The Glass Queen

by Gena Showalter

  “Because it takes time for certain conversations to filter through all the noise in here.” She tapped her temple. “Because I’m still learning. Because I was busy. Geez. It sounded like they are the ones poisoning Philipp, because they want to take the throne and rule the kingdom together. And I gotta admit, I’m glad to hear Ashleigh wasn’t the one telling Milo he will be the strongest, most specialest king ever to rule.”

  So, what was the plan to achieve this goal, then? Milo would kill Philipp, Ashleigh would be crowned queen, and Leonora would bury Ashleigh once and for all? Either she would do it all, hoping to win me back, or she would truly marry Milo.

  When we warred, she lived to spite me. And what a punishment it would be. The perfect recompense for me. I had married other women in the past, so, she would marry another man in the present. I would experience her pain and longing for what could not be.

  “I will kill Milo in battle, then, rendering him a nonfactor,” I vowed. As for Ashleigh... I would see her at dinner.

  I better see her at dinner. If Philipp left her in her bedroom, I’d rage.

  Learning about the phantom hadn’t changed my feelings for her. Had it increased my guilt and shame? Oh, yes. But Ashleigh was a priority now, and if we could rid her of Leonora, I could spend the rest of my life making reparation.

  * * *

  I landed on the palace steps ten minutes early. I couldn’t stay away a moment more.

  The archway had been decorated with ribbons and flowers. A swarm of pixies flew about, dusting the blooms with their wings. That swarm avoided one area of the foliage, and I narrowed my focus to try and discern why. When the reason peeked out from a cluster of leaves, I snorted.

  One of Everly’s pet spidorpions crawled up the palace wall to spy on the king, since the sorceress could not hear him through vines.

  Sensing movement behind me, I flicked a glance over my shoulder and scowled. My mother and sister had arrived.

  “Saxon,” they greeted in unison, stiff and formal.

  “Crown Prince Saxon,” I corrected. I remembered how pompous Philipp had sounded when he’d done this to Ashleigh and strove to match his tone. “Soon to be King Saxon. You will use my title.”

  Raven stiffened further, but also nodded. “Crown Prince.”

  Tempest remained quiet, staring ahead and saying nothing else.

  Dismissing them, I returned my focus to the palace doors, where two guards were posted. As I stepped forward, they moved aside, allowing me to enter the foyer.

  The cool breeze died, the overwarm candlelit air quickly becoming an irritant to my skin. I much preferred the outdoors. Other semifinalists huddled together in the corner. All but Milo. He wasn’t here.

  The king waited just ahead, with Princess Dior at his side. I searched for Ashleigh, tensing when I couldn’t—there. Partially hidden behind Dior.

  Ashleigh moved into my line of vision. I should have relaxed at the sight of her, but my every muscle turned to stone. She wore a gown made of little clusters of green avian feathers, the magnificent garment paying proper homage to her curves.

  Her hair flowed in rich, sable waves, with only the sides pinned back. A rosy flush painted her luscious skin. Around her eyelids, I detected a subtle line of dragon soot, turning her eyes into a smoky dream.

  I’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

  As she looked anywhere but my direction, I fought the urge to push my way to her, to crowd her and force her to acknowledge my presence. I approached the king instead, only then noticing the rapidness of his deterioration. Nine days ago, he had been healthy, not a thing wrong with him. Today, he had sallow skin, sunken cheeks, and thinning hair. One of his front teeth had chipped. He had several bruises on his hands.

  Everly was right. He was being poisoned, his body wasting away. To remain upright, he leaned on a cane. Since he believed he was being drained by an evil sorceress, he probably wasn’t taking precautions, having his food checked by royal tasters.

  I derived no satisfaction from his plight, as I once might have, but I could rouse no sympathy for him, either.

  “Prince Saxon,” he said in greeting. Even his voice lacked substance.

  “Your Majesty.” Nod. “Princess Dior.” Nod. I accepted her offered hand and kissed her knuckles, but my attention remained on Ashleigh, who continued avoiding my gaze.

  “Charmed,” Dior said as she blushed and curtsied.

  “We are honored that the royal avian family has joined us this eve,” Philipp said, inclining his head to my relatives. “Queen Raven, Princess Tempest, I’d like to introduce my daughter Princess Dior.” His affection for her was as clear as his disdain for Ashleigh.

  The need to defend my princess seethed within me.

  Philipp continued, “It is my greatest hope that you can set aside your anger with my other daughter, Princess Ashleigh, and enjoy the festivities. My oracle tells me Prince Saxon has already forgiven the girl.”

  “Crown Prince.” I ruled the skies, and it was time everyone understood that.

  I would always rule the skies.

  Before we’d begun this journey, Noel warned there would be times she would have to relay our secrets to the king in order to hide her true allegiance. Whenever Philipp asked a direct question, she could not evade. Whenever she provided an answer, she could not lie. Sometimes, her visions happened spontaneously, the details spilling from her unbidden.

  Risks we’d decided to take, so I did not blame her for speaking of me to my enemy. I didn’t even blame her for giving the eggs to Ashleigh. How could I rail when I appreciated the outcome?

  Beaming like a proud papa, Philipp motioned Ashleigh to his side. “Come here, girl.”

  Proud? I narrowed my eyes. What was his game? Had he learned about Leonora and hoped to use her power?

  “I assure you, King Philipp,” Raven said, lifting her nose, “I will not forgive—”

  “She will,” I finished for her. When she opened her mouth to say more, I held up a fisted hand, a command for silence.

  She bared her teeth at me, but she went quiet.

  Ashleigh floated to her father’s side, a vision...a happily-ever-after all on her own, and peered up at the man, confused. “Father? Would you like me to return to my room?”

  I jerked at the question.

  The king shook his head. “Only for a moment,” he said. “I’d like you to fetch the trinkets you had made for me.”

  Her brow furrowing, she stammered, “Trinkets? I’m sorry, but I’m not sure—”

  “The things...the weapons you paid my witch to create for me.” He glanced about the room, as if embarrassed for her. “Yes, I know about them. My oracle sees all. Now go and fetch them. As I have no need of such things, you may give them to Queen Raven as a token of your great affections for her and her people.”

  The corners of her mouth turned down, down, her expression hardening. “Yes, Father. Of course. I shall fetch the trinkets.”

  I planted my heels in the floor as she dashed off. Her father would pay for this.

  The minutes without her passed at a snail’s pace.

  “Your Majesty,” I grated, keeping my gaze on the door Ashleigh had exited. “There’s no need for Princess Ashleigh to gift my mother with anything. In fact, I won’t allow it. It is my mother who owes your daughter reparation for years of abuse.”

  The queen recoiled at the very thought, but she didn’t defend herself, per my order.

  Where was—

  Ashleigh padded into the room carrying a unique dagger and sword. Two of her best designs. I recognized the grooves for spring-loaded spikes in both. An engraved rose decorated the hilts. Her call sign.

  She stopped in front of me to thrust the pieces in my direction, her usually expressive features blank. “For your mother.”

  I experienced a pang worse than any other.
Though I wanted to accept both pieces for myself, I held up my hands, palms out. “You owe the avian nothing, Princess Ashleigh, and you never did. What happened when we were younger wasn’t your fault. I was mistaken, and for that, I’m the one who owes you restitution.”

  Slowly the emotionless mask fell away, revealing crushing disappointment. I swallowed, wanting only to hold her close and hold the rest of the world at bay.

  With a rough voice, she asked, “So you don’t want the weapons, either?”

  “I want them badly,” I assured her.

  “Saxon—Prince Saxon,” she amended with a tremble, her gaze sliding to and from her father. “You don’t have to be nice to me. I’m sure you can find a better designer.”

  No longer caring about our audience, I tucked two knuckles underneath her chin and gently urged her eyes to mine. “When have I ever been nice to anyone? And I have never come across a better designer or more progressive pieces. But I don’t want the weapons given to me—” my mother would not be getting them “—for an apology that isn’t owed.”

  Wonder sparked, burning off some of the disappointment. I almost beat my chest with pride. I’d done that. Me. “I give the pieces in thanks, then,” she said softly. “Do you accept?”

  “Nothing could stop me.” I claimed both of Ashleigh’s weapons with the reverence they deserved. After I’d looked them over, admiring every facet of their design, I sheathed them both in their proper places, next to my other weapons. “Thank you, Princess. I will cherish them always.” I cupped her fingers, lifted her hand to my lips, and kissed. I turned her palm up to give her a second kiss, flicking my tongue against her throbbing pulse.

  A gasp escaped her, one of surprise and excitement, and I reveled in it.

  “Ah,” the king said, peering beyond us. He brightened. “Our final guest has arrived. The winner of the boon.”

  I pivoted, every muscle in my body tensing as Milo strode into the foyer.

  “Has everyone met Milo, my royal warlock?” the king asked. “He is Ashleigh’s betrothed.”

  21

  Down, down goes the hourglass sand.

  But when will something go as planned?

  Ashleigh

  I stood in place, utterly shocked, my ability to reason gone. Still, I gave it my best shot.

  First, Saxon had entered the palace the way he liked to enter any room—the master of all he surveyed. In that moment, I’d been a live wire of energy, my entire being charged to full power. My prince had only had eyes for me. He’d projected no animosity. Instead, he’d looked almost...tender.

  Now, in a split second, I entertained a thousand thoughts all at once. I wondered if we could make a relationship work, after all. I wondered about the evil stepmother’s defeat, replaying everything I’d studied today. How her pride had been her downfall, how she’d thought herself better than Cinder, how she’d never viewed the girl as an equal and it had cost her. I considered the difficulties and the rewards of being with Saxon. I replayed my father’s summons to his side, how he’d wrapped his arm around me and called me his daughter, I remembered how it had felt as if I were living in a dream. I relived his rejection of my gifts in front of everyone. I heard him tell the boy I’d kissed—the boy I wanted to kiss again—that I would be wedding the warlock. The words continued to echo.

  My betrothed?

  Betrothed? Mine?

  The question tolled, a last rite bell, and I shuddered. I had never agreed to marry anyone, much less a boy who’d burned his father’s journals just to keep a girl bound to a phantom’s whims.

  “Her betrothed?” Saxon roared.

  “For his boon, Milo requested Ashleigh’s hand in marriage rather than Princess Dior’s,” the king explained. “If he wins the tournament, of course.”

  Though my head spun, I snuck a peek at everyone else to gauge their reaction to this news. Raven evinced satisfaction while Tempest projected relish. Dior looked worried on my behalf. Fury blazed in Saxon’s whiskey eyes.

  Why had fate picked this prince for me, only to throw unending obstacles in our path? Had our fairy tale twisted so much, we were no longer supposed to be together? Was that it? Were we supposed to prove how hard we’d fight to be together? Or was it something else?

  Why did Saxon have to look so beautiful, even now? Why was I falling for him instead of someone—anyone—else? And I was falling for him. I couldn’t even blame fate. With his loyalty, his sense of humor, and yes, even his kind, caring heart, the avian crown prince was winning me over all on his own.

  He had many sides, and I thought I might be attracted to all of them. The carefree boy I’d swam with and cuddled, who’d treated my dragons like family. The warrior who had every right to hate me, but protected me instead. The soldier who’d appreciated my designs, when my own family considered them worthless.

  The reincarnate who didn’t know I hosted a phantom. Or did he, and he just didn’t care? He’d already begun to piece things together, and he’d only gotten sweeter.

  But he still fought to win Dior—and I would much rather he wed her than die in battle. I was still a danger to Saxon, and now I had to deal with a betrothed? I... I just... I had... I... I couldn’t think right now, my emotions too chaotic. My world had just been turned upside down and inside out.

  “Father,” I rasped. “Majesty.”

  He stopped me before I could say more. “I will hear your thanks now. Nothing else is acceptable.”

  Thanks? Thanks? I opened my mouth to shout, I will never wed Milo. The warlock was Leonora’s pawn and my enemy. But it wasn’t a negation that flowed from my tongue. “Yes, Father. Thank you. Marrying my favorite warlock will be a dream come true.”

  What! I would never say... I...

  Realization hit, and I went cold. Leonora. She’d gained more power over me. Enough to control my speech for a short while.

  Please be a short while.

  Each time she’d defeated the barrier, she’d only had a few minutes before it reformed.

  As much as I wanted to shout That wasn’t me, I remained silent. The truth would do more harm than good.

  Father nodded, looking as satisfied as Raven. Milo cast me a smug grin, as if he had me right where he wanted me. Had he and Leonora planned this when they’d met?

  Saxon spit out a vile curse and even reached for his new sword, glaring bloody murder at the warlock. “What of my reparation?”

  In his most patronizing tone, my father said, “Only moments ago, you told us you had no need of reparation. Or did I mishear?”

  With a growl, the avian prowled closer to the king. My father shrank back. When Saxon attempted to go around me, I moved with him, remaining in front of him to stand between the two.

  “No,” I said, and oh, thank goodness. I had control of my voice again. I took Saxon’s hand and squeezed, and he offered me a curt nod before backing down.

  I had to do a double take. All I had to say was “no,” and he acquiesced? But that couldn’t be right.

  My father coughed to cover his moment of fear. “What’s done is done.”

  Another growl from Saxon, but he made no other move toward my father.

  The majordomo entered the foyer then and bowed. He wore purple velvet, a uniform usually reserved for the royal servants of Fleur. “Your Majesty. Lords and ladies. Your humble servants request the honor of your presence in the dining room, so that we might serve you a delicious meal.”

  “Come, come,” Father said, sounding relieved. He hobbled in the direction of the dining hall, expecting everyone to follow.

  Milo pushed past Saxon, stopped before me, and bowed. “I will escort you, Princess.” He offered me his arm, his fierce expression telling me to take it—or else.

  In the past, I would have snapped to and accepted. But after scheming to protect my dragons, enduring the wrath of an avian prince, getting chok
ed, and finding out I was possessed by an evil phantom, I found I wasn’t intimidated by him any longer. While I needed to speak with Milo about the engagement, about his meetings with Leonora, I wouldn’t tolerate threats of any kind.

  And why should I? I wasn’t just Cinder. I was a mother of dragons, the fated one of Craven, a designer of spectacular weapons, and a slayer of wicked phantoms—slay pending. There was nothing I couldn’t do.

  “I do not accept,” I told him, bristling. “Once you have offered reparation for your behavior today—arranging a marriage without my permission, glaring at me, and speaking to me as if I am your servant—we will chat.”

  Saxon shouldered Milo aside. “I am her escort,” he said, hooking his arm through mine. “Until the tournament’s end, Princess Ashleigh Charmaine-Anskelisa belongs to me. A decree her father made the day of her arrival. If he lied to me, if you or anyone else touches her without my express permission, I will consider it a declaration of war.” He led me forward.

  Oh, my. His intensity...his power. His jealousy? I fanned my overheating cheeks.

  To me, he muttered, “I’m proud of you, Asha. You are calm and collected, while I am soon to shatter. How long have you known about the engagement?”

  “Two seconds?” Maybe three. “I didn’t mean to agree to it, but there was no stopping Leonora.”

  “That, I know. Your eyes flashed ice blue when you spoke.”

  They had?

  “Does she use him or punish me?” he asked.

  “Both?” Classic Leonora, always upping the stakes. “But it doesn’t matter. You will win the tournament, and I will be released from the engagement. You have to win, Sax.”

  “I will.” He’d never sounded so determined.

  And so, the boy I wanted would wed my stepsister, as feared—as hoped—whether he wanted her or not.

  I missed my next step, but with Saxon’s help I righted quickly.

  “You are unwell?” he asked.

  Yes. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be well again. I was going to lose Saxon. I’d known it, but to have it confirmed...