Page 74 of The Reluctant Queen
“I didn’t want to ask too much.” He shrugged.
She laughed then, the first real one she’d let out in ages, light and airy with the tiniest touch of un-sad.
“Please?” he asked again, giving her the most dramatic pout she’d ever witnessed. It was leaps and bounds beyond the one that had gotten her assigned the role of chaperone at the damned symposium. Again, with the air magic, her brother pushed open the windows, and a hot breeze plowed into the room.
“Kas Kahoth!” Hevva shrieked, pulling together a handful of leaves to toss at his face. “You are so annoying!”
He giggled as the greenery fluttered around him. Before anything could hit the ground, Kas whipped up a dervish and sent them all flying back into Hevva’s face.
Sand was next. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but clearly he had no compunctions about whipping her with stems.
Kas shouted when the grains hit him in the face, slipping down into his shirt, as she intended, to annoy him all day. “Not fair!”
When he sent a gust strong enough to lift her mattress, she wiggled the wood floor, sending him flying across the room to land cockeyed upon her settee.
Laughing, he called for a truce.
Trying to put her windblown hair back to rights, she offered her brother a lopsided smile. “Thank you, Kas. I’m stillquitesad. But I needed that.”
“Sad how?” he asked, making himself comfortable on the sofa.
She flopped back down and focused on the burning sensation deep in her chest. “It’s hard to explain. I feel like my lungs are ripping apart every time I take a breath. Like my legs will give out sometimes, just because a particularly heavy thought has entered my mind. I feel like every single day is cold and dreary and gray . . . Like the very end of winter, when the beautiful snow is gone, and the whole world is muddy and dead. That’s how I feel.”
“I hope that never happens to me.”
Hevva met his gaze her eyes welled up with tears. “I too hope you nevereverfeel as I do.”
“Don’t cry! Come swim with me.” Kas bounced up to race across theroom, and before she knew it, he was tugging on her leg, trying to get her to stand.
She swiped her tears away before rolling off the bed in a halfhearted display of energy. “Fine, fine, let’s go to the pond.”
twenty-seven
Ehmet rides a horse, again.
For three full daysEhmet traveled north toward Stormhill. The first day he was fueled by the roaring hope his mother had brought to life within him. The second day those flames began to dim and flicker as his anxious mind reminded him he’d been denied by her once before.
Yes, because you were a fool about love.What a dunce he’d been. Despite questioning every other piece of advice and information that had ever come out of the late king’s mouth, Ehmet never once considered his father may have been wrong when he claimed to love the dowager. His father was a bit of a villain ineveryone’slives, not just his own.
The fear of turning out that way, of becoming abusive and cruel because of the love he held for a woman, had turned Ehmet off to the idea entirely, and he’d never stopped to realizelovewasn’t the reason his father behaved the way he did. King Vahit Hethtar was a possessive, objectifying, selfish man who loved no one but himself. And Ehmet wasnothinglike his father.
He wouldneverlose his temper in such a fashion. He would never hit a child, or a woman, oranyoneunprovoked. He would never lose himself to paranoia. He would neverbelike Dad.
On the third day, he was consumed by questions of adoration, vulnerability, and trust. Anxiety spread beneath his skin and pooled in the tips of his fingers and toes. With twenty tiny pulses beating in tandem, histhoughts spiraled. What if she didn’t love him in return? What ifthat’swhy she had said “no” when he first proposed? Had she moved on already? Was the engagement to Lady Tahereh the last straw? Could the engagement be broken? Was this entire journey a lost cause? What if Hevva didn’t want him at all? What if Hevvadid,and hestillcouldn’t marry her? Panicked and in need of grounding, Ehmet retrieved the ring from his pocket. He wore it upon the tip of his little finger the rest of that day, twisting it ’round as he rode onward.
At his inn that third night, somewhere southeast of Stormhill, Ehmet checked in under a false name. The innkeeper studied him far too intently as she upgraded the king to a room with a larger bed.
“For your height.” The sturdy woman studied his face.
Pursing his lips, he dipped his chin. He didn’t think inns were in the business of upgrading farm laborers to finer accommodations, but if she wasn’t going to say who he was, he’d allow the minor luxury.
“Two letters have arrived for you . . . Mister.”
Oh, shedefinitelyknew who he was. He could tell by the fleeting grimace on the woman’s face. She did not want to call him something so lowly as “Mister." He appreciated the support in keeping his cover, though.
Ehmet accepted the correspondence from the innkeeper and retreated to his chamber. He was traveling without Parosh, or any guards, which meant he could remain anonymous...ish. His unshaven face, unadorned fingers, and simple attire helped. Leaving his destrier in Serkath and opting for more nondescript mounts along the route was also working in his favor, but the sub-par beasts and lack of earthshaping travel companions slowed him substantially.
Perhaps traveling alone wasn’t the smartest choice for a king without any heirs. But he was somehow both unassuming and large. If he were set upon by bandits or the like, he’d conjure up a sword, or maybe a battle ax, and the ruffians would be gone before they could breathe word of his presence to anyone.
