“Some people are happy you’re here, Bri. I heard stirrings through the city before you even arrived.” Carys gave her a wary glance.

“My mother’s doing,” Bri confirmed. “She’s been attempting to sow seeds of dissent in the West my whole life.” Bri rubbed her hand down her face, releasing a frustrated sigh. “Let’s just secure the crown and get out of here, okay?”

They hastened toward the Queen’s chambers, which were easy enough to find. Guards patrolled each turn along the hallways and doorways all the way to the last large wooden door. Not a single guard stopped them, clearly having been notified of their arrival.

Bri pounded on the door and stepped back. It creaked open a crack and a fae male with dark brown skin and gray hair peered out, glowering at them from his deeply lined face.

“Let them in, Father,” a voice commanded from inside.

The face disappeared from the sliver of open doorway, and the room opened. It was a small reception room, but still elegant. A dozen people lined the walls, watching in rapt silence as Bri and Carys entered. A wicker chair sat empty in the center of the room while the rest of the council stood.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” the fae standing in the center of the room said. He had light brown skin, hazel eyes, and a charming air so common amongst royal courtiers. “Briata Catullus, come to steal the crown at last?”

“For the last time, I have no interest in the crown,” Bri gritted out, her eyes drifting to the battle-axes painted on his golden tunic. “Who are you?”

“Apologies,” he said with a bow. “I’m Tem, Tem Wystron.” He gestured to the gruff man who let them in. “This is my father, Darrow. We are members of the Queen’s council.”

“Is Lina Queen now?” Carys asked, stepping in front of Bri. It was clear from the nickname that Carys was more familiar with Abalina, having grown up in the Southern Court amongst the royalty there. She’d probably known the Princess her whole life, though she rarely spoke of her to Bri.

“Not yet,” Darrow said, raising his chin. He had a deep, rasping voice, sharp and condescending. “Her mother is still unburned, her soul not even one foot into the afterlife. No ceremonies can take place until the shrouds come down.”

“I understand,” Carys whispered, eyes softening. “But it is a time of great turmoil and . . .”

Darrow held up his weathered hand. “We must wait for the mourning period before the coronation.” He rested his hand pointedly on the back of the empty wicker chair. “One full week must pass before we can cleanse this place.”

A tall figure in cinnamon-brown robes caught Bri’s attention. Cole. He’d already changed and come to the council chamber. He looked as if he wanted to say something but was holding his tongue.

Carys eyed the crowd of silent, wary faces. “Where is Lina?”