Rebecca had been following blindly since they exited the school—so when they ended up in front of a grand white building, that closely resembled a church, she had no idea how they'd gotten there.

The front of the building was exuberant, a grand dais leading up to two large, brass doors. Pillars lined along the dais, carved in Faelk. It was a tall building, glass domed windows visible lining from top to bottom.

Two huge Fae stood on either side of the door, arms crossed over their chests—silent brooding figures. They regarded them coldly. Rebecca stepped back instinctively, though she was already hidden.

Words were barked in quick succession; Rebecca privy to nothing that was said. That said, she guessed: they were clearly asking why they were there and someone was telling them. Of course, the conversation was nowhere near that nice by the sound of it.

Rebecca was still in a stupor, unsure of what had happened in the last hour. She'd gone from eating breakfast with someone who was clearly terrified of her to being stared at in a classroom to standing in front of a church. How, she had no idea. It was all a blur.

She felt a shift around her, before her guards parted from around her—giving her a direct walk through as though she was a celebrity on a red carpet. Rebecca was able to see more of the imposing, building—and suddenly she felt tiny.

Unsure of what to do, Rebecca didn't move. Conversation had ceased.

"Reginae, the council awaits your presence."

If that wasn't a hurry up she didn't know what was.

Well aware she was beet red, she started to walk forward. Her guards were in step with her; for every step she took forward, they took one too. So focused on moving, she missed the first step of the dais. Instead, her foot hit the edge and she almost went tumbling over. Or, she would have, had hands not grabbed her and stopped the inevitable fall.

Well and truly embarrassed, Rebecca managed to make it up the steps without face planting—by some miracle. The two Fae on either side of the door were frozen for a second. Then, in a rushed movement, they both bowed low.

Rebecca shifted, waiting as they righted themselves and moved to open the huge, officious doors. She stared down at the ground and tried to tell herself she could do this.

Disillusions only got you so far though.

With a sigh, she straightened her back, stood tall, and walked through the now-open doors with an air of confidence she didn't have.

She was led through many doors—so many she quickly got lost.

Her guide came in the form of an elderly male in grey livery, who rushed to the door the second she'd stepped through. He didn't say a word; only bowed and turned, in short an order to follow. Rebecca had.

He was different. There was something off about him. What is was she wasn't sure. Until Kyane had whispered that he was Lupus—and, as if she had split personalities everything had started to fall into place, making inexplicable sense.

As the elderly man stopped before a set of closed doors, Rebecca tried to look around her. It was a futile effort. Everything with the building was white, extravagant and expensive. She was too terrified to touch anything in case it broke.

Which, of course, was ridiculous, considering that if she was Queen, she kind of owned the building. Still, even know that, she couldn't shake it. Ingrained habits didn't just disappear with the flick of a switch.

The man bowed, opening the doors and stepping through. Then, in a booming voice—so loud she swore his whole body shook—he yelled something in Faelk. Rebecca had yet to look into the room so she was unaware of who he was yelling to. Frankly, she was scared to look.

Behind her, she heard the shifting.

Slowly, she looked up, knowing she could only out it off for so long. What she saw surprised her—though, in hindsight, it really shouldn't have considering the grandeur of the exterior and limited interior she'd seen.

Ahead of her was a large glass table that had to seat at least a hundred, if not more. It was huge—and yet, in the spacious room it looked tiny. The walls were white, hand painted with intricate designs that had to have taken hours. The ceiling was a large glass dome, stained with more drawings. They had to be significant, but Rebecca couldn't even begin to understand their meaning.

Along the back wall, a raised dais sat. The tiled space was currently blank, the view obscured slightly at the side by the large white pillars.

Everything in the room screamed wealth.

Including the people—who were all staring at her, all while they stood on their feet. Rebecca's feet refused to move, like they were suddenly glued to the marble floor.

She shifted uncomfortably, glancing around wildly.

From what she could tell, everyone at the table was old. Standing at the head of a table was a woman, her white hair coiled into a bun on top of her head. Her face was smooth, eyes a dark hue. The dress she wore was low cut, bright gold in colour. It was tight, that Rebecca could tell. If that wasn't enough to put her off, the way the woman stared at her was enough to make Rebecca falter. The look in her eyes was dark, her eyes burning with unmuted anger.

Rebecca looked to the others in the room. On the left side, elderly men stood. They all wore blue suits, the jackets low at the back with tails, like she'd seen in old movies. Aside from the one woman, the rest were men. Rebecca didn't dwell on it, because it made her feel a little better. The men were leering at her; instead they seemed to radiate respect and awe.

The man in livery stepped out of the room, shutting the doors behind him with a resounding bang.

In the silence that followed, Rebecca didn't know what to do. Thankfully, Kyane intervened before she could make more of an idiot of herself.

"They're waiting for your approval," he said from behind her.

She turned slightly, surprised to see he was the one standing behind her. The others had moved to stand against the walls, she noted absently. "What do I do?"

"Go and take your seat," he whispered.

"Okay," she whispered.

Then, acting on autopilot, she stepped forward. One step after the other. Somehow, she made it to the table without falling over. It was nothing short of a miracle. Maybe it was the fact that Kyane stayed a step behind her the whole time, acting as silent support.

Avoiding those looking at her, she moved to the nearest seat. It happened to be next to a man, but she didn't let it deter her. Besides, though his smile was polite, it was also kind.

She was unaware of the sudden tension until she started to pull out the seat. At first, she assumed it was because it scraped deafeningly loud on the tiles. Then, she looked around.

Her guards had moved from the walls and now stood closer to the table. The elderly men too seemed to be angry over something. Rebecca followed to where they were all looking and blinked. The woman was seated, chin raised haughtily.

She frowned, worrying what she'd done wrong.

Sharp words were yelled in Faelk.

Everyone continued to stare at the woman.

"She is being told to move," Kyane whispered.

"Why?" Her voice barely breached the silence.

"She is seated in the chair reserved for the Queen."

For a second, Rebecca was confused. Then she understood. The seat was meant for her, and apparently the fact that she wasn't in it was a big deal.

"I'll just sit here," she whispered, pulling out the large wooden chair once more. "Tell them not to worry. It's fine."

He was silent. Then he spoke, his voice harsh as he translated.

Rebecca didn't look at anyone as she sat down. Which only started more arguing. She stared at her lap, trying to block it all out.

She heard an agitated sigh, a sound akin to an annoyed growl. Then a chair scraped.

"Your Grace."

Rebecca jumped, looking back at Kyane. "What?"

In lieu of an answer, he nodded to the head of the table. Rebecca looked over, noting that it was now absent. The woman was now standing by it, looking affronted, her mouth twisted into a deep scowl. Even then, in the extravagant gown, her beauty couldn't be denied.

"Your seat, Your Grace."

Oh. Taking a hint—even though it was the last thing she wanted to do—she got out of her seat and walked over. Slowly, all while rubbing her shaking hands on her legs, she took the seat.

The woman didn't move for a while, but it was silent until she did. Practically stomping she made her way to the seat Rebecca had vacated. She settled on it with a huff.

The man next to her cleared his throat, scratching his hand on his beard. Then, he spoke.

In Faelk.

Rebecca could only sit against the seat, unable to deny how comfy it was. It had a white padded seat on both the back and the seat, unlike the other seat that were only wooden.

As the conversation carried on, she looked back at Kyane who was standing directly behind her, helplessly. As if sensing it he met her gaze. Then he nodded; the corner of his mouth tilted up in a barely perceptive movement.

Breathing a little easier, she turned back around, laying her hands on the glass table. As suspected, they were shaking badly. Kyane spoke rapidly, his words followed by piercing silence. Rebecca knew they were all staring her, but she wasn't looking for that reason. She trusted Kyane to know what to say, but it didn't mean she didn't feel embarrassed.

"We shall conduct the meeting in Englicus for Your Grace then."

English. She didn't know who spoke, but she could've sighed in relief. She almost whispered thank you, but she was beaten to it. Before she could even utter a word, the woman stood so fast the chair pitched backwards.

"I have already been forced to move chairs! I refuse to steep to the commoner's language too!"

Rebecca could only gape in disbelief.

Then, before she could think about how stupid it was, she mumbled, "You just did." Her voice dripped with scorn she'd been trying to hide.

The woman's sharp eyes slid to her and Rebecca shrank back instinctively. "I could have you killed for even saying that! I will be your Queen!"

Rebecca didn't dare breathe. Absently, she noted the woman was like a toddler having a tantrum. It was a passing thought though—because she was too preoccupied by the sudden threat of violence.

All she could do was sit and watch the chaos unfold. She felt her guard move closer, until all she could feel was them standing right at her back. There was the sound of metal scraping: the sounds of swords being unsheathed.

Rebecca was helpless to do anything but watch, frozen in her chair.

Her guards didn't move further than to step closer to the woman, still at a distance that wasn't threatening. If you ignored the swords.

The woman was staring around with wide eyes, seating once more as if gravity had failed her. She wasn't moving either. Gone was the previous arrogance; now she was deathly pale.

Rebecca didn't know what she was waiting for, but as the tense silence only stretched on she panicked all the more. She was about to stand up, put a stop to it somehow, but she didn't need to.

One of the men cleared his throat, his voice shaking when he stumbled across, "Apologise to Her Grace, my lady. Now." He kept eyeing the sharp blades in his peripheral vision.

The woman swallowed. "No. There is no proof she is the rightful Queen. I am next in line—not her." The quaking of her voice gave her away.

"Apologise to the Queen, before I'm forced to take your head for your treachery."

Rebecca went utterly still. Then, heart racing, her eyes went to Kyane, who was standing next to her at the head of the table. Gone was the care-free smile. Now the shadows on his face made him look lethal. His voice was as sharp as the blade he held.

The woman seemed to lose all confidence then, her hands going to her throat. "You cannot— I'm... you..."

All she did was stutter.

"I'm a member of the Queen's guard. Should any danger come to Her Grace, I am to eliminate the threat." Kyane's voice dropped a beat lower, just above a growl. "Immediately."

She was shaking, she was that scared of him. She couldn't even begin to understand what the woman felt.

The woman looked like she was going to pass out. But, then her eyes met Rebecca's. The tears pooling in her wide, frightful eyes were impossible to miss. Rebecca almost felt a tinge of sympathy. Almost. This was the woman who Ferro had told her about, the woman hungry for the throne. She hated her as much as her daughter.

Rebecca just stared back, expression blank.

Kyane cleared his throat.

The woman flinched. Then, her voice barely intelligible, she mumbled, "Forgive me, Your Grace. I meant no offence."

She didn't sound even slightly apologetic; just terrified. Still, Rebecca said nothing. Her throat was too tight to even get a single word out.

The oldest male cleared his throat. "Your Grace?"

Rebecca could only blink numbly.

The woman shrunk into herself, but her guards didn't relax in the slightest. Though they sheathed their swords, they didn't move from the table.

"Your Grace?"

She cleared her throat. On the third attempt, she could actually get a word out. "Uh, yes?"

"Shall we proceed?"

As if she had the slightest clue what she was doing. Rebecca shrugged, staring down at her hands. "Sure."

She was still trying to process what had transpired in the last ten minutes. Someone had threatened to kill her. Then she'd almost witnessed an execution.

Her stomach twisted painfully. There's was no wrapping her head around it—if she did she'd self-destruct.

"Introductions, Your Grace?"

Slowly, Rebecca looked up, meeting his kind, blue eyes. "Sure," she whispered again.

From there, they all introduced themselves. It was as if there hadn't been multiple death threats only minutes ago.

The man to her direct right was Ricardio Gonzalves, community advisor to the Queen. He was the oldest man easily and the only one with a beard. Next to him was his brother Antione, who shared no resemblance whatsoever. His hair was dark and long, unlike his brothers receding, grey hair. His eyes were so dark they were almost black and he was much shorter too. They shared the same position, splitting the duties.

On her left was Guile Annez, a younger man with blond hair and bright green eyes. His position wasn't named because he did a little of everything.

Next to him was Orlonso Inuvik, second advisor to the Queen. He was short but lanky, his mouth set in a permanent scowl. He didn't seem to have another expression—and he wouldn't look at her, even though she tried to make eye contact.

Ferro, she found out, was supposed to be at the meeting too as he was Captain of the Guard. But he was busy training members of her guard.

Finally, there was the woman. Grace Rowena. Stunningly beautiful. Her mother's closest advisor. Queen for about a week before Rebecca had stepped in. It was hardly surprising she was bitter. Although, threatening to kill someone was way over the top.

Rebecca listened to all the introductions, nodding when it was the right time. Finally, when it was over, silence reigned.

"Your Grace?"

"Huh?" Rebecca blushed, knowing they'd caught her lapse in attention.

"Your Grace. The, ah, rumours..."

She frowned, glancing over at Guile. "What rumours?"

He cleared his throat. "About the war that's started."

Her frown deepened, palms growing clammy. "War?" It was little more than a squeak.

"You've taken the throne again. Yet, King Enriguel has not tried to attack, nor stop you. The people are scared the war has restarted." He cleared his throat, as if he was caught under a wave of sudden, thick emotion. "We lost thousands—it cannot happen again."

He sounded as though he'd experienced it firsthand. Rebecca chose her next words carefully, since confusion normally led to blurting things out in her case. "I, uh, had no idea. But I agree. War, is uh... bad."

She sounded as eloquent as a fish, she realised, flushing in embarrassment.

"There are also rumours that you are responsible for the explosion."

At that her head snapped up, her eyes going wide. "Who told you that?" It came out as an accusation—planting a giant guilty sticker on her forehead immediately.

Ricardio mirrored her reflection, staring at her as though he didn't know what to say. "Your Grace... it is just a simple rumour. There is no fact to it."

"Right." She laughed awkwardly, wishing Ferro was here to diffuse the situation and tell her what to say. "Well, it's not true."

They all stared at her. She shifted uncomfortably. How much did they know of how she'd gotten to where she was?

Finally, Ricardio murmured, "Of course not, Your Grace. And until you announce that, they will remain rumours."

"What about the war?" she asked, hands shaking as she clasped them together.

"Is there a war?" An accusation more than a question—from Grace which was hardly surprising.

Rebecca glared at her in lieu of responding.

She dropped her gaze to the table. Rebecca didn't miss that she looked at Kyane pointedly.

"Your Grace, what shall we do?"

As if she was supposed to know. She'd been concerned with school tests months ago, not war. It was too terrifying to even think about.

"I don't know," she said, voice shaky. "Suggestions?"

From there it went fine. At least from outside appearances. They spoke of violence and war strategies. Rebecca nodded, agreeing from time to time.

In truth, the whole time she just kept panicking.

By the time she was able to go, it was all she could to not curl up and cry like a child.