Page 6 of The Witch Queen

“I hope you accepted—the bribe at least,” I say, throwing her a wink.

“Of course I didn’t…oh no.” Her expression falls as Weston himself saunters over.

Callen’s former best friend is virtually unchanged from the man I first encountered during the pageant for Longest Night. Though I abolished the Order long ago, Weston insisted on retaining the title of Lord of Misrule. He spends his days staging elaborate entertainments and flirting with the women at court, half of whom are in love with him. It’s little wonder. Weston, annoyingly, remains one of the most handsome men at the palace. Lean and tall, without so much as a hint of silver in his chestnut-colored hair or a blemish on his brown skin.

“Your Majesty.” He flourishes an elegant bow. “Marquess. You’re both looking ravishing tonight. Are those new gowns? And that brooch.”

He reaches for the garnet on Joan’s bodice and she swats him away. “Don’t.”

“Forgive me.” He puts up his hands in mock surrender. “I merely wished to offer my congratulations, Majesty, on yet another stunning victory. At this rate, we’ll have Rycinthia begging for peace within the month.”

And not just Rycinthia. Thecovens.

My gaze travels to the windows and the sea of trees spilling down the mountainside, painted blood-red by the final rays of the setting sun. Mother wasn’t exaggerating when she warned that the Heirs would stop at nothing for the Bloodstones. A few months after her visit, I received word that Selene and the others—Mother with them, I assume—fled to Rycinthia, pleading for King Frances’s army. Considering the covens’ history with the White Kings, I was surprised that the witches willingly allied with another mortal ruler. Then again, if I learned anything during my time among the covens, it’s that witches are hypocrites. But that doesn’t matter. Let them scheme. The covenswill need far more than Rycinthia’s army to steal my crown. Malum stirs behind my breastbone, as if to agree.

“I hope you’re right,” I say to Weston.

“Oh, I’m always right,” he replies with one of his roguish grins. Joan groans into her wineglass. “By the way, I trust you received your invitation to the Northcutt twins’ party next week? It would be my honor if you attended.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say.

“Keeping me in suspense,” Weston says, raising his glass to me. “But do come. I’m hungry for a proper game of Castles and you’re the best player I’ve ever met, Majesty.”

The Lord of Misrule smiles again, all teeth, and I think back to the match with him and the king, in which I pulled all crowns. A little shiver races down my spine.

“I don’t know why you indulge him,” Joan comments as Weston disappears into the crowd. “You should have banished him ages ago.”

Like I did all the other courtiers who stood in my way. I scan the rest of the hall, cataloging the various important ministers and lords and ladies of the White Court. It was Callen himself who assisted me in rooting out each member who posed a potential threat during the early days of my reign. Exposing their secrets. Tying their fates to mine. It was highly satisfying to force him to pick this palace apart at its seams.

“Weston is harmless,” I say to Joan, earning a skeptical expression. “Mostly. And he does know how to have a good time.”

Joan snorts. “If you enjoy drunken oblivion.”

“I caughtyouat one of those parties,” I point out. “You were drinking out of a shoe.”

She flushes. “I was…celebrating.”

“I’ll say. And there’s no need to be ashamed.” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “We worked hard to get here. Besides, even you have to admit that it’s fun to watch them all squabble for our favor when they spent so many years looking down on us, or worse.”

Like my own, Joan’s family history isn’t a pleasant one. Though shenever faced the same persecution as the witches, Joan’s connection to the Dwarves made her a pariah at court. Always an outsider—just like me. All that is changed now, though. And I have no intention of going back.

“Well,” Joan relents. A sly smile sneaks onto her face. “I suppose it’s a little bit fun.”

“That’s what I thought.” I tap my glass to hers. “And I suggest that we enjoy ourselves as much as possible.”

Her grin widens. “That reminds me—”

“Joan!”

A courtier weaves through the crowd and approaches the High Table. I recognize her as Anora, Joan’s intended. Before the Order fell, the two women were forced to conduct their relationship in secret, as couples of the same sex were forbidden by the faith. Female couples, in particular, were considered too close to a coven to be permitted. Lifting that edict was one of the first declarations I made as queen. Joan and Anora have been inseparable ever since.

“Here you are,” Joan says, beaming at the other courtier.

“Sorry to be late,” Anora apologizes. “Time got away from me. But I hoped for a dance?”

“Oh. The queen and I were—”

“Goon,” I say, shooing her. “I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t wait.”