The Crown of Embers by Rae Carson

Author:Rae Carson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins

In you our ancestors put their trust,

they cried out and you delivered them.

Yea, from the dying world they were saved;

in you they trusted and were not put to shame.

Bless us, O God, as we remember your hand;

your righteous right hand endures forever.

“Selah!” the crowd thunders.

The musicians resume, dancers float onto the center floor, and the Deliverance Gala has officially begun.

From below, Hector gestures for me to come down. Normally, the monarch would sit in the Hand of God for several dances, absorbing luck and blessing. But it is too dangerous for me to be exposed for so long.

Holding tight to his hand for support, I navigate the steps, mindful of my full skirt. My foot has barely reached the floor when I am accosted by my first partner.

“May I have this dance, Your Majesty?” asks Prince Rosario. He bows with the ease of long practice, his small fingers outstretched in gentlemanly supplication.

“Of course!” I say with genuine enthusiasm, taking the offered hand.

His head does not even reach my chest, and I’m tempted to lead him, but he seems determined to do the job credibly, so I let him.

“Did your nurse put you up to this?” I ask.

He peers up at me from beneath thick lashes—his cinnamon eyes are so like his father’s—and says, “No, but Carilla wants to dance with me.” With a quick tip of his chin, he indicates a young girl with wild curls and satin ruffles standing at the edge of the crowd, no more than nine years old. Rosario wrinkles his nose. “She tries to kiss me. It’s awful.”

I laugh. “So you told her you had to dance with me instead.”

He nods solemnly. “Even though you are a terrible dancer. Dancing with you is better than dancing with Carilla.”

With equal solemnity, I say, “Excellent decision. You will be a wise king one day.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “Wiser than Papá. Everyone says so.”

My heart breaks for him a little. “We should drift across the hall so that you are far away from Carilla when the song ends.”

He brightens. “Good idea!”

As we dance, I ask him about his studies, which he loathes, and his swordsmanship lessons with Hector, which he loves. By the time our dance ends, we are laughing together over his favorite pony, who can nose his way to a syrupy date even through three layers of clothing. I don’t step on Rosario’s feet even once.

When we separate, he bows. “I thank you for the dance, Your Majesty,” he intones.

“It was a pleasure, Your Highness,” I respond. Several people around us applaud lightly, as if we have put on a bit of theater. And I suppose we have. I hope it has cheered them to see their queen and her heir having a good time together.

A hand grasps my elbow. I look up into Hector’s worried face. He whispers, “Please. Do not drift through the crowd while dancing. Stay close to the edge, where I can see you.”

The music changes to a slow, rhythmic bolero.

“I didn’t realize .

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