Page 30 of Golden Queen
That seemed fairly unlikely, even with the whole of the Royal Guard at his back. And that would never happen. There would always be those who supported the House of Lithaway.
But even if he could manage to get them all, even down to the elite Gold Guard, Markus could not stand against the Windemere fyrds.
The fyrds would be united in this, at least. Not even Markus' staunchest supporter, that dog, Gerrin Tithian, would allow a Smeck from Ardmore to usurp a Lithawayan heir.
So why then, did I have his fucking handprints on my neck again?
When I reached my chambers, Tatana surged up from her chair. "Aelia, what happened?"
I devolved into wracking, horrible sobs as she put her arms around me.
We had been there before. We had been there so many times before—often with the roles reversed. Tatana's shattered, bruised body sobbing in my arms.
The thought brought my pain quickly into perspective. I forced myself to calm, sucking in great lungfuls of air, trying to clear my head. I was not a child to be crying over a punishment. I had no right to fall apart like this over a few bruises when Tatana had come back from every encounter with Markus so, so much more broken.
"I'm alright," I said, though my voice cracked a little.
"I will fucking kill him," Tatana said, as she leaned back and studied my throat.
"I'm alright," I said again, smiling wanly at the anger in her words. It was not at all like Tatana to curse.
"Did he hurt you anywhere else?" she asked.
I shook my head. Most of Markus' physical punishments were in places that would not show, so it was not surprising that she might think he had given me other bruises.
"What happened?"
"Not much," I lied. "He lost his temper when I would not allow him to return Etreyiu to the Artaxians."
She narrowed her eyes. "The nerve of him—"
"It's over now, and everything is alright. Just stay out of his way for a while...and tell no one," I stressed. "Especially not Arkadian."
"Arkadian left for his estate. He stopped by to tell you. He said a smuggler's ship went aground off the point, and he had to go and deal with it."
My heart sank. Despite the fact that I could not go to him for recourse, Arkadian represented some measure of safety. His absence from Albiyn made me feel terribly vulnerable.
Tatana's expression changed as she released me and stepped back. She busied her hands with smoothing her skirt. "He said to tell you that her name is Gwen and he will tell you about her when he returns."
"Oh," I said, understanding her sudden discomfort. I did not draw attention to her obvious pain at the mention of Arkadian's special someone, though. What she felt for my cousin was not something she would admit to anyone, even me.
Tatana and I did not leave my chambers that day. I asked the servant who brought our breakfast to give my apologies to the regent. I was indisposed and would miss the day's parade of suitors past my table—and the forced walks through the gardens to listen to whichever lord or courtier had an interesting story about climbing the Unnamed Mountains or visiting Morgus Grund for the wedding of one of the Dwarf King's sisters.
They brought us lunch and dinner as well, but neither of us ate very much. There was a pall over the room after Markus' outburst. It stole my appetite, and I was certain it had robbed Tatana of hers as well.
I wondered briefly if it might not be Arkadian's message about his Gwen, instead of the red and purple marks on my throat, that caused Tatana's face to look so dejected.
After I had pushed around the food on my dinner plate for what felt like a reasonable amount of time, I went to the sideboard along the wall and poured Tatana a glass of wine.
I started to pour another for myself but took the entire bottle instead. I went out onto the terrace, leaving her behind me, seated in an overstuffed white armchair, the forgotten glass of wine dangling from her fingers. She had a book open on her lap that I knew she wasn’t reading.
I climbed onto the roof, almost falling as the hem of my skirt caught under the toe of my slipper. I recovered and pulled myself up before going to lean back against the gently sloping tiles. I drank straight from the bottle as I looked up at the sky.
The stars were beautiful, as they always were from that vantage point. I traced the familiar constellations with the point of my finger holding one eye closed. I only realized I was singing when I tipped up the bottle and the sound of my voice echoed down the empty neck.
I cast it aside, listening to it roll over the tiles loudly until it settled into the 'v' between two sections of the roof.
I lay back, looking up at the impossibly beautiful masterpiece of the night sky and continued to sing—first a slow lament about a fairy woman whose human mate was frozen into the ice barrows of the Unnamed Mountains. Then I moved on to the bawdiest song I knew. The one about the king who had so many wives that his cock fell off in the end.
