Page 78 of The Nightmare Queen

Eveera thankfully quickly catches on to where I am going with this. “Maybe not, by the way he was handling another woman’s undergarments. She may not miss the bastard at all.”

“Should we pay her a visit?” My full attention now onto her, using this as my window to scope out her injuries. She is covered in blood, dirt, and bruises. Her knee wobbles just a little as she tries to cover up her limp.

I move over to her side my arm securing tightly around her waist while my head rests on top of hers. What to the three of them will look like a protective lover’s embrace is really more to support her weight.

“Don’t you touch ‘er.” Gribly slurs, spittle from his lips landing on the table.

“Why not? You thought it was okay to touch what’s mine. Why can’t I return the favor?”

Gribly bares his teeth at me, “I didn’t touch nothing.”

My brows rise, a hand fanning over the exposed skin of her ribs. “Is that not my woman’s torn undergarments strewn across the table and chair? Why else would her corset be in your grubby hands?” The men’s eyes flick down. I might almost believe the other two were remorseful if I hadn’t seen them drunk with the fabric pressed to their faces. “If that weren’t evidence enough, your men’s faces are full of guilt. So…you must have touched something on her.”

They didn’t have time to argue any further, the two of us broke apart from our hold on one another, and made sure that the remaining three wouldn’t be able to maim or hurt any other unsuspecting people. Withour weapons nowhere to be found, I sat there with a dinner knife hacking at their heads until they were no longer attached to their shoulders. “Rorin.” Eveera says softly, her blood spattered hand pulling at my shoulder as I severed the final head. “Rorin.” She says again. I look over my shoulder at her. My arms wrapping around her bare legs with my head resting carefully against her stomach, she sits back onto the edge of the table, a hand tentatively tangling into my matted curls. “I—” she shushes me, her fingers stroking as best they can through the knots. “It’s not your fault.” Her voice shakes a little. I lift my head gently to look at her but she’s staring straight ahead.

Carefully I ask, “did they…” She shakes her head violently back and forth and my thumbs stroke circle onto her thighs. Her throat bobs as she swallowed thickly, the black edging into her eyes, and I can feel her pulling away. “I don’t know.” I stand up slowly, my hands careful not to touch any injuries or anything that might be sensitive.

“Better you don’t know.” I whisper. Her Wielded eyes snap up to me while her brow furrows. I tuck a strand of blood soaked hair behind her ear. “I can’t kill them a second time. And if you knew and you told me, then I’d feel like their deaths weren’t good enough. That they would have needed to suffer more. And I’m afraid with our injuries we don’t have that kind of time.” My lips tip up sadly.

She said it’s not my fault, but I think that’s the shock talking. I have a feeling I am at fault for a lot more than I know.

We walked in silence the whole way back to the city.

Eveera keeps her head down, staring at and spinning Gribly’s ring finger between two of hers, eyeing the jewelry attached to the digit. I carry the men’s heads in a makeshift sack over my shoulder,

The dark streets keep us hidden from any wandering or curious eyes as I pull us around to a set of stairs that descends down into the street itself. The stairs empty out into a narrow alley that has a single door at the end.

Knock knock knock!

I hear feet shuffling behind the soggy wooden door before the creak of the peephole opening enters our ears. A soft glow shines on us from the peephole in the center of the door before quickly disappearing. It doesn’t take very long for the metal hinges to yawn open, revealing a stocky little man.

“Murph.” I grumble. His peculiar eyes gleam at us as he shuffles out of our way and lets us in. Eveera takes her eyes off the severed souvenir so that she could glare at me.

“I have been stabbed, shot at, nearly drugged, actually drugged, and now kidnapped one too many times for my liking since arriving in your gods forsaken kingdom, princeling.And now you’ve brought me into the home of a troll man.”Her barrage of words rattle around in my mind.

Our bodies are still supporting the others weight and her skin has now turned a grayish color as opposed to it’s usual deep olive tone. “No need for the verbal reminder of your plight saddled to me. I have it physically seared onto my arm.”

“Who is this troll man anyways.”She asks, her tone filled with disdain.

“He has a name.”

She scoffs at me and winces. “Murph is hardly a name.”

The smaller man stops at his work table - it’s a gnarled piece of wood that’s seen better days sitting square in the middle of the back room. Hisstubby body waddles around, knocking on shelves, pulling down tonics, salves, and other unidentifiable liquids. I can feel the scrutinizing weight of Eveera’s gaze flicking between the two of us.

Murph pats the table and before Eveera can argue I lift her up and set her down on it. “What in the bleedinggods,Rorin? I am not an invalid.”

Laughter spills out of Murph, “the gods do no bleeding, Queen of Serpents.” The cadence of his stumbling voice clutters his words against each other.

She looks at me incredulously, “it’s an expression,troll man.”

Another roar of laughter floods the small workspace. “Is that what you were calling me to the Broken Prince?” His snicker continues while he grinds something down in his mortar and pestle. When neither of us respond, he looks up. “You thought I did not notice?” His hand gestures side to side with a finger pointing to Eveera’s wrist. “You bring your bloodied selves here and thought I would not notice the Lady in the Black’s handiwork on you?” He sighs, turning back to his mortar and pestle.

Eveera stares hard at me.“Lady in the Black? He can’t mean Marjorie.”I simply shake my head beats me what the old man is talking about. I only understand about half of what he says. Once finished with his grinding, he starts to work on her wounds. She grimaces at the bright light of his healing mist and the scent of the salve he whipped up.

Murph flits around the table, huffs of frustration coming from the both of them as the shirt tatters get in his way. “Oh fucking hell!” She exclaims loudly before stripping off the shirt’s remains. My mouth drops open to object but her serpent tattoos slither quickly and cover her bare chest as best they can. Murph doesn’t seem to take notice other than to breathe a quiet ‘thank you’ in her direction. He moves through each of her wounds - stabs, cuts, nicks, and arrow holes alike.

She asked him to leave the puffy scar from Gribly’s first stab - a reminder of “the time she was almost bested.” Which he begrudgingly agreed to before moving on to me. My wounds were significantly less extensive comparatively but it still took a few hours for him to finish both of us up.

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