Chapter 112: The Trouble
A smile spread across her face before she could stop it. "Maybe a little."
He noticed it and smiled back. "If you listen to me and trust me, there will be more than just a crown for you," Zareth said, his voice dropping.
She tilted her head. "More?"
"This is only the start, Rowena. The world is large, and it’s weak. We could rule it together. We could take it. Properly. If we stay united, there’s no reason we can’t expand our reach."
She considered his words for a moment before nodding. "I like the bond we’re forming," she said honestly, a small, genuine smile on her face. It felt like a pact.
"That bond will be our strength," Zareth replied.
They returned to their meal after that. Rowena relaxed enough to eat properly, tasting the food rather than simply going through the motions. Around them, the feast continued to grow louder. Cups were raised. Jokes were shared. The room felt alive.
As she lifted her cup to drink, she felt a strange awareness settle over her. She glanced across the hall without knowing exactly why. That was when she noticed him.
Across the hall, a man was looking directly at her. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a solid build that was neither bulky nor thin. His hair was golden, falling loosely around his face. He was laughing with the men around him, clearly at ease. But his eyes were not on them.
His sharp green eyes were fixed on her. She felt the look like a physical touch. She could not seem to break away from it. He didn’t look away. Even as the others around him continued laughing, his attention stayed fixed on her.
"Do not look at him." Zareth’s voice, close to her ear, broke the spell.
After a few seconds, she forced herself to look away, suddenly aware of how exposed she felt sitting on the raised platform.
She glanced at him. "What?"
"The man you were looking at, stay away from him." He said.
"Who is he?" she asked.
"He is a problem. A good-for-nothing. Don’t ever speak to him." Zareth replied.
She hummed softly, unsure how to respond. "I wasn’t planning to speak to him."
"Good. Keep it that way." Zareth’s tone left no room for discussion. He picked up his knife and cut a piece of meat, his movements deliberate.
Rowena looked back at her plate without looking across the hall again.
The feast went on. The music grew louder to compete with the talking. Men became more spirited as the pitchers were emptied and refilled. Near midnight, a group had started a rowdy dice-and-shouting game.
Rowena felt a deep weariness settle into her bones. She leaned toward Zareth again. "I’d like to retire for the night," she said.
He nodded, his attention partly on the dice game. "Rest well. Tomorrow afternoon, I will show you Drakwyne. The important parts."
She stood, smoothing her gown, and stepped down from the platform. A few people noticed her leaving and bowed their heads as she passed. The title still felt unreal, but she acknowledged them politely before exiting the hall.
The corridors were quieter at this hour. Torches lined the stone walls, casting steady light as she made her way to her chambers. When she reached the door, she found Selveth, Elowen, and Nyven already inside.
Her chamber was warm, the fire already built up. Selveth and Elowen were smoothing the blankets on the large bed. Nyven was pouring steaming water from a bucket into a tub in the corner.
"Good evening, my Queen," Elowen said softly as Rowena entered.
Rowena still wasn’t used to being addressed that way. She nodded in response.
The three women moved with quiet efficiency. Selveth and Elowen helped her out of her gown and the underskirts. Nyven finished preparing the bath and stepped aside.
Rowena stepped into the tub. The heat was almost painful at first, then deeply soothing. She washed quickly, the scent of the soap cutting through the smells of smoke and feast.
When she was done, they dried her with rough linen towels and helped her into a long night robe.
"Rest well, my Queen," Selveth said.
They bowed their heads and left, closing the heavy door behind them.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the crackle from the fireplace that was burning lower. Rowena climbed into the bed. The sheets were cold at first, then warmed. She closed her eyes, expecting sleep to come quickly. Instead, her mind refused to settle. She turned from one side to the other, staring at the ceiling, then the wall, then the door.
Her mind kept replaying the events of the day. The ceremony. The weight of the crown, the sound of hundreds of men kneeling. The way everyone had bowed when the word "Queen" was spoken in a dozen different voices.
A slow, warm feeling spread through her chest at the memory. It was a good feeling. A powerful feeling.
The thought made her heart race over and over again. She sat up suddenly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She got out of bed. The stone floor was icy under her bare feet. Crossing the room, she went to the chest where Selveth had placed the crown. She lifted it carefully, her fingertips tracing its edges.
She smiled. "Queen Rowena," she whispered to the quiet room.
The title sounded strange in her own voice. Who would have thought? Not her mother. Especially not her mother. Her smile faded slightly as she thought of her mother. A sharp pang went through her, a mix of pride and a loneliness so acute it felt like sickness.
She held the crown close for a moment before setting it back down. She wished fiercely and suddenly that her mother had been in the hall to see it. She wondered whether Eirene would have been proud or just as afraid as she was when she found Rowena had accepted to be a vessel.
"I hope you’d be proud." She murmured.
She turned away from the chest. And froze. A man was sitting on the edge of her bed. Her breath caught in her throat.
