Page 95 of An Archer's Redemption

Now, I was ready to have him executed the moment he stepped one foot wrong.

Yet he claimed his actions had not been his own.

That made sense.

He’d loved me.

I knew it.

And I wanted desperately to believe him, to believe he would never intentionally betray me. Iwantedto believe.

He reached a hand across the table toward mine, but I jerked back as his fingers brushed my skin. I clutched my hand to my chest as though it’d been burned.

“No,” I whispered. “We cannevergo back to what we had. Even if your actions were not your own, I will always be haunted by the betrayal in your eyes. I still dream about that mask you wore, that mask you looked through as youlaughedat my terror. How could I ever see beyond that? How could anyone?”

A tear trickled down his cheek.

He reclaimed his hand and slowly nodded.

“I understand,” was all his voice could muster.

I took another sip of tea, desperate for strength and courage.

“Why do you still wear those robes? If Irina’s Compulsion died with her, why stay with those awful people?”

His eyes became distant, his voice again a whisper. “Where else could I go? At least in these robes I can try to help people, do some good with whatever life I have left. I lost the only thing that mattered. What do I have left?”

I couldn’t listen anymore. “I am tired. Return to the Palace tomorrow, and we will discuss whatever it is your Order seeks us to consider.” I stood, wheeled from the table flanked by the two guards, and vanished out the side door, leaving Danym alone in the massive chamber.

I barely slept that night.

Memories of Danym flooded my mind, and I couldn’t find the magic to banish them. In my dreams, he smiled up at me as I rode Dittler through town and splattered mud all over his cloak and hair.

The dreams would shift to the forest where he lifted a pastry to my lips, his eyes twinkling in the midnight moonlight. He gripped my hand from across a rough wooden table, adoration flowing beside sparks of flame that went through his skin into mine.

And then he wore a mask.

Thatmask.

His eyes held amused loathing, no longer twinkling with anything but cruelty and spite.

Unable to bear the dreams any longer, I rose and strode, bleary-eyed and grumpy, into the family dining room twohours earlier than normal. Steaming platters of eggs and bacon waited. The servants always knewexactlywhen I would appear and ensured everything was in order. If I’d been more awake, it would’ve amazed me, made me smile. I might even have said something to one of the invisible, uniformed purveyors of domestic magic.

One of my maids entered as I finished my meal.

A quick gasp was followed by whispered words near my ear. “Majesty, please, come back to your chamber so I can do something with your hair before the Council arrives.”

It must be bad, I thought.

An hour later, I sat erect on my throne and greeted each member of the Privy Council as they entered the chamber. The domestic magicians had struck again, as my hair was as silky as my gown.

By noon, the Council had beaten every dead horse from Fontaine to the mountains. They’d reviewed troop levels following the latest round of recruitment, discussed talks of renewed trade with partner nations, including Melucia, and even debated opening talks with the more primitive island nations to the south, hoping to increase the flow of goods.

I never spoke.

Councilors looked to me for opinions or guidance, but I nodded and shifted my gaze to Ethan, a look he understood was his cue to make a decision and move the agenda forward.

Ethan was about to call the session to a halt when a royal page rapped twice on the door, indicating the Queen had a high-ranking visitor outside. The page entered and called out, “Holy Voice Danym Wilfred of the Order.”

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