Delia Prance's Arc

Chapter 47 of 59

The petition sheets were still on the floor when the king spoke again. Delia gathered them slowly, the ink smudged where the morning light fell. Rowan watched her, then set down his cup. The hall was quiet enough to hear the paper move. He had one more thing to say, and Delia felt it coming before he opened his mouth. "The court will hear of this by noon," Rowan said. "So I will make it plain before they can twist it." He stepped past the sheets and stood before Nick. "You gave away my land. You married against my word. And a thousand people signed their names for your wife." He paused. "Arden won nothing. You did." Nick did not move. "Say what you mean, Father." "I mean you are my heir." Rowan said it once. "You will be king. Delia will be queen beside you." Delia's hands went still on the paper. She had come to make herself hard to ignore. She had not come for this. A crown meant the court, the etiquette, the endless watching. It meant every noble in the kingdom studying her for a secret. She thought of her healing house, the forty beds, the door she kept open like a river. "Your Majesty," she said, "my work is at the field. Not here." "Your work made you queen," Rowan answered. "You cannot have the one and refuse the other." Nick turned to her. His face had changed. Not with hunger for the throne. With relief. "Delia," he said, low. "Think what this gives us. No noble can take you. No steward can survey your land. If we rule, they answer to you." She understood then what he saw. All the secrets she carried, her gift, her blood, her body that would not stay wounded. A queen could not be owned. A queen could protect a garden no one dared touch. Nick had wanted her safe since the day he signed the grant. This was the safest she could ever be. "You're happy," she said to him. "I'm happy you'll be out of their reach," Nick said. "That's all I ever wanted." Rowan crossed to a table by the throne. He lifted a cloth. Under it sat two crowns, gold set with red stones, one larger and one small. "For the coronation," he said. "I will announce it to the court myself. There will be no whispering behind my back. My son is heir, and his wife with him." Delia looked at the smaller crown. It was heavier than any basket she had ever carried. She thought of the willow, the locked office, the family tree hidden upstairs. All of it would come under a queen's protection, or all of it would come under a queen's scrutiny. She did not yet know which. "Then I will wear it," she said. "But my house stays open. Every day. Free." "Agreed," Rowan said. "You are the heir's wife now. The nobles will kneel. And they will not forgive it."