Page 31 of The Lost Fae
"No," I bite out.
"So just a claiming then." She lifts one shoulder with a dry laugh. "All claims can be... unclaimed. Sad for you though, that there isn't a spark there."
"One could come in time." Lincoln carefully clasps his hands in front of him.
Smart. If those hands accidentally got anywhere near the queen right now I'd probably bite his fingers off.
Damn, Briar. This claiming is really making you fucking aggressive. I kinda like it.
"But why hasn't it happened yet?" Her face looks so innocent as she asks the question. Maybe if I slapped her hard enough the facade would fall right off her. Now that would be a shame.
Behave. We need her.Lincoln's voice soothes.
Why do I feel like you've said that to me before?
Probably because I have. You almost chewed up Captain Beatrice and spit her out the moment we got on the ship.
Right...
The queen trills a loud and long laugh that shakes her shoulders and makes the glitter of her dress sparkle with the movement. "Sorry, didn't mean to dampen the mood." She looks from me, then back up to Lincoln. "My name is Queen Anastasia."
My teeth sink into my cheek as my jaw clamps down tight. "Say that again?"
"Queen. Anastasia."
"As in...Romanov?"I rasp, my throat suddenly raw.
"You... know the name?" Her already pale skin blooms a bright red.
"I--uh--" Does The Lost Court claim every legend? "I thought they found your body in a... a mineshaft or something." I press my fingers to my temples trying to recall the details. I was a history major, damn it. "Grand Duchess. You're a Grand Duchess."
Her chest rises and falls quickly. Her fingers close in a fist that she brings up to her mouth. Speaking around her hands, she continues. "I didnotfall down a mineshaft. I. Was...Thrown!" She shutters. "Then I landed here." She drops her hand and lifts her chin. "Now I command respect. How can I help you?"
"Actually, we were hoping to speak to you in private?" Lincoln clears his throat, loosening the grip he has on my hand.
The queen’s attention tilts over to Captain Beatrice. The captain snaps her fingers and walks through the castle, either she's too confident for her own good, or she's familiar with the castle. Which would mean that the tale she spun for us isn't entirely true.
"We're alone." She gestures to the entryway. Just Lincoln, the queen, the trolls, and I.
"Alone. Alone." Lincoln looks at the guards.
"Oh, that isn't going to happen."
The trolls haven't moved an inch. They are as good as statues anyway, I try to reason with my anxiety. Because the question we are about to ask her shouldn't be shared. If there is a way out it's carefully hidden and prying ears are never a good thing.
"Well get on with it," Anastasia commands.
"We're trying to find a way out." I say, likely much less elegantly than however Lincoln would phrase it.
"A way out...? A way out of what exactly? If you've made some sort of deal with Captain Beatrice, I'm afraid I'm unwilling to interfere. A deal is a deal."
"No. We need to get back home. You see, I too am a queen. I need to go to my throne."
Anastasia stops blinking. Stops breathing. Had I said the wrong thing?
"I'm in the presence of another queen. AFaequeen. Yes, you're right. You do need to go home." Anything kind in her tone dissolves. "Guards. Could you show them to their room?"
"Wait—”
