Page 58 of The Kingdom's Reckoning
Rian smacked Laurince on the shoulder. "Why don’t you say it louder so everyone can hear you, hmm?"
Laurince rolled his eyes as he plopped down in the seat across from Myra.
"Oh," Myra mumbled, folding her hands beneath the table. Her nails dug into her palms, the pain sharp. She knew this was coming, yet she was surprised at how much her heart ached. She shouldn’t have been sad. Rian was the king of Frenzia—even if his brother was currently sitting on his throne. His peopleneeded him; Frenzia needed him. Yet, she couldn’t deny she had grown accustomed to their company. Their constant bickering had become a strange comfort, one she would miss.
Guilt, sorrow, and a sense of determination wafted off the king and rushed over Myra.
"I cannot abandon Frenzia and leave them to deal with Sebastian," he whispered, leaning his hip against the table. "It’s not right. Despite what some might think, I’m still king. My word still means something. It has to."
"When?" she asked, even though she was afraid of the answer.
"Tomorrow," Laurince answered.
Ohwas all she could say.
The captain massaged his jaw, but the tension didn’t leave his sharp features. "We thought it was best if we left sooner than later. The attacks are becoming more frequent." He swallowed, his throat dipping. "We don’t want…we haven’t told the others."
"I see." She tried to convince herself the slight burning sensation she was feeling was because of the dry air in the library and no other reason.
"We would have told you sooner, but we—" Laurince pursed his lips and scratched the back of his neck. The collar of his shirt shifted, and the jagged scar peeked beneath the fabric.
"Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me." Myra forced a tight smile onto her face. Looking at the book in her hand, she drew a line down the leather cover. "You should prepare. If…if I find something before you leave, I’ll let you know."
She stood, her chair nearly collapsing. She mumbled an apology as Rian saved it from crashing to the ground. Her feet carried her toward the shelves.
The smell of old parchment and dried ink had always been a comfort, yet today it strangled her. Her gaze was unfocused and blurry as she scanned the bookshelves. She chewed onher bottom lip, willing the tears away. She wouldn’t cry. There was no reason to cry, yet Myra couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of purposelessness.
If she had been strong enough to fight off Domitius' demands, if she had been able to say no, if she had held onto her morals—none of this would have come to fruition.
Was everything Myra touched cursed?
Was everything she did doomed to turn for the worse?
She tightened her grip on the book, pressing it against her chest. Her lungs constricted, her breathing growing shallow.
Perhaps it was better that everyone was leaving her. She didn’t want to doom them even more.
She stumbled, her toe catching on air. Panicking, she reached out and grabbed the first thing she could. Books went tumbling. Her hand slammed against the shelf.
"Shoot." She knelt on the ground and began stacking the books.
Footsteps pounded behind her, but she didn’t turn.
"Myra, are you?—"
"I’m fine," she blurted, cutting Laurince off. "I tripped. Clumsy feet, you know?" Her voice was thick, and she prayed he didn’t notice.
When she stood, books piled high in her arms, a hand touched her elbow, helping her up. She muttered thanks and moved away, letting Laurince’s hand fall.
One by one, she shelved the books. And although her attention was fixed on the spines, she couldn’t read a single title.
"Are you sure you’re not hurt?" Laurince asked gently.
Myra nodded.
The captain refused to take the hint, though. He tugged on her elbow, his coarse hand impossibly soft, and beckoned her to face him.
His deep brown eyes stared at her, his thick brows drawn together. "Come with us."
