Free Against the Reign by Dove Winters Page B

father’s most trusted right-hand man. I can almost see my father looking at me through his eyes, hear him in his voice. “Your father, even in some of your darker moments, was proud to call you his daughter. He would tell me often how much he longed to see you taking the crown as the first queen in the line of Newrock.” Rayner looks up at the portrait of my parents and I follow his gaze. So often I would look at that portrait only to turn away again when my father’s painted eyes would lock on mine in that scolding way. But this time, I see that the eyes of the painted face are content, perhaps slightly fearful. Newly married and taking the throne, he no doubt felt apprehensive at what the future held for him. Much like I do now.
    Without another word, Rayner beckons to Ward and Marguerite and they quietly leave. Alone now, I study the dress again, letting my hands smooth out the fabric. My father loved me. He had enough faith in me to have a dress ready for my crowning moment, a dress that was not only beautiful but meant to show the people that I was a good person. He believed I was a good person while so many others do not.
    My hands clench into fists. I hate crying, I hate showing vulnerable weakness. But my heart is trembling, my body is already weakened from the mead, and I can’t hold it in any longer. Walking quickly to the balcony, I sink to my knees and scream at the top of my lungs, allowing myself to feel every emotion I’ve been holding back. My parents are dead. One of my best friends has betrayed me. My brother is in danger. And there is only one sure way to save him.
    Grief takes the form of sobbing and anger quickly follows. I draw my dagger and begin to slash at the stones of the parapet. My dagger does little more than mark them, but it gives me the satisfaction of destruction that I need right now as my life is falling apart. I wear a crown that represents supreme power, but I’m powerless to stop any of the events that are about to unfold. I’m queen, but I’m weak and vulnerable.
    And I miss my parents.
    Too exhausted to hold the dagger anymore, I collapse to the cold floor and finish sobbing. The sun is beginning to set, casting rays of color across the sky. From where I lie I follow the light to my parent’s portrait. By my father’s hand rests the hilt of the sword of Newrock and in my weary stupor, I marvel at how the painted sword shines.
    Whispers reach my ears, and I realize that Rayner and Ward must still be behind the door.
    “Do you still think this was a good idea?” Ward says.
    “Yes,” Rayner answers. “Sometimes, young man, one must reach the bottom to see clearly the path to the top.”

Fourteen
     
    There is only one choice.
    The words run through my head over and over again as it pounds from the mead and I press my temple against the floor. The cold stone reminds me of the cold floor of the dungeon where my father locked me what seems like a lifetime ago. Thinking of that makes my memory flash again and I remember lying on the dungeon floor in a fetal position. A warm sensation against my head; a hand? And someone was talking to me. The memory fades with the pounding of my skull.
    If there is nothing else I can do, there is no sense in wasting time. I need to get my brother back as soon as possible. Once he’s released from Etigan, maybe he and the court can figure out a way to free Newrock from its clutches. I’ll be stuck in Etigan for the rest of my life, but at least Newrock can be free.
    I slowly drag myself to my feet, collect my dagger, and walk unsteadily to the coronation dress to run my hand along the fabric again. I look up at my father’s face in the painting and promise him I’m going to make this right.
    I open the door to find Ward curled into a tight ball on the steps, fast asleep. I give him a nudge with my foot and he jumps up, his eyes blinking in his effort to wake.
    “Where are the guards?” I ask.
    “At the bottom of the stairs,” Ward says