Page 51 of The Witch Queen

“You know that my mother died when I was twelve years old.” I only nod, allowing him room to continue in his own time. “Before she died, she discovered something about him. I don’t know what it was, I only know it was massive. It wasn’t until I was over a hundred years old that I found an old journal she kept, hidden inside one of my toy chests. My father packed away all the things he deemed childish after her death, along with anything that might remind me of her. Before she died, I barely interacted with my father, kept under her protection. Afterwards—let’s just say the transition to being under my father’s thumb was not an easy one. He was not a kind parent, to say the least. Because of that, I wasn’t bold enough to seek out my childhood relics until I was much older and my hatred of him was firmly settled in place.” His jaw tightens, and he puts his head in his hands. It cracks something open inside of me. The same thing that fissured when I saw him heal the family and carry the small child, but I was too wrapped up in my own hatred then to allow more than the tiniest fracture. Now, with my commitment to let him show me who he really is, it opens wide.

“I think she left the journal for me,” he finally continues. “In it, she said—she said that if anything happened to her, it would be because Mazus had stopped her heart. I think he killed her. Iknowhe killed her. He brushed her death off as an accident as part of magical research they both willingly agreed to, but I don’t believe that for one second. Even at such a young age, I knew how much she hated him and feared his experimentation. And once I realized he killed her, all the lies he’d spun around himself unraveled.” I reach for him, placing my hand on his knee. It startles me, and I quickly pull my hand back. He stares at the spot I touched him for a moment, nostrils flaring.

“I’m sorry, Hawthorne.” The words sound hollow compared to his raw grief and vulnerability. I wish I were better at this, but I’ve had to lock so much of myself away for so long that I fear I’m not capable of true empathy.

“You should call me Thorne,” he says with one of his charming winks, changing the mood instantly. I suspect he too does not like to sit in his past for very long. “You know my biggest secret, all mydaddy problems. That elevates you to nickname status.”

I laugh, loudly and involuntarily, and his eyes storm with emotion. I’m drawn into the dark green orbs that once filled my worst nightmares, but now only bring comfort and a lust I don’t understand. He pulls my hand into his and gently strokes my palm with his thumb, and I don’t pull away, greedy for his touch. Suddenly, I’m speaking, the compulsion to share more of myself with him overwhelming me.

“Your father… he killed my parents too. He told everyone it was me, but it wasn’t. I was there when it happened. His magic was stronger than theirs. He used aether-voice to force them to impale themselves with their own plant magic while I watched. As I looked at their too still faces, sobbing and praying they weren’t truly gone, hebowedto me. Bowed. Like he hadn’t just up ended my entire world. He said, ‘I’ll see you again soon, Your Majesty Queen Laurel.’ The way his eyes looked when he rose from that bow, full of so much glee, still haunts me most nights. Then he disappeared and left me an adolescent orphan Queen. The first time anyone called me Your Majesty, something I had foolishly dreamed about growing up, and it washim.After hemurderedmy parents using the aether-voice.”

“Is that why you don’t use the aether-voice much?” he asks, and I’m not even surprised he’s noticed. I only nod as he continues to soothe my palm with soft circles.

Angry and desperate tears have gathered in my eyes, and I fight like hell to keep them from dropping. My throat burns with the effort. Then Hawthorne—Thorne—squeezes my hand, and I lose the battle. It’s the smallest gesture, but now I’m crying openly, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. I haven’t cried in front of another person in at least a century. He rubs my back, and I laugh at the absurdity of the situation, the noise half sob and half barking madness. He probably thinks I’ve completely lost my mind. I wipe away the tears, ready to explain that I just can’t get over the irony of it all. To tell him I’m not insane. But then he surprises me by breaking out into his own deep laughter. It starts as a low chuckle but quickly turns into gasping belly laughs that only escalate my own outbursts.

“Why are we laughing?” he chokes out.

“I don’t really know,Thorne,” I say through my giggles, the use of his nickname sending me into another fit. He squeezes my hand again. “I think it’s the only thing wecando. After everything, all the secrets and animosity between our countries, what we’ve both dealt with. The fact that we’re here—in the most isolated and abandoned part of the entire Four Kingdoms—talking about all of this and freezing our asses off. The only thing left to do is laugh.”

That makes him laugh even harder, and we’re both in stitches. He keeps my hand in his the entire time, and I have no desire to stop touching him. I scoot closer, and he leans into me. I feel his magic like a sixth sense, calling to my own, and for once I let the door I usually keep firmly closed on my magical center crack open the smallest bit. That samesparkI’ve felt between us so many times, that I’ve consistently ignored, flares. It’s electrifying, and I want to rip open the door and let everything inside of me burst out to meet him. I’m breathless, and not from all the laughter. I revel in the feeling for a few minutes before I slowly close the door up, locking away my magic with the practiced control I’ve honed over centuries. All the while, we continue laughing.

“Laurel,” he breathes out, and I practically shiver at the way his husky voice says my name. “You—I—” His expression heats.

“Spit it out, princeling,” I tease, thinking he’s going to give me some flirty remark that I’ll have to meet with one of my own. But that’s not what comes out of his mouth.

“Tell me you feel whatever this is between us. Tell me—tell me I’m not crazy.”

Those two sentences dump ice water on whatever this moment was. I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to react. And that makes me close up again. Of course I feel it. The moment I saw him in that throne room, standing there like a chiseled god of light, I felt an attraction to him. After seeing how he helped heal my people with such compassion, it turned intomore. Every time we’ve traded flirty barbs or longing stares, I’ve feltsomething.But I could pretend it wasn’t real, pretend that at some point I would get rid of him and never have to confront my feelings. I locked them away, sealed shut with everything else I’ve buried for three hundred years. Ijust barelyacknowledged to myself that I’m willing to give him a real chance to be an ally, and now this? Despite the growing trust between us and my realization that not only do I not want to kill him, but I might actuallywantthe alliance he’s proposed—he’s still Velmaran. Still Mazus’sson. Not only that, but he’sengaged,for aethers-sake. And that makes me angry. I like Silene, and I won’t hurt her in this way, even if her fiancé seems more than happy to. Remembering her coming out of his room, the heat fully ices over. How dare he speak to me of what’s between us while he’s sharing his bed with another female? That isn’t fair to me, and it isn’t fair to Silene.

I pull my hand from his, instantly missing the warmth, but refusing to let myself care.

“You’re engaged.” The words are all I manage to get out, and they come out more like a question than the reprimand I wanted them to be.

“What? Engaged? No—I mean, yes, I am—but it’s not—we’re not—” He sputters out his excuse, clearly believing me to be the kind of female who wouldn’t care about his commitments. I’ve called him out on his bullshit and now he doesn’t know what to say.

“And there he is, the Shining Prince I’ve heard so much about,” I hiss. He shudders like I’ve physically struck him, and despite my best efforts, I cringe at the effect my words have.

“Laurel, listen.” He takes my hand firmly in his, like it’s a lifeline. “Silene and I are engaged, technically, but our parents forced it upon us. Neither of us has any interest in marriage to the other. We both agreed that we’d play pretend for a few years to let the dust settle before we refused the match, but it’s all an act. There’snothingbut a sibling-like love for one another between us.” He squeezes my hand, but I pull it away, unsure what to believe.

It’s too convenient a story. And even if that’s whathefeels, how do I know his feelings match Silene’s? She’s so young and could be infatuated with him. She could be pretending to pretend, hoping that one day he’ll realize his true feelings for her. Even if she truly has no interest in him romantically, she’ll be theQueenof Velmara someday. That kind of power and influence is not something to give up lightly. I may have seen a different side of Thorne today, may have enjoyed our laughter and touches and companionship, but there’s a reason he has a reputation for being a flirt, and I would do well to protect my heart and my kingdom from him.Aethers, I’ve seen him flirting with most of my advisors. How can I even trust anything I feel is real and not something every person who meets him feels?

I slip on the mask of Queen again, my constant protection from the world. “We can’t pursue this.” It’s the closest I’ll come to admitting my feelings. “For so many reasons, not least of which is you’re the Crown Prince of Velmara. Even if the history between our kingdoms didn’t exist, you have a throne to inherit and a kingdom to rule, and I have my own. We’re allies. That’s it.” I want the words to come out firm and harsh, but they don’t. They sound kind and yearning, and I curse my stupid feelings and my inability keep Thorne at a distance.

He stares at me for a moment, and I think I see pain flash through his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly. His rakish grin returns. “As you wish, witchling.” A wink tells me he’s back to being the Hawthorne I usually see.

“We should discuss what to do next,” I say, trying to change the topic.

“Yes, what should we do next now that we both know each other’s deepest, darkest secrets and you’ve finally admitted we’re allies?” The flirty prince has returned.

I roll my eyes, relieved we’ve both slipped back into the roles we’re comfortable in, though I have to bury my hurt that he let the feelings and heat between us go so quickly. I’m nothing more than an attempted conquest, and with the rejection, he’s moved on as if nothing were different between us. I shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t expect anything different, especially sinceI’mthe one who said no. But the female inside of me, thepersonwho isn’t a Queen and isn’t the most powerful fae alive and doesn’t have the weight of the world and a prophecy on her shoulders… That person wishes it could be more. Despite my hurt, this is for the best. His reaction—and my own—only prove that exploring anything between us would be dangerous for Thayaria and for me. I move the conversation forward quickly, hoping to put all of this behind us.

“I mean about the rebels. I want you to convince them to attack the palace, attack me, instead of the people of Thayaria. Tell them there are stores of thayar in the palace if you have to. I will not—cannot—have them attacking innocent citizens again. I’ll set myself as bait.” If the leader of the rebellion has once again clawed his way out of my grasp, theonlyacceptable outcome is formeto bear the consequences. I will allow no one else to pay for my mistakes.

Thorne stiffens. “Laurel,” he protests, but I cut him off.

“You have only seen afractionof my power, Hawthorne.” Again, I think I see hurt flash through his features at my return to his given name, but I ignore it. “I’m more than capable of defending myself. They won’t harm me, but I need them to think they can. We can make up vulnerabilities I have that you’ve discovered. We’ll do whatever we need to do to keep their attention on me.”

He only nods, though his expression stays wary as he looks down at me. “I’ll do what I can. Their leader—Krantz is his name—something isoffabout him. He gives me a bad feeling. But I’ll come up with a way to persuade him. We’re allies, after all.” Another wink, another sign he’s put the conversation about feelings behind us, where it belongs.

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