Page 190 of Burn Her They Said
“Every year we honor the Goddess of the Harvest by selecting one witch whom we bestow the role of our Harvest Festival Queen.” She swivels to face me, and my chest constricts, as I could swear her gaze bores straight through the blue velvet covering it.
Whispers rise in volume to my right, and I turn to where Prince Auden stalks past the witches who have parted to allow him passage. Then my nostrils flare in annoyance when many of the witches reach forward and clutch at his uniform, while others graze their hands over his body so brazenly it twists my stomach. This display of how he experiences the same callous objectification as I do garners some strange sense of sympathy to build for him.
“The Harvest Festival Queen embodies the value a witch brings to her community. In celebration of the role we hold as pillars of emotional wellness, nurturance, and the bearers of life.”
Frustration infiltrates my veins with its throbbing ache—because what does it matter if one can give life when the same being is forced to end it repeatedly? Do I still belong in this circle if I have been forbidden from ever having children?
“The Goddess of the Harvest enriches the soil, providing proper conditions for our food and water sources to ensure our survival. To honor her gift of life, we crown one witch to embody this role, as, barring any disabilities, every witch can bear life.”
Do I still count as a witch with my womb rendered useless? Nothing more than a burden which bleeds needlessly month after month? Should an assassin stand with those who might be selected to embody a Goddess who gives life?
“The witch who is crowned our Queen of the Harvest will sit upon the Harvest Throne and share in the first dance of the night, partnered with my son, Prince Auden.”
The Prince’s hazel eyes seek and find mine, shining through the silver of his mask. Varic moves closer until there is barely a breath of air between us. The warmth from his body envelops my side while the concern he feels spirals through my magic, now that his possessive nature has taken hold. Fear prickles in the center of my chest, with the last thing we need being the type of attention an overprotective Varic elicits.
“The Queen will now make her selection.” Prince Auden’s voice rings out as his mother moves about the circle methodically, pausing to consider each witch before moving on to the next.
The closer she moves, the more I wonder what criteria she uses to make her decision, hoping none of it will make her choose me.
Swallowing does nothing to mitigate the growing lump in my throat when she finally stops before me. I can’t help but shake when she takes hold of my hands, and I stare up at the Prince as he strides over. His grin widens as he carefully unties the blindfold from behind his mother’s head, and my stomach drops when her keen brown eyes stare back with a flash of acknowledgement.
“Imperial Grand Witch Tasch.” She projects her voice while I shakily lower into a curtsy. “You are my choice for Queen of the Harvest this year.” Her face falls as she studies my failed attempt to provide her a convincing smile in response.
“Thank you for this honor, Your Royal Highness.” I curtsy again.
Her smile beams brighter as she releases her hold on my hands and turns in the opposite direction. One which I am to follow as she moves toward the elevated dance floor where white beams rise all around the wooden structure, from which a white fabric roof hangs with fairy lights strung beneath it.
Varic strides close by my side, providing me comfort despite his agitation thrumming through my magic.
Prince Auden stops at the bottom of the stairs, seemingly waiting to escort me, when Varic slides in between us. He scans the area and takes hold of my hand, enveloping it in his own, while bracing the curve of my lower back with his opposite, allowing me to feel the warmth of his skin as he retracts his shield everywhere our bodies connect with each other. He offers the Prince a curt nod, while the royal simply offers to escort his mother, with each of their guards trailing behind them.
The crowd swarms the stage once we have all assembled, murmuring as Varic releases my hand while maintaining contact with my lower back. He leads me to what must be the Harvest Throne, pristine white wood artfully adorned with fresh flowers.
I send my magic to all of my Guards, while a sense of unease undulates back from their forms. They each scan the crowd with uncertainty, as the attention placed upon us here feels suffocating compared to the citizens for whom we are used to performing.
My role here is different, with the expectations a mystery, in juxtaposition to the land filled with those who expect me to use my magic. Whereas here I must resist, needing to keep from being exposed for manipulating an Annovian audience.
Emperor Aldritch stares over as Lorn whispers in his ear, wearing an unreadable expression while my power detects that his emotions remain unusually stable.
A prickling heat spreads over my shoulder, arcing along the exposed curve of my back, licking everywhere Varic’s gaze grazes as he surveys the area. Prince Auden, however, is less covert, as anyone in the audience could draw a line from his eyes to me.
Finally, the Queen strides in our direction with what I hope will be more explanation.
“Smile,” she warns under her breath.
I force my cheeks to lift when Lanska presents a silver crown on an Annovian blue cushion. Then a collective gasp tears through the crowd when the Queen removes her own crown with a nod for me to tilt my head forward.
Diamonds and sapphires glimmer from within the silver, catching and refracting the lights strung above as she holds it before her. I hold my breath, and the muscles in my neck tighten as she sets it down gently, taking more focus than I would have guessed to keep the heavy thing from sliding off.
“I hereby crown you, Queen of the Annovian Harvest Festival!” She takes a step back and starts up the applause as cheers erupt from the audience.
She gestures behind me. “Please take your seat of honor upon the Harvest Throne.”
Prince Auden offers his hand, and a genuine smile spreads across my face from the tingling sensation of Varic’s magic roving over my own, pulsing with his heart to cover my skin as I lower my limb to take hold of the Prince’s.
“Thank you,” I say, gathering my skirts in my free hand as Prince Auden’s grip tightens.
Once I am seated, he releases me and steps back, with his hands clutched behind him on the opposite side of the throne as Varic. The same sorcerer whose mask lifts with the hint of a smile before his eyes flick to the side and pin mine. We hold our shared gaze for far too long, forgetting time only stands still for the two of us, until Varic’s protective nature ultimately forces a break in our connection.
