The Rebel Assassin

Chapter 46: The Queen Alone

Queen Magali II had ruled for over a month, and her reign was secure. The throne was safe from the prophecy that had threatened her father. She was backed by his remaining two Guardians. And, unknown to anyone but the few she trusted, she possessed a weapon that could safely kill her rogues.

The crown suited her. It brought out her eyes.

There was only one failure to needle her. She couldn't control her own Guardians.

She didn't know if they were too far away, or if she just wasn't capable. Had her father been able to do it? Or had its power always been a lie? In Magali's most frustrated moments, she found her eyes drifting to Sam. She felt paranoia claw at her throat.

The stars had chosen her. She was Solangia's Heir - actually no, she had given up that title when she took the throne. She was Solangia's chosen queen. Yet she wondered if her unchosen Guardian-born bastard brother would have been able to do it.

So she had sent Sam to the university at Raelsia. She had been kind and polite about it, squeezing his hand and explaining that he was now closer in line to the throne, should anything ever happen to her, and he had to get the kind of education their father had only half-heartedly offered him.

Sam didn't want to go. It showed in his tense stance, his lowered eyes. But that wasn't anything new. He had refused to speak to her since that guard he was sweet on hadn't returned from the mission to find the Black Knight. Nick. The boy meant to be used against her useless Assassin.

She still couldn't think about that abject failure without having to swallow down bile.

But in the end, Sam agreed easily, if not happily. He must have sensed the command beneath her request. He must have realized this was the best option out of everything she could do to make sure he was not a threat to her.

"Would I be happier if I had never been the Heir?" she asked Abram that night. Her arms were folded tight against the cold. The short sleeves of her military-style gown were a bad choice outside. Summer, the summer that had seen her blossom into this new person, was really, truly over. She hadn't quite realized it until she noticed the trees were half-bare.

Abram turned his head just enough to look sideways at her. He was slumped on the balcony rail as if too tired to stand straight, and the moon made his hair look even grayer. "Princess. My Queen." That seemed to be all he had to say for a moment, then he answered quietly, "You may have been happier. But would you have been satisfied?"

She didn't know what answer she had been expecting, but this one made her eyes well up.

Abram levered himself off the railing and gathered her in, wearily. As she laid her head on his shoulder and tried to feel comforted, she couldn't shake the feeling that he no longer held her because he loved her like a daughter, but because he felt it was expected of him, like another requirement of his job.

Now she lay in her bed and strained her ears for any sound. She didn't know what she was listening for, until behind her closed lids she saw Morane Laerhart as she had appeared months ago, dressed in black and smiling brightly. Come to drag her into the city.

She sat up, hands clenched in her blankets. Would she have been satisfied? As an unchosen princess who would never be queen, or as a noble lady, or even as just some rich merchant girl? Or would she always have needed power too?

Her mouth was so dry and she was breathing too fast. Her legs shook when she swung them to the ground and stood up.

Morane had shown her... something. She had made her feel that she could be queen, that she would be good at it. And that had made her happy, and it had made her change.