Page 27 of The Witch Queen

Soon enough, I will make her pay for everything she stole from me.

—From the private writings of Princess Blodwyn

Chapter Eight

Blodwyn

Voices ring in the council chamber, everyone shouting to be heard over one another. But I hardly register their squabbling over the tempest of emotions warring within me. The two words beating in time with my heartbeat:I’m home.

Except it doesn’t feel that way.

The White Palace is closer to a tomb than the home from my memories. The gardens are gray and barren, branches knotted together like monstrous, gnarled fingers. All Mother’s flowers have withered and died. Most of the portraits have been removed. In fact, aside from the scant instances of Papa’s initials, there’s no trace of my family at all. No trace of the life I used to live here. No trace ofme.Which, I assume, is exactly how Ayleth prefers it.

My gaze drifts over to her, seated at the head of the table. InPapa’splace. That hideous crown of hers glimmers in the weak sunlight. Mother’s crown was small and delicate, and she hardly ever wore it. Real queens, Mother said, don’t require such adornment. Ayleth’s crown is huge and gaudy, those oddly shaped jewels sparkling like a beacon—as if to proclaim toeveryoneher station. Because that was all she ever cared about. Certainly not me.

As though she can sense my thoughts, Ayleth looks at me.Something flashes within her dark eyes. I’d noticed it in the courtyard, too: surprise, perhaps. Then horror, as she realized what my announcement entailed. Beneath that, an unmistakable spark of rage. Foreboding taps at the base of my neck.

The brittle shatter of glass cuts through the clamor. The arguing dies at once, all attention pivoting to where Aunt Margaret is standing at the front of the chamber, the broken remnants of what I assume was a wineglass scattered at her feet.

“That’s better,” Aunt Margaret says in the silence, smoothing her bodice as she rejoins the table. “I must admit: I’m highly disappointed. Is this any kind of welcome among family?”

Family.As if that word could ever describe most of the people in this room. Especially Ayleth.

“You’ve caught us by surprise, Your Grace,” a middle-aged man with beady black eyes says. Master Parnell, I think. With his midnight-colored robes and hooked nose, he reminds me of a crow. A greedy one.

“Surprise?” Aunt Margaret asks, confused. “Blodwyn has always been Riven’s heir. Why all this fuss about a decided matter?”

“The princessisHis Majesty’s sole surviving child,” another man at the table allows, Lord Warbeck, someone called him. “But even Your Grace must understand that a female claimant for Riven’s throne is…unprecedented.”

Unwanted,he means. A bitter taste cuts between my teeth as I’m reminded of when I used to overhear my ladies talking about howunfortunateit was that I failed to be born a son. Father certainly agreed. For as many times as he would burst into my rooms bearing gifts or whisking me off on an adventure, there were other days when he scarcely looked at me. Or when he did, the expression on his face could turn my blood to ice.

“I don’t see why that matters,” I say, smothering the memories. “Most ofyouare male and I don’t notice anything particularly special about you.”

The councilors gawp at me like I’ve grown a second head. Aunt Margaret nudges her elbow against mine.

Careful,I can imagine her saying.Do not lose control.

I grit my back teeth.

“Well, there’s certainly nothing special about Rathburn, now, is there?” another chimes in, earning a few snorts of laughter.

The man I take to be Rathburn glowers.

“Now, now,” Aunt Margaret chides. “Let’s all be civil. But I do agree with the princess’s argument. Riven currently has a queen regent. If Ayleth can rule in Callen’s stead, I don’t see why Blodwyn can’t be considered. In any case, I don’t see aprincearound.”

Ayleth shifts uncomfortably in her chair. When I went to live with Aunt Margaret, I was certain that news would arrive from the palace announcing the birth of my half-brother. After my initial anger at Ayleth faded, part of me even hoped for such an event. My life at Aunt Margaret’s estate was happy. What did I want with a palace filled with terrible memories? A realm that never wanted me to begin with? But that letter never materialized, something Aunt Margaret interpreted as a sign for us to put our own plans into motion. Much as I despised the idea of returning to this place, I hated the thought of Ayleth winning even more.

“I’m sure that Blodwyn is more than capable of ruling,” Ayleth says, but the last word is stilted. “It’s just that the princess never mentioned a desire to—”

“Did you ask me?” I interrupt.

The color on Ayleth’s face deepens. My lips twitch. It’s highly satisfying to corner her like this. Catch her in her own trap.

“Much has changed in the last years,” Aunt Margaret continues. “Blodwyn has embraced her responsibility to Riven. She should be applauded for her selflessness and sense of duty.”

“Applauded, yes,” Warbeck chimes in. “But Braxos’s Trials are intended to be undertaken by areadyruler. The princess has barely reached her sixteenth year.”

“Which means she’s of age,” Aunt Margaret replies simply. “And legally permitted to assume the regency.”