for whatever “role” they wanted to portray for the day, which was probably why I hadn’t seen many fae wear jeans and t-shirts. I didn’t know what “role” Fell was going for with this getup. Historically Inaccurate Ancient Greece, maybe?
“You look beautiful,” Skye said.
“Just wait until you see what you have to wear when the season passes from spring to summer,” Indigo cackled.
I twisted around in my throne and looked back at them. “You mean there’s a required outfit for each ceremony?”
Skye felt in the pocket of her jacket. “For the passing of the seasons? Yes.”
“We have to do this ceremony four times a year? Even though no one is around to watch it, and it’s just for personal gratification?” I asked.
“Yes,” Skye said. “Although it is not entirely without reason. It’s generally accepted that whatever the current season is in, that Court is viewed with extra respect.”
“Huh, now I think this ceremony is even stupider,” I said. “And if Fell tries to throw his weight around because it’s fall now, I’m going to wait until nightfall and then jump him and say it’s my right since it’s night.”
There was a rattle as Skye opened her mint tin and retrieved an antacid.
“You know,” Indigo said. “I don’t think anyone’s actually thought of it that way before.”
“Do not encourage her,” Skye hissed to my companion.
“You don’t say, Indigo? Hmm, that’s it.” I whipped around in my throne and peered at King Solis—who sat closest to me since Fell had put me on the far end of the lineup.
I was pretty sure he meant for it to be an insult, but I was deliriously happy, because I could chat with Indigo and Skye without getting snotty looks from Queen Verdant.
“Solis, we have to attend this shindig four times a year?” I called to the Day King.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“If that’s the case we should have a nightly and daily ceremony—since everyone seems sooo eager to mark the transition of power!”
King Solis chuckled. “We do have our own, shared ceremony on the first day of the new year—I set on the old year and you bring forth the new year.”
“For real? Well, this year we’re going to make ours more fun. None of this sitting around and staring.” A corn leaf detached from my throne and drifted past, stirring up my allergies enough to make me sneeze.
“I am always open to suggestions for our ceremony,” King Solis said. “I never liked it much—the Curia Cloisters throws a New Year’s party I’ve always wanted to attend, but have never been able to.”
“That solves it,” I said. “We’ll do something big this year.”
“If you are done leading the Day King down the path of corruption, it is time to observe the ceremony, Queen Leila,” Skye gently reminded me.
Music—consisting mostly of drums and some trumpets—started up, cutting off any other warnings Skye might have given.
King Birch—with his wife, Consort Flora, trailing about five feet behind him—walked down the carpet.
Both Fell and Birch were wearing the terribly-inaccurate male versions of our togas—which fastened over one shoulder, though they each had these little sash things emblazoned with their royal colors and Court crest.
I boredly watched Birch hold the harvest bouquet out to Fell.
Fell stared him down, and the music kept playing as the two rulers stared at each other.
What is going on? Why aren’t they moving?
Finally, Birch ever so slightly inclined his head, and Fell snatched the bouquet from his hands.
That’s what we were waiting for? For Birch to nod to Fell?
“Did they seriously just have a little power tiff in the middle of this all-important ceremony?” I turned to Rigel since he was sitting on my other side and was probably the only one able to hear me above the pounding drums.
Rigel—who was not wearing one of the little togas but was still dressed in all black; everyone was probably too afraid to try to make him wear the required outfit, including King Fell—shrugged. “In order to preserve their power—or try to raise it—a monarch will take every opportunity possible to make their stake.”
“Unbelievable.” I shook my head as I looked back at the ceremony. “These people need to get hobbies.”
King Fell triumphantly carried the harvest bouquet over his head as he walked through the field and stopped at a burning torch.
He thrust the bouquet in the torch. The plants caught on fire, and he held it aloft again, like he was a torch bearer in the Olympics for Ego Maniacs.
“Autumn reigns!” he shouted.
“Autumn reigns,” the seelie and