Butsomeday.
“Linus!” a cold, female voice snaps from the shadows, shattering the moment. “What on earth are you doing over here? I’ve been waiting with Gerald for five minutes.”
We both turn to watch as Octavia strides toward us, her fitted blue dress stunning against the fiery shade of her hair. Her eyes slide to mine.
“You are supposed to be on the stairs already, girl.”
A week ago, I might’ve dropped my eyes to the floor. Avoided her stare, shied away from confrontation. But no more. Lifting my chin, I stare cooly into her eyes.
“My name is notyouorgirl. It is Emilia Victoria Lancaster. I suggest you start using it.”
Ignoring the stunned look on her face, I set my shoulders proudly and brush past her with every ounce of grace and poise I can muster.
Lady Morrell would be so freaking proud.
My heart thunders as I come to a stop at the edge of the landing. The stairs spill in front of me, a waterfall of stone. I pull in a shallow breath that strains the confines of my corset before giving Simms a small nod.
I’m ready.
He announces my arrival in a booming voice that barely registers in my ringing ears. A hush falls over the crowd below. Every head in the audience turns to look at me. There’s a collective gasp as they take in the sight of my resplendent gold gown drifting down the stairs, one careful step at a time.
I keep my eyes dead ahead and attempt to maintain a stately pace. A hint of relief stirs inside me when I make it to the bottom without tripping on the massive train or stumbling on my high heels… at least, until I look forward at the gauntlet remaining before me.
My mother’s voice is with me like a drumbeat as I take those first steps down the aisle. I set my pace by each syllable as I walk, feeling eyes on me from all sides.
Stay bold.
Stay bold
Stay bold
Eighty yards.
Fifty yards.
Twenty yards.
The throne creeps ever closer, the crowd around me a mass of faceless strangers. I’m nearing the end of this long, dreadful parade when I sense a set of eyes on me from the front row, strong enough to draw my focus. I tell myself not to look at him, not to yield to the tractor-beam of his stare… but as I pass within a few feet of his chair, my own eyes shift without executive permission. They lock on his, bright blue and burning with unmasked longing, and for the first time since Simms said my name…
My feet falter.
It’s just a slight bobble before I recover; a stumble so small, I doubt anyone even notices. Except Carter. He’s watching me so intently, I know there’s not a detail of my dress he hasn’t memorized, not a single move I make that escapes his hyper-alert focus.
Swallowing hard, I tear my gaze from his and start up the three wide steps onto the pavilion, where the archbishop is waiting in full regalia. I nod respectfully to him as I take my spot in front of the small, ornate chair to the right of the gilded throne. I don’t risk looking at the front row again, instead sweeping my eyes across the expanse, taking it all in.
My kingdom.
Every face in the crowd is turned to mine. They appear awed as they behold me. As though they’re witnessing something truly spectacular. It’s easily the most surreal moment of my entire life. My heartbeat pounds between my ears louder than a battle drum the longer I stand there — all eyes fixed on me, taking my measure in turn.
Their princess.
Thankfully, Simms voice draws their attention away before the pressure can crack my composure — booming out to announce Octavia’s entrance. Everyone shifts in their seats to watch her, the picture of regal poise as she begins her procession down the stairs. She soaks in every ounce of attention, her steps tiny, her pace glacial. I think I lose three or four years of my life, just waiting for her to take her place beside me on the stage.
Really putting thequeenindrama queen, if you ask me.
Simms voice booms out one final time.
“His Royal Majesty Linus Lancaster, King of Germania…”