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Queen Signe didn’t flinch, but gave a half-hearted flick of her wrist. “We have hailstone for that.”

Elora’s hand caressed one side of the hailstone bracers she’d put on earlier. What would that mean exactly? That she’d have to wear them always? That she’d become a prisoner bride, shackled for the rest of her life?

The queen continued, addressing Leighton. “I have held the throne for your father long enough, and your name-day has come and gone too many times to count. The people are ready for you to ascend to the throne.”

“I won’t do it,” he argued. “I won’t marry her.”

Queen Signe rose like shadows incarnate. “You shall marry her because that is what a king would do. He marries to forge alliances to protect his people.”

“We’ll find a different bride then.”

“There is no other bride who will forge a peace between the Ironbloods and the Ashen.”

Leighton’s mouth was unhinged, a bewildered expression freezing his features in horror. It looked as though he wanted to say a million things, but ultimately settled upon one word, one quiet, sad word that even made Elora’s chest ache. “Why?”

The queen exhaled sadly. “As I’ve said, the people need a king, and it is time for?—”

“No, I mean why this!” He gestured toward Elora with disgust, and just like that, the sympathy she’d felt for him evaporated. “Whyherand a truce with her foul people? If we simply need a king, we already have one. We don’t need a wedding to form an alliance. That’s why my father was meant to marry you.”

“Yes, well…” Queen Signe’s gaze dropped to the floor. It was the first genuine look Elora thought she had seen from her. “A lot of good that alliance has done us. The people do not care for it. They do not care for me. They demand an Ironblood on the throne, and we require a solution to the threat posed by the Ashen.”

Prince Leighton scoffed. He began pacing again.

Both Elora and the queen just watched him. Waiting. Letting him decide as if his choice was the only one that mattered. But any time Elora tried thinking about whatshewanted, she couldn’t. Couldn’t allow herself to so much as hope for a voice in the matter.

“No,” Leighton finally declared. “If we need a king, I’ll give them one. I’ll save my father. I’ll bring him back.”

The queen rolled her dark eyes. “There is no saving him. We’ve tried searching for the Corrupt Queen. We’ve tried beseeching the Sky-Blessed for an answer. No one knows how to lift the curse. You’re insisting upon a fool’s errand?—”

But if she was hoping to reach the prince with some semblance of logic, it was of no use. His mind was already made up and Leighton stormed out of the throne room without another word.

When it was just Elora and the queen, Signe sighed and plopped back onto her throne. “Well, what say you?”

Once again, it took a moment to realize the queen was expecting an answer. “Me?”

“Of course, you. You are the other party in this matter.”

“Oh. Well, I…”

The queen heaved another sigh. Every breathe of air that blew out of her sounded more irritated than the last. “Would you prefer to rot in a dungeon, or would you like to be the Queen of Irongate someday?”

Elora twisted, looking back the way the prince had just fled. “But Prince Leighton said?—”

“I am aware of what he said. But the vision I had was clear: King Ulfaskr will die. Leighton will return in ruin. And when he does, he’ll see no other path forward but the one I am suggesting. So, I will ask just one last time: what is your answer?”

Elora stood there, stunned.

It had been so many years since she had been offered a choice about anything. Let alone something likethis. To become a queen? Of an enemy kingdom that had held her prisoner for years? It all felt like a trick. Like it was too good to be true—or rather, the worst sort of nightmare she could’ve imagined. What was she missing?

“Where would I reside?” she asked hesitantly.

A trill of laughter fluttered from the queen. “Why, in the castle, of course. I’ve already prepared a bedchamber for you.”

Elora’s legs wobbled. “I’d…be given a bedchamber?”

“Of course. We can’t have our queen living in filth and squalor.”

Elora’s brows furrowed, so much so that she felt the metal crown embedded in her forehead pinching the skin there. Some days, she forgot it existed. Forgot her own royal bloodline and lineage. That felt like another lifetime ago. But perhaps it would be a life she would soon get to revisit.