Free A Rite of Swords (Book #7 in the Sorcerer's Ring) by Morgan Rice Page B

respect her.
    But instead, she had piled up a
long list of enemies along the way—unlike Gwen, who had a million friends, who
had never sought anything, and yet who somehow managed to get it all. Luanda
watched one person after another cheer for Gwendolyn, hoist her up on their
shoulders, watched her with Thorgrin, her perfect mate, while here she was,
stuck with Bronson, a McCloud, maimed from his father’s attack. It wasn’t fair.
Her father had treated her like chattel, had married her off to the McClouds to
further his own political ambitions. She should have refused. She should have
stayed here at home, and she should have been the one to inherit King’s Court
when her father died.
    She was not prepared to give it
up, to let it go. She wanted what Gwendolyn had. She wanted to be queen, here
in her own home. And she would get what she wanted.
    “They treat her as if she’s a
Queen,” Luanda hissed to Bronson, standing by her side. He stood there
stupidly, like a commoner, with a smile on his face and a mug of ale in his
hand, and she hated him. What did he have to be so happy about?
    Bronson turned to her, annoyed.
    “She is a Queen,” he said.
“Why shouldn’t they?”
    “Put down that mug and stop
celebrating,” she ordered, needing to let her anger out at someone.
    “Why should I?” he shot back.
“We’re celebrating after all. You should try it—it won’t hurt you.”
    She glowered back at him.
    “You are a stupid waste of a
man,” she scolded him. “Do you not even realize what this means? My little
sister is now Queen. We will all now have to answer to her. Including you.”
    “And what’s wrong with that?” he
asked. “She seems nice enough.”
    She screamed, reached up, and
shoved Bronson.
    “You’ll never understand,” she
snapped. “I, for one, am going to do something about it.”
    “Do what?” he asked. “What are
you talking about?”
    Luanda turned and began to storm
off, and Bronson hurried to catch up with her.
    “I don’t like that look in your
eye,” he said. “I know that look. It never leads to anything good. Where are
you going?”
    She glared back at him,
impatient.
    “I will speak to my mother, the
former Queen. She still holds a good deal of power. Of all people, she should
understand. I am her firstborn, after all. The throne deserves to be mine. She
will establish it for me.”
    She turned to go but felt a cold
hand on her arm as Bronson stopped her and stared back. He was not smiling now.
    “You’re a fool,” he said back
coldly. “You are not the woman I once knew. Your ambition has changed you. Your
sister has been more than gracious to us. She took us in when we fled from the
McClouds, when we had nowhere to go. Do you not remember? She trusted us. Would
you return the favor this way? She is a kind and wise Queen. She was chosen by
your father. Her . Not you. You would only make a fool of yourself to
meddle in the affairs of King’s Court.”
    Luanda glowered back, about to
explode.
    “We are not in King’s Court
anymore,” she hissed. “And these affairs you speak of—these are my affairs. I am a MacGil. The first MacGil.” She raised a finger and jabbed
him in the chest. “And don’t you ever tell me what to do again.”
    With that, Luanda turned on her
heel and hurried across the courtyard, down the steps to lower Silesia,
determined to find her mother and to oust her sister once and for all.
    *
    Luanda stormed through the
corridors of the castle in Lower Silesia, twisting and turning her way past
guards until she finally reached her mother’s chamber. Without knocking or
acknowledging the attendants, she barged in.
    The former Queen sat there, her
back to Luanda, in a tall wooden chair, flanked by two attendants and Hafold,
staring out a small window into the blackness of night. Through the window,
Luanda could see all the torches lining lower Silesia, a thousand sparks of
light, and could hear the distant cries of celebration.
    “You