Crown of Feathers (Book 2 of the Crown Trilogy)

Six

"Chin up, eyes forward. You will not submit, my queen," Micah says under his breath, leading me over the threshold of the Stigian sanctuary.

His words are just as much for himself as they are for me. Both of us are facing the people who left deep scars on our hearts. We might not know the exact extent of the other's pain—a brother hurt by his twin sister, and a woman betrayed by her parah—but we understand our grief is real.

As we walk down the aisle, I build up the courage to look at Kyron. I start with his shiny boots and move onto the snug fit of his trousers. He wears a black coat with golden baroque embroidery along the high collar and down each side of his broad chest. A lump forms in my throat as I take in his sharp jawline, full bottom lip, and the tawny skin over his high cheekbones. As Micah and I reach the bottom of the dais, I look Kyron in the eyes.

His irises are still a breathtaking ebony, with amber burning around his pupils. His stare is intense, but instead of shying away, I square my shoulders and raise my head higher. One side of his mouth quirks up and I swear a fragment of the man I once knew sparks to life.

A war rages inside of me. I want to laugh and scream, hug him and punch him, kiss him and kill him. I hate him for turning me inside out and leaving me to live a life without him. Let him take his fucking crown so I can be done with him for good.

A Devine Sibyl moves to the center of the dais, their hair covered by a veil which matches the light blue of their robe. They turn to Esmeray and say, "Bring forth your chosen heir and let them receive the anointment of the Statera."

The Stigian queen rises from her throne, her tall, slender body unfurling with the grace of a feline. The skirt of her gold gown, etched with the silhouette of wildflowers, splits up the side, flowing behind her to reveal her tan, shapely legs. A large stone gleams with hues of orange and red hangs from a chain around her neck—the Posseda. The second of the Sacred Gifts of the Statera, and the one which allows the Khiros of Stigian to siphon the dormant gifts of the Cyffreds. Esmeray takes several steps forward. She is stunning and cruel at the same time. Her golden crown with spikes like sunrays balanced upon her head of silky black hair gleams with the light. Long lashes frame her hooded eyes, and a sly grin pulls at her red lips as she holds her arm out. Kyron moves in next to her, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow. Her gaze meets mine, taunting me. She has at her side the person I wanted by mine, and the bitch relishes in my agony.

But Kyron made his choice, and I've made mine. I will not fall victim to my heart or the bond which tethers me to him. Even if it is my daily struggle forever, I will learn to live without him.

Mother and son reach the end of the dais, and Micah and I move forward.

My hands shake at the euphoric sizzle buzzing through me. Soft tendrils like dark clouds lure me closer and I can sense the anticipation in the air. The Eporri has always let me feel the gifts of others, but with Kyron, the draw is unlike anything else. I crave his Ignita fire, Noctist shadows, and his Cognus power to feel emotions. I want to lose myself in his gifts, let them consume me until I am one with them.

"Place your hand on my son's head, little princess," Esmeray says, her voice a rich, smoky purr.

Micah rests his palm on my shoulder, and I concentrate on the strength in his touch. My fingers tremble as I move them toward the soft strands on the top of Kyron's head, and my eyes flutter shut. His skin heats mine, and I can't stop pulling at his gifts.

As the sibyl recites the incantation which binds Kyron as the next king of Stigian, I recite the words with them. Borin made me memorize the ancient blessing as a child, and the familiarity of it calms me until Kyron's power stirs under my touch. I can't stop from calling it forward. His shadows flow from his fingertips, infused with the heat of his flames. I smile, basking in the gift he once so freely let me reign over. It's as I remember; under my control, the gray clouds take on an iridescence, blending with everything around us, cloaking us from the sight of those present.