Norah’s father? Had she been afraid? Unsure? Worried about disappointing everyone?
“Here,” Catherine said, pulling out a velvet box. “I have something for you. You’ll be crowned with this during the coronation, but I wanted you to see it first.”
Norah removed the top, and her breath caught. Inside sat a gold crown. Carefully, she lifted it from the box. It was heavier than it looked. She ran her fingers over the smooth base, and then up the shaped floral-like edges.
“These represent lilies,” Catherine told her, touching the top shapes of the crown. “They were your mother’s favorite flowers. Your father would have them brought from Aleon for her.” She smiled sadly. “She was taken from us before the crown was completed, but he had it finished, intending to one day give it to you. He would have loved to see this moment.”
Norah’s lip trembled. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“Like its queen,” her grandmother replied, with tears in her eyes.
Norah threw her arms around her grandmother, hugging her close.
Catherine squeezed her back. “They’re with you now, child. And so am I.”
Norah took a step back and nodded, unable to speak.
Her grandmother took the crown and put it back into the box. “Now, everything’s ready. You needn’t fret about anything. And tomorrow, we’ll meet with the council and decide on your lord justice. Someone we trust implicitly.”
Her stomach twisted. There was only one person she trusted implicitly.
Catherine smiled. “For now, one thing at a time, my dear.”
But it was never one thing at a time. Norah swallowed down the lump rising in her throat. If she could just get through this ceremony…
Her heart raced. James had come earlier that morning, giving her the reassurance she had so desperately needed, guiding her toward what she already knew she needed to do. Still, it was hard, and she clenched her hands to keep them from shaking.
“Come now.” Catherine smiled. “It’s time.”
Norah peeked through the double doors to the throne room and felt faint. So many people were inside, surely over a thousand. Her corset and stiff gown did little to help her catch her breath.
“All right, just as we rehearsed,” Catherine directed, prodding her into place. “Yes. You’ll stand out of sight as I enter. I’ll walk to the end. They’ll open the doors again, and then you’ll come.”
Norah nodded as she drew in a deep breath. She could do this, she told herself.
“Smile, my dear,” her grandmother told her. “This will be the first time many have seen you. If it helps, keep your eyes on me as you walk.”
Norah nodded again, and Catherine hugged her tightly. The doors opened, and she waited to the side as the queen regent walked regally down the center of the hall, toward the dais. The guards again closed the doors, and Norah positioned herself behind them. Servants ran quickly around her, adjusting her gown and making sure everything was in place. Time seemed to stop, and she wrung her hands nervously. How long could it possibly take for one to walk to the dais? Was Catherine stopping between each step?
Then the doors swung open, and she wished them closed again. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and she swallowed as she tried to keep herself calm. Never had she seen so many people—it was more than she thought she’d seen just moments before.
“Your Highness,” her captain, Caspian, murmured from the side. She glanced at him, and he nodded.
Walk. She was supposed to walk.
Slowly, she stepped forward. She took one step, then another. Down the center of the hall she walked—slowly, but all too fast. Her heart raced, and sweat beaded the back of her neck as she clenched together her frozen fingers. Norah looked for her grandmother, but there were too many people. She made her way between the masses on either side, focusing on the red floor runner in front of her.
Focusing.
Following.
Following the red. Dark red.
Dark red like the stained sacks in the back of the wagon in the courtyard. She walked the trail of blood.
Her mind roiled through the past several days, from waking in the forest to this moment. Waking from nothing. Into nothing. Remembering nothing.
Now she was about to be crowned queen. Then she’d wed a man she didn’t know—a man, a mortal. She’d unite their armies of mortals. And then she’d face an enemy beyond mortal men.
And the painting. She knew Catherine had shown it to her to give her courage, but it didn’t give her courage. It scared her. She didn’t know that woman looking back at her—that woman who would take the Shadow throne. What if she couldn’t be her? Perhaps the woman she used to be could have. But not her. Not now.
She slowed.
Everything was happening too fast, and the moment hit her. Hard. The throngs of people were so close. Too close. There were so many. Too many. The hall seemed to grow smaller. Each step she took came slower, yet faster—shorter, but longer.
She couldn’t do this.
She couldn’t breathe.
And she stopped.
Whispers breezed through the crowded hall. All eyes were on her—as were their expectations, their judgements. And she could only stand there. She combed the front for her grandmother, but she couldn’t find her. She couldn’t move.
Then she saw Alexander.
He stood just to the right of the dais, close to her chair. Near to her—where he promised he’d always be. He waited, straight and formal, but his smile was warm. He gave her a reassuring nod.
Air filled her lungs. She could breathe.
His hands were at his side. One flicked open. So subtle, but she saw it. And it called her to him.
She could do this, and she stepped forward again.
Her steps came easier.
His smile grew, and so did her courage.
As she reached the front, the high priest held out his hand, taking hers, and helped her step up. An ornate chair stood in the center of the dais where she turned and sat, just as she’d rehearsed, or rather, as she thought she’d rehearsed. She didn’t know anymore. Every rational thought—every instruction she’d been given, every piece of advice—abandoned her now. She could only sit and hope it was right.
