The Reluctant Queen (The Queens of Renthia #2)(61)

Erian giggled and then let the caretakers lead her into a bath. Eyes on the curtains, Naelin followed her caretakers toward her own bath. The tub looked to be stone and was cradled against the wall of wood, which glistened with beads of water from the rising steam. She shed her clothes and lowered herself into the water. It smelled sweet, like vanilla, and the bubbles hid her body from the caretakers as they efficiently scrubbed her arms, back, and hair. She told herself she'd birthed two children-she didn't care about modesty.

She let them dress her in layered golden skirts and a bodice embroidered with so many tiny beads that it felt like a pebbled floor when she ran her hand over it. They wound her hair into elaborate braids that twisted around one another so tightly that she doubted she'd ever untangle it, and they doused her skin in lotions. One plucked at hairs in her eyebrows. Through it all, she tried to shape what she planned to say to the queen.

Erian and Llor waited for her back in the polished hall. Llor wore a golden tunic and a sullen expression, while Erian was beaming, all dolled-up like an illustration out of a book. Her hair had been braided with flowers. "I smell gross," Llor proclaimed.

"Maybe the queen likes gross smells," Naelin said. "Let's go find out."

Taking her children's hands, she followed the guards that led them up the spiral staircase. Llor was huffing by the time they reached the top, and Naelin was breathing deeply as the guard handed them to a new set of guards, these in armor trimmed with silver, who led them through a curved hallway, covered in mirrors and murals and decorated with sculptures that represented Renthians from Aratay and beyond: woodsmen, courtiers, acrobats, farmers, mountaineers, islanders . . . She wished she could have lingered over each one, carved from various woods and stones and even gems, but the guards didn't slow. Up ahead, she saw Ven, dressed in his usual green armor, but cleaner with damp hair. She stopped in front of him-his eyes were drinking her in, and she felt a blush warm her cheeks. She couldn't remember the last time she'd blushed. She was not a blusher.

"You don't smell gross," Llor said, accusingly.

"If they'd left you unbathed, you'd have scared all the guards," Ven told him. "They aren't used to people as fierce as you."

Only slightly mollified, Llor took Ven's hand. Naelin saw Ven's eyes widen as her son slipped his hand into the champion's as if he owned it, and she stifled a smile. Ven, she was pleased to see, did not release the boy's hand. Instead, he held it gently as he led them through a doorway carved with the images of birds and woodland creatures into the throne room.

Naelin spotted Captain Alet. Standing on guard beside the throne, Alet wore jewel-encrusted green-and-gold armor, and carried a knife sheathed on each arm and each leg. Naelin met her eyes, and Alet nodded a welcome. She then winked at Erian and Llor, who giggled. Naelin felt slightly better. But only slightly.

On the throne was the queen.

She was . . . well, she was beautiful, though it was difficult to tell how much of that beauty was due to herself and how much was the richly layered fabrics and jewels. She had gold, orange, and red-streaked hair that shone in the firelight, catching the flames in her curls. Jewels were laid across her neck, sparkling like caught stars, and Naelin stared at them for a moment before she noticed a simple wooden necklace between them, three carved leaves. The queen also had an ordinary knife at her hip, with a battered hilt and a plain leather sheath. But what struck Naelin the most as she progressed forward was: She's so young!

Intellectually, she'd known that. Queen Daleina had only just recently completed her training at the academy when her predecessor called for the trials. She was, at most, nineteen or twenty years old. Young enough that Naelin could have been her mother, if she'd chosen to have children sooner. Encased in her royal clothes, on the throne . . . the queen looked as if she should be out in a village, starting her own shop, kissing nice young men, or setting out to find her place in the world-not ensconced here with the responsibilities of an entire nation on her lap.



       
         
       
        

"I'm sorry," Naelin said, before she thought about the words.

An expression flashed across the queen's face-so fast that Naelin couldn't tell what it was, only that it was a break in her emotion. "For what, pray tell?"

She felt Ven's eyes on her as well as Alet's, but she couldn't look away from the young queen. She shouldn't have said anything, but now that she had, she couldn't stop. "For this, Your Majesty." She waved at the throne, at the room, the chandeliers, the murals, the guards, the windowless walls, the gilded cage. "You should have had a childhood. I am sorry that Aratay has asked so much of you."