Page 80 of The Witch Queen

She blushes, and it lights me up with excitement for what might be. “That would be wonderful.” Her eyes are bright with what I swear is longing, and there’s a small spark between us. Despite my earlier decision not to pursue anything romantic with her for her own safety, something about that look in her expression makes me waver in my resolve.

“It’s decided then. I’ll find you when I’m done here for the day, and we can retire to my room for dinner.” I emphasize the last word, suggesting dinner is the furthest thing from my mind. She blushes again before walking down the spiral staircase, and my chest flutters.

What would Laurel say, seeing me flirting with Velmarans? Practically inviting one to sleep with me?

Shaking my head to clear the thoughts of Genevieve from it, I open the massive Old Fae book and the dictionary I’ve been using to translate. My vocabulary has improved quickly, the knowledge refreshing from the depths of my memory. I started translating the section on fae mates two days ago, and I return to that section now.

Reading a passage about how mates discover one another, through blood, I catch the word used in the book’s title, though here it makes little sense to be translated aslegend. I wrack my brain, searching its depths for alternative translations. I flip through the dictionary for the character in question, then scan through the various translations to the common tongue. Legend, myth, fable, story, and tradition are all listed as viable translations.Tradition.The word stands out to me, making the most sense in the context of the passage.Does that mean the title of the book is TheTraditionsof the Fae?That puts the volume in a whole new light.

Does that mean fae mates could be real? Or were real, at some point?

I keep reading, unsure how to feel about this new information and constantly asking myself why Mazus would give me these books, as I have every day since I received them. The passage continues, explaining that when the mating bond is accepted by both partners, their magicchanges, though the text doesn’t explain exactly how or what this looks like. According to the book, many famous fae mates of the past decided not to accept the bond, worried about the change to their magic. Even the simple fact that the book casually references infamous mated pairs is revolutionary, solidifying my suspicion that mates are more than myth.

My mind wanders to Laurel and the prophecy about her. Realization hits me like a punch in the gut. I practically run down the spiral staircase, through the archives and to the section on Thayaria, looking for an Old Fae version of the prophecy. Finding it in an older book I scanned several days ago and deemed useless, I take it and hurry back to Genevieve’s office. Panting from the sprint, I compare the Old Fae word that has for centuries been translated asloverto the word used for mate in this text, my mind whirring with possibility. My suspicions are correct—the words are the same.

The last line of the prophecy should readBlood to blood, the Queen and her fatedmatewill unite what has been torn apart.

Why would Mazus give me this book? Is this even the section he wanted me to read? Does hewantme to give Laurel this information? I consider writing a letter to Laurel that makes it appear I haven’t found anything useful, just to throw Mazus off my trail when he inevitably intercepts it. But that could also be what he wants. There’s no good option for how to proceed, and I slam my fists onto the table in frustration. I know that I’m playing a game with Mazus, but only he knows the rules and which pieces are on the board.

Mind ruminating, I pass the rest of the day tediously translating the text, taking copious notes that fill dozens of rolls of parchment. When the light becomes too dark to see, I consider lighting a lamp but then remember the dinner with Genevieve. Despite my eagerness to keep translating, desperate for every morsel of information on mates, I won’t stand her up. I pack up my things, taking extra care with all four books Mazus provided, then stalk down the staircase and through the endless rows that make up the archives until I find Genevieve shelving books from a cart. She notices me and smiles tentatively across the hall at me, though there’s something in her expression that seems off.

When I reach her, I notice her eyes are puffy and her cheeks are flushed, as if she’s been crying. I’m about to ask her what happened when she quickly speaks, like she knows I’ve noticed and doesn’t want me to ask.

“I have to finish shelving these before I can leave for the day, or the Head Librarian will never let me hear the end of it.” Her voice is lifeless, so unlike her usual tone. Something is definitely wrong, though she clearly isn’t ready to talk about it.

“Then let me help you,” I say softly, giving her the emotional space she so desperately wants. I take a book from her hands and intentionally brush my fingers over hers in the movement. She shivers, and I smile internally.

“You don’t have to—” she starts, but I cut her off.

“It’s no problem. I know these archives well by now.” Scanning the title of the book in my hands, I find its place on the top shelf before filing it away. We make quick work of the cart, finishing in about a quarter of an hour. As we walk back to my room, she steals glances my way, and I make excuses to bring my body close to hers or brush my hands over her fingers. The dinner tray sits outside my room, and Genevieve frowns.

“The servants should have brought that in for you. Anyone could walk by and poison your food,” she huffs, concern in her voice. I laugh as I pick up the tray and lead her inside.

“I told the servants to leave my food there. I like my privacy, and I don’t want to create more work for unpaid labor. No one is interested in poisoning me.”

Her brows furrow. “But… they areservants. Of course they should be unpaid. Their payment is paying off debts or giving back to the community for their crimes,” she says slowly, not understanding my own distaste for the practice.

I shrug. “In Thayaria, we pay our servants, and we pay them well. It’s considered an honor to serve in the palace, but it’s also a lucrative career, and the wages they earn can support an entire family. If the servants here were paid, they could pay off their debts just as easily with real coin and potentially have some left over to make a life for themselves,” I lament to her. She seems to consider my words, so I leave her to ponder. Setting the tray on the small dining table, I uncover the dishes while Genevieve looks around my room with more confusion.

“Your chambers are so small! Surely someone made a mistake by giving you a single room. I would expect the Thayarian ambassador to have a whole suite.”

Again, I only shrug. “I don’t mind,” I tell her, though she seems unconvinced. “Plus, a larger room would surely come with nobles and courtiers trying to position themselves close to me to somehow sweep the rooms out from under me. I spend most of my day in the archives, anyway. All I need is a bed and a place to eat.” I gesture for Genevieve to sit across from me at the small table tucked into a corner, and she does. She delicately lays a napkin across her lap, then serves herself a small portion of food. I frown, realizing she has the manners of a noble. I should have realized sooner that she was from a noble family. “How was your day?” I ask, hoping to probe more about what had her so upset now that we’re away from the library. She launches into a story about the Reshnar scholar.

“He’s awful and acts so entitled because the King invited him here. I spent the entire day running across the archives to fetch books for him because he was too lazy to get up himself and retrieve them. And then at the end of the day, he had the audacity to try—to put—” She trails off, and I study her blushing face closely. Unease builds in my gut, along with hot, churning anger.

“What happened?”

“Well, you know how males can be,” she says, the flippancy in her voice not matching the horror and grief in her eyes.

“Did he touch you, Genevieve?” I ask, my voice low and filled with fury.

Her eyes dart to the floor. “It’s nothing I’m not used to. It shouldn’t have bothered me.” I reach my hand across the table and grab hers, stroking soothing circles with my thumb.

“That’s bullshit. You are not an object for males to do with what they please. What happened?”

She wipes her eyes quickly. “He grabbed me from behind while I was shelving and pulled me tightly against him. His breath was so hot on my neck, and I felt—he ground against my backside.” She’s bright red now, cheeks aflame with embarrassment and shame. My blood boils. Living at Laurel’s side the last three hundred years has isolated me from the realities of the world. I’d forgotten what it meant to be a vulnerable female in situations where males have more power. I lift Genevieve’s chin to lock her eyes on mine.

“I am so incredibly sorry that happened to you, Genevieve. It isn’t okay, and you have every right to be affected by it. How much longer is he here?”

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