Page 145 of Reign

“Tell my brother I’m coming not only for his crown, but for the head that wrongfully sits beneath it.”

Fitzroy bowed again. “Of course, Your High—”

“Don’t call me Your Highness,” Regina snapped, her voice cracking in deranged fury.

In one swift movement, Regina lifted her sword, wedging the blade beneath Fitzroy’s chiseled jaw—pressing it hard enough to blanch his flesh.

“Call me your Queen!” she demanded, spit flying from her foaming mouth.

Fitzroy met Regina’s manic gaze—her pupils now blown out, engulfing the violet entirely, leaving nothing but round pits of darkness.

A heavy silence fell upon the hall; each second dragged unbearably.

It felt like someone was wringing out my stomach—twisting and knotting it.

Internally, I begged Fitzroy to swallow his pride. I prayed he’d speak the words to spare his head.

As tears brimmed in my eyes, fearing his stubbornness would be his undoing, Fitzroy cleared his throat.

“Of course, my Queen,” he conceded, a warm smile following his words.

Regina retracted her sword from Fitzroy’s throat, triggering a raspy sigh to slip from my mouth.

Overcome with relief, tears trickled down my cheeks.

Before today, I’d noticed frays to Regina’s edges—her stoic sensibility and brutal pragmatism, which I’d mistaken for levelheadedness.

She’d even let me peek behind the drapes, inviting me into her sanctum, eager to boast about her genius in spellcrafting and her talent for shaping the future.

But Wolver’s death had torn down the entire sheet of gilded fabric, exposing the truth hidden behind Regina’s carefully arranged curtain.

She stalked over to the fireplace.

“I’ll have a famed victory over these enemies to magic—to my realm, witches, wizards, and magical subjects,” she mumbled to herself.

Raising her blade once more, she aimed it toward Mabina, as if the deadly weapon were an extension of herself.

“I want the fairies and elves of Wistaman’s Woodland readied for battle,” she commanded.

Before Regina could continue, Mabina shook her head vehemently—her shimmering wings swaying ever so slightly.

“No,” Mabina said in a deep, guttural tone. “When you arrived on this Isle and claimed it as your own, you swore a promise to me. If I gave up my regal title, the fae wouldn’t be forced to fight in your senseless war.”

“Fine,” Regina snapped, her mouth twisting into a grimace, as if Mabina’s refusal physically nauseated her.

“The fairies will remain in the woodland, but I want the elves prepared to fight by sundown—”

“The elves don’t answer to you,” Herla interrupted, glancing up from his elixirs to meet Regina’s steely stare. “We only answer to Mabina, Queen of the Fairies.”

Regina’s expression remained eerily impassive, though her trembling hands betrayed her simmering rage.

Slowly, she crossed the hall and positioned herself behind Herla.

“Do you want his tongue for those words?” Billy asked, drawing a dagger from the scabbard on his belt and leveling it at the elven healer.

Herla raised his hands—they trembled like surrendering flags.

I held my breath, praying he’d be granted mercy.