Page 32 of The Witch Queen

“Laurel,” Carex says sharply. “I think that’s enough.” Whipping around, I stare at him, letting my magic shake the ground. His eyes widen in shock and fear, and he takes a step back. “Laurel,” he whispers now. “You don’t have to—”

“Leave us,” I command with aether in my voice, too far gone to care that I’m compelling him with the power I loathe. Carex looks like he wants to protest, opening his mouth and fighting the compulsion, but he has no choice but to turn and leave. I barely register the guilt that creeps across my consciousness, but I know I’ll regret it later. My gaze finds the Prince, and I sear him with a cold look. “You too.” I nod my head after Carex, but don’t use the aether-voice this time.

“I believe you ordered me to never leave your sight,” he says, smirk returning, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Hollow orbs stare back at me, matching my own.

“Have it your way,” I murmur, not letting his absolute insolence distract me from what matters. Of course he choosesnowto obey my order.

“Tell me what you know about the rebels’ plans,” I command the man, this time using the aether-voice, again pushing down the nausea I get when I remember the way it felt when it was used on me all those years ago.

“They attacked today as punishment for using your healers when they fell sick,” he says dryly, not in control of his words under my influence. “We took anyone who was loyal to our cause with us before we burned the village. I know nothing more. I was told to tell you that this was the beginning.”

Something deep inside me is hissing with rage, and that same feeling I had in the Council room returns. Briefly, so fast I’m not sure it’s real, Ievolveinto something more, something bigger than what I am. Shaking away the feeling of losing control, I focus my gaze on the rebel to bring me back to the present.

“Who sent you?” I ask, once again using the aether to force the confession.

“I don’t know. He was a fae, muscular and covered in tattoos. I’ve received orders from him before, but his identity has always been kept from me.”

I slit his throat and release the magic holding his body. He falls with a loud thud before I will the grass to grow over him in a makeshift grave, not wanting to leave a dead body on the outskirts of this village. With the rebel dead, the weight of what I did sinks into me, and that otherworldly feeling leaves me. Sighing, I rub my hand over my eyes in exhaustion and sorrow.

Just once, I want to be the one who doesn’t have to carry the emotional burden of doing what must be done. I’d love to hold my moral high ground, like Carex, would love to refuse to engage in torture and compulsion. I crave the luxury to only use my power for good. But the gods, or fate, or whatever force decides what magic we’re granted made me a monster and placed me in a situation where I’m required to let that beast free regularly. I let myself sit with the feeling of self-pity for only a few seconds, before I straighten my back and square my shoulders, ready to face the world and own my fate once again.

I turn around, expecting to see the same disgust I feel about my actions reflected in the Prince’s eyes. But when our eyes meet, dark green orbs stare back, steady, calm, and unphased by the violence I just displayed.

Hawthorne

The Thayarian landscape is as abundant as the magic that runs through the heart of the kingdom. Trees, grasses, moss, vines, and flowers cover the land. The plants there have attuned to the cooler climate and stay green throughout most of the year, only dying off for about two weeks each winter—the period called Abscission—despite freezing temperatures.

A Brief History of Modern Thayaria

The stiff, formal Velmaran clothing is scratchy, but I need to look every inch a Crown Prince tonight at the Welcome Ball. I’d much prefer the clothing of a warrior or even a commoner, but we all have a part to play this evening. My tunic is navy blue, with gold embroidered suns along the shoulders and sleeves. Medals and other unearned adornments litter my chest. The fitted trousers are cream, with a gold stripe down the side. Tradition demands I wear a crown despite my loathing of it, so I place the small halo of golden suns atop my head.

I can’t help but be nervous for the evening. We’ve spent the last week going over the plans at night in the training room. The Queen demanded I show her I could hide Fionn and Silene from another room, and at a great distance, repeatedly.Laurel, as she insisted I call her, was not taking any risks.

After the rebel attack on Rusthelm, Laurel became hyper-focused on perfecting every aspect of our plan, combed over every detail of the ball and the prisoner breakout, tweaking and adjusting until it met her standards. We haven’t spoken of the attack since returning from the clearing, both of us exhausted and our magic spent. Nor have we discussed the otherworldly glow that had emanated from her as she was questioning the rebel sent to threaten her. She looked transcendent. When I try to bring up the attack, she changes the subject or dismisses me. When I returned, expression pale and blank, Silene held my hand as I sobbed, telling her of what had happened and of the one I couldn’t save. Who had done that for Laurel? Instinct tells me she simply pushed down the horror and carried on like she has likely done her entire life.

I’ve spent more time with the so-called Witch Queen this week than I have since we arrived, sitting through countless planning meetings with her advisors. I’ve tried to charm her, making flirty remarks and innuendos, but she continues to be immune. While I can usually get a few minutes of banter out of her, she eventually shuts it down. It’s incredibly aggravating. We’re never going to learn about the real source of her power if I can’t get her to trust me. And there issomethingdifferent about her power. I suspected it the moment I met her in the throne room, but it was confirmed for me when I saw her glowing as she tortured that rebel.

It pains me to admit that I’ve fulfilled my father’s request to understand what the kingdom is like and how strong she’s become, though I have no intentions of providing him with that information. I’m not sure what he expected we’d find, but Laurel is strong and fully in control of the massive well of power she possesses. Even more surprising to me is how she rules, the kindness and wisdom she shows, and her unwavering drive for perfection. She’s respected, revered, and has kept this kingdom together—kept this kingdomthriving—through three centuries of isolation. I wonder, though, if the relentless drive she has is a wall she puts up between herself and the world—her attempt to show the face of a ruler she thinks she needs to be but doesn’t feel she truly is.

The desire, no—the burningneed—to get under her skin and break that cool and indifferent mask, see the female beneath the Queen, eats away at me. I have an unrelenting urge to prod and poke at her until she cracks, even though she never does. Throughout my centuries-long life, I’ve seduced countless females and males into spilling their secrets with just the right balance of charm and suggestive touches. It drives me mad she won’t crack, that I have no progress to show for the weeks we’ve been here. I’m determined to win her over to me. I just need to find the right angle.

Last night, she finally told us the full plan to break out the rebel prisoners, not trusting us with the information until the last moment.

“The palace cells are built inside the mountain, but there’s a passage from them that opens on the other side of the ridge, where the rebels can meet you to receive the prisoners,” she had told us. “It’ll be challenging getting back from there, especially if the guards are following you, but it will also add cover. If I aerstep you back and you’re immediately seen at the ball again, no one should suspect that you were with the group that went down those passages.”

Fionn and Silene had to scramble all day to get the information to the rebels, meeting with contact after contact to pass the information up the chain of command, but they pulled it off. I don’t blame the Queen for not trusting us with the information of the secret passage sooner, especially after Rusthelm, but it would have made planning easier.

I survey myself in the mirror and a jolt of excitement rushes through me, though I try to pretend I don’t know what it’s for. Fionn knocks on my door, then whistles.

“You clean up good, princey,” he teases. My rude hand gesture has him laughing. The formal uniform of a Velmaran Royal Guard makes his tall frame even more imposing.

“We need to go! Stop primping and let’s move,” Silene calls from the sitting room.

Her small frame jitters with excitement as I exit my bedroom. Wearing a navy and gold pant suit with flowy trousers that appear like a dress until she moves, she’s both regal and practical. Noticing my observation, she twirls. “I had a tailor in town make it for me this week. Rush order. It cost your father a heaping pile of gold, since we lost all of our verdes playing skran and the shop owner charged more to not pay with Thayarian currency,” she says with a maniacalcackle.

“In that case, it’s perfect,” I tell her. “Are you ready?”

She nods. We’ve perfected our act since our engagement. She uses her endearing personality to get people to trust her, and by extension, me. Then I swoop in with the charm and disarming winks, and they do whatever we want them to. And if that fails, Fionn scares them senseless. It’s a practiced routine that works well, and we may need to use it tonight if things go sideways. I loop my arm through Silene’s, and we walk arm in arm out of the room, the perfect picture of a Prince and his betrothed, shadowed by their loyal guard.

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