Page 38 of Return of the Vengeful Quee

Certainly not worthy of revealing even a hint of the wound he’d given her.

“Charis.” He breathed her name like a prayer.

“She’s not alone,” Holland said.

“Holland.” Tal met his gaze.

“Impostor.” Holland stalked toward him. “I once promised to disembowel you if you ever hurt Charis.”

“I remember.” Tal held his ground.

Holland drew his sword. “This brings me no pleasure. No, that’s a lie. It’s going to bring me a little bit of pleasure.”

Tal held up his hands in surrender. “I deserve whatever you want to do to me, but you might need me to help Charis deal with my father so she can retake Calera. I promise, once she’s safely on her throne again, you can do as you please to me. I won’t fight back.”

Holland’s eyes narrowed, and he stood in silence for a long moment. Finally, voice heavy with suspicion, he said, “You won’t?”

“I swear it.” Tal looked at Charis, his expression full of resignation and regret.

“Why would you do that?” Holland demanded.

Tal continued looking at Charis. “Because I deserve it. Besides, nothing you could do to me is worse than living with how much I’ve hurt her.”

Holland glared. “You really know how to drain all the enjoyment out of this for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Tal said, but his eyes were only for Charis. “You have no idea how sorry—”

“Holland, let’s take a look at the quarters and figure out how to get dry.” She turned away from Tal, grateful that her voice, though thin, remained steady.

“Well, this is going to be awkward,” Holland said to no one in particular.

Charis willed Tal to move aside as she came into the cabin, but he stayed where he was. Fine. She was a queen. She could handle anything.

The cabin was a cramped L-shaped room with two sets of bunk beds bolted to the walls, a vanity with a basin for water fixed to the top, a dresser, a tiny desk and chair, and a small bath closet.

One of the beds had obviously been slept in. The others appeared untouched.

“You’re bleeding,” Tal said softly as she swept past him.

She frowned and turned to the mirror above the vanity. The glass was warped, changing her face into a parody of itself, but there along her neck was a thin line of blood dripping onto the collar of her shirt. She must have been scraped by the Rakuuna’s claws as she fought for air.

“Here.” Tal brushed past her, reaching for the vanity, and she jumped back as if stung.

He froze and then said, “I apologize for startling you.”

The bitter laugh that escaped her took them both by surprise. Quickly, he said, “I know I have far more important things to apologize for, but first can I help you stop the bleeding?”

Moving slowly, he reached into the top drawer and withdrew some gauze but made no move to come closer to her.

Wise decision. She might have left her sword on board her ship, but she could do a lot of damage with her dagger. Maybe she hadn’t wanted him dead, but wounded was still on the table.

“I’ll be careful. I promise,” he said.

Like he’d been careful with her heart? No thank you.

She was exquisitely aware of Tal’s presence. The way his chest rose and fell with every breath. The look of pain in his eyes when she refused to hold eye contact. The weight of everything left unsaid between them filled the cabin, an invisible wall Charis had no intention of breaching.

The ache in Charis’s veins seemed to grow, scraping at her composure until she wanted to scream or cry or both. Turning to Holland, she said crisply, “You can help bandage my neck.”

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