Page 101 of The Crowned Queen

With a sigh, Araya turned back toward Loren. Even from across the hall she could feel the sadness rolling off him through the bond, a heavy weight settling on her chest. He didn’t move as she crossed the hall to him, his attention fixed on something beyond the vines.

“Do you want to go in?” she asked, touching his arm gently.

“I really don’t.” Loren turned his back on the grove, his voice rough. “I’m sorry⁠—”

“Don’t be.” Araya stepped into him, wrapping her arms around him. “Let me carry it for you.”

He shook his head, his green eyes shining. “I’d have loved for you to see this as it was. Not like…this.”

Araya swallowed hard, tears pricking the backs of her eyes. “Maybe I will one day.”

Loren didn’t smile. “We can dream, I suppose.” He took her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour of what’s left.”

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

“This was the throne room.”

Araya trailed after Loren into the cavernous space, their footsteps stirring up years of dust and grime. It hadn’t taken the same damage the entrance hall had, but nature and time had put their marks on it. Waning daylight filtered through the shattered windows, illuminating the rotting remnants of the faded pennants. Deep drifts of dead leaves fetched up against the walls, vines crawling across the raised platform at the far end of the hall and the two heavily carved chairs atop it.

“Did your parents hold court often?” Araya asked as Loren approached his parents’ thrones.

“For formal occasions. Holidays and the like.” Loren leaned down, brushing a scattering of leaves from the steps. But he didn’t move to ascend them. “They traveled a lot. My father always said it was easier to hear the people if you took the time to walk among them.”

“He sounds like a good king,” Araya murmured.

“He was.” Loren straightened, staring up at the thrones. “He was everything a king should be. Fair. Patient.” He shook his head, his voice thick. “He adored my mother. Said she made him a better leader.”

Araya’s chest tightened, his grief weighing heavy on her heart. But Loren smiled when he looked at her.

“Here,” he said, holding out his hand. “There’s something else I want to show you.”

He led her around the dais, brushing dust from the intricate mosaic adorning the marble wall. Araya watched curiously as he studied it, tracing the vines that spread across the wall like he was searching for something.

“Here,” he said finally, pointing to a spot near the center of the design. “Press your hand to that leaf.”

Araya frowned, leaning closer. The leaf he indicated looked exactly like the others curling across the wall. But when she pressed her palm against the cool stone something clicked. Araya jerked back in surprise, a cool wave of magic rushing across her skin as that section of the wall slid silently aside.

“It leads straight to the royal wing,” Loren said. He stepped into the opening, a pair of aetherlamps flaring to life and illuminating a set of narrow steps. “It’s keyed to our magic. Only members of the royal family can open it.”

Araya stepped into the opening, jumping as the door slid closed behind her. But the aetherlamps shone brightly, illuminating their path as they climbed. It reminded her uncannily of the Aetherium, the narrow steps curving upward for several turns. Loren passed the first landing without pausing, only stopping at the second.

“You can get almost anywhere in the palace using these,” he explained. “But my parents mostly used this one to come and go from the throne room quickly.”

This time, Araya was ready when he pressed his hand against the faint outline of the door. Magic rushed over her again, this panel sliding aside as soundlessly as the one below. Her heart in her throat, Araya ducked her head and stepped out into the fae royal family’s private quarters.

There were no signs of battle here. No charred stone or shattered doors. Much like Ithralis, it had been abandoned instead of ransacked. But here it had happened suddenly. No one had gotten the chance to pack anything up, or cover the furniture with dust sheets. It all left Araya with the uncanny feeling that she was a trespasser here, like the people who lived here might come back at any moment.

But Loren’s parents were dead. His sister exiled on Eluneth. And Loren⁠—

Araya followed him as he drifted through the halls like a ghost, pushing open doors at random. He didn’t do more than pause at each one, glancing in at the remains of a cozy library, an office with papers still scattered across the desk, a sitting room with a hearth Araya could have stood upright in.

“Eloria’s bedroom,” he said, opening the next door.

Araya slowed, peering in at the carved wooden bed with its pale curtains. It was nothing like Eloria’s stately rooms in Lumaria. Instead, every surface here was cluttered with books and ribbons and trinkets that had clearly meant something to the girl who once lived here.

“She was so young,” Araya whispered.