And thus, a room that had had very little furniture—a throne on the dais at the front, two sofas set before it—now had one added piece.

An almost identical throne set next to Cassius’s.

However, his had silver-painted wood and sky-blue cushions.

But Elena’s was a rich mahogany and the material that upholstered it was a golden velvet.

For of course, the sky must have its sun.

It was only in seeing them, I hesitated.

I looked up to Mars. “Do you think they would—?”

“No,” he answered shortly.

I pressed my lips together and made my way to the podium.

My husband remained standing while I seated myself in Elena’s throne before he took his own seat in Cassius’s.

Jorie positioned himself to my right.

“We could delay, call your sisters here,” Mars suggested.

“I am fine.”

“I would think Tril would wish to be close,” Mars remarked.

“She would. She would also be unpredictable,” I told him.

Tril had become a devotee of Jorie’s, almost as much as she was of Mars.

This, for she loved anyone who loved me.

My mother and not-father and their shenanigans?

Not in the slightest.

“Wife.”

I turned my head to him. “Husband.”

“I am uneasy, for I cannot read you,” he said quietly, studying me intently.

“All my life, she lied to me,” I declared. “All my life, she chose him over me. All my life I had a family that, it may have been unwitting, but it cannot be argued, due to her silence, she kept them from me. And I will have her answer to all of that.”

His eyes fired.

Jorie muttered, “Absolutely.”

I drew in a very deep breath for the umpteenth time that day.

And faced forward.

“A queen does not sit at the edge of her throne,” Mars noted gently.

This was good counsel.

I was shifting back, resting my forearms on the arms of the chair, when True strode in, an openly irked Farah at his side, and my mother was trailing them.

I saw she had lost weight. Not to mention, in the time since I’d seen her, which wasn’t very long, she looked like she’d aged years.

And her eyes were anxious on me.

I realized then that she was always anxious.

Always worried.

Always fretting.

The only times she didn’t seem as such were when she was at her embroidery, at her knitting, or staring vacantly out a window.

Her step stuttered when she noted Jorie.

“Vanka,” True said. “Allow me to present you to Jorie, King of the Mer and Silence’s brother.”

She’d come to a halt between the two sofas before us, her attention fixed on my brother, her expression a mask of shock.

“My…you look…you…King of the Mer?” she stammered. Jorie said nothing, but I assumed he indicated his affirmation of this, for Mother said, “You look just like—”