Chapter Thirteen
Slowly, the pieces are put into place, ready for their final moves.
Dewi, waiting for her mother to make an appearance. Flora, imprisoned somewhere, waiting for our help. Angus, waiting for the Morrigan’s signal to attack. And me, waiting for my coronation.
Everything has been prepared. The feast, the dress, the crown. The only thing that isn’t ready is me.
“This is a massive mistake,” I mutter against Arc’s chest. He’s been holding me for the past ten minutes, trying to calm me down. “I can’t be Queen.”
“Ye can,” he repeats for the umptieth time. “Ye were born ta be Queen. Doubting that is part of yer strength.”
I laugh bitterly. “It doesn’t feel like a strength.”
“It is. Ye think yer nae worthy, and that’s the right way ta think.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
