Page 19 of The Kingdom's Reckoning
Muscle memory took over, and she spun around, folding into a curtsy.
"What are you doing?"
Myra peeked through the chunk of blonde hair that had fallen in her face. Laurince was hurrying toward her, amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes. Her gaze trailed lower, and her breath caught in her throat. Did he…did he have a dimple?
"Uhm…" Myra stood, the movement more rigid than she would have liked. She smoothed out the fabric of her skirt, needing something to do. "A habit, I suppose." She peered down the hall. "Shouldn’t you be with His Majesty?"
"There are plenty of guards around," Laurince said with a shrug. "And I’m afraid I cannot help Rian right now. He’s spatting back and forth with that white-haired woman—Ellie, I think? You saw them in there. I’m not getting anywhere near that." He chuckled as he shifted his weight to his other foot.
"Is there something I can help you with then?" Myra asked.
The captain rubbed a hand over the scar that had finally scabbed over. "I was going to ask if you wanted to get some fresh air. After being stuck in that cell, I thought it would be good to?—"
Myra’s eyes widened.
Laurince cut himself off, and a flurry of embarrassment rushed off him. He waved his hands frantically. "I didn’t mean—if you don’t want to?—"
"I—" Myra swallowed. It was as if a dozen rocks sat on her tongue. Sweat dampened the back of her neck as she glanced between Laurince and the space behind him.
"What’s wrong?" Looking over his shoulder, Laurince did a double take.
Graeson was barreling toward them, his emotions unreadable.
"What do you want?" Laurince demanded, stepping in front of Myra as though to shield her.
Myra peeked around him.
Graeson raked a hand through his ink-black hair. The light seeping in from the windows caught on his scar, illuminating it. Instead of answering Laurince, he addressed her, "I only wanted to ask you a couple of questions."
Laurince side-stepped, blocking her from Graeson’s view. "Haven’t you asked enough? Ever since we came here, we’ve been interrogated. Can’t you?—"
"It’s fine, Laurince," Myra said, stepping around him. "What did you wish to ask me?"
Laurince mumbled something under his breath, but it was too quiet for her to hear. His posture remained stiff beside her.
Graeson stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. But as if second-guessing the movement, he removed one hand and rubbed his neck. It was Myra’s first time seeing him uneasy.
Curious, Myra cautiously reached out. At first, she struggled to find the invisible thread, for it was so thin that she nearly missed it. But, once she did, she felt a nervous energy buzzing across the string of emotions that poured from him. She quickly let go before she was tempted to dig further into his emotions. After seeing how he had reacted the first time, Myra was not willing to experience his wrath again.
"I—" Graeson looked out the window, hesitating. "How was she?"
At Graeson’s question, Laurince marginally relaxed beside Myra.
"Your friends were right," Myra said with a soft smile. "Your mother is a fighter and hasn’t stopped fighting."
"But," Graeson tugged at the ends of his hair, "how did she look?"
A lump formed in Myra’s throat as sadness filled Graeson’s pained gaze. She did not wish to tell him that Lysanthia was nearly skin and bone, that her hair had hung limp aroundher face, that her cheeks were sunken, and her skin nearly translucent. He didn’t need to hear that. Graeson had not been shy about expressing his anger toward them during the meeting, but pain and anger had a way of blinding people. Myra had no desire to make him feel worse.
"She’s alive."
"I see," Graeson said, tone hollow, understanding the truth behind the statement.
Silence filled the space between them, and the three of them stood there awkwardly.
Then Myra gasped, straightening as she recalled something else Lysanthia had said before they had left. "She did have a message for you, though."
"She did?" Graeson asked, hopeful.
