Page 73 of Frost and Death
Are the rumors about me that scary?
Her cries are the only sound in the room as I stand very carefully, making my way to her. Reaching for her chin, I grab it gently, tilting it to meet my eyes.
Her tears have drenched her cheeks, and her nose is red.
The visible sorrow tears at my heart. I can’t bear to see how much worry she has over this.
Who am I to judge her for something that happened years ago?
I can’t bend over well, so I nudge her on the knee with my foot, beckoning her to stand.
She pushes off the lush red rug, brushing off her gown when she rises. When her eyes meet mine, I cannot help myself from pulling her in for an embrace.
My damned empathy—always getting the better of me.
I rub her back gently. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I know it must have been hard.”
Dorit returns the hug, her sob causing her to shiver. “Th-Thank you, Y-Your Majesty.”
“Pleasedon’t be afraid of me, Dorit.”
She is careful with her hands around my back, thoughtful and not nearing my bandaged shoulder. Bless her.
I pull away from her, and tears still run down her cheeks. “You are the only one that has visited me for an entire week. I consider you more of an acquaintance than the others.Includingmy future husband.”
She laughs, and I continue, “You’ve made me as comfortable as I can be here, and I am thankful for that.”
She sniffs, bobbing her head in agreement.
I pull away and force her to look at me.
“I have no animosity toward you for what you had with the king,” I reassure her. “It happened before we met, and who am I to judge you or him for exploring that adventure?”
A tear falls down her face as I give her arms a light squeeze, smiling gently.
Sweet Makers, she reminds me of Runa.
Swallowing the memories of my sister, I bury them deep for only me to experience. I cannot go dragging another person into my grief.
“Thank you for having the courage to tell me. It can be intimidating speaking your thoughts. Deities, I am a queen, and I can barely do that,” I joke.
A slight chuckle escapes from her, and she covers her mouth.
I wonder at the outburst but find it refreshing to be around another person slipping with protocol.
“I am so sorry. That was rude of me to do,” she says quickly.
I pat her hand. “It was a joke. It was meant to be laughed at.”
We watch each other sheepishly, then laugh together for the first time as she wipes the tears from her cheeks, eying the vanity.
“Would you like me to help you get ready later this evening?” she asks.
If I get ready alone, I will probably sulk and fight against all the emotions sinking me down. Having someone here could be a welcome distraction.
But when I look at her, I cannot help but voice my immediate thought. “I don’t want to marry him.”
I was supposed to marry Niko. I amsupposedto be married to Niko.
