Page 44 of The King's Queen

“Oh.”

“Do you have something else to say,Mei Reinhavich?”

His steely glare is unrelenting as he eyes the gown I’m in, one that Rowan chose to prove a point, apparently. The gown is a burnt autumn color with long billowing sleeves and a low neckline. My dagger is strapped under my skirts, of course, and I’m wearing thick-soled boots just in case. None of this fools Blaine, of course.

“No, but you clearly do.”

“How quickly you’ve turned from princess to mercenary. Is that steel on the toe of your boots, or cursed blood? He’s all over you now, and you can’t even see it.”

It is all I can do to stare at him with wild bewilderment. What the hell does he mean by that? What does one thing have to do with the other?

“If you don’t like me fighting with them, then find another way,” I snap, tired of this game already. I should’ve been more careful. I never should’ve gotten Blaine involved. It only complicates things more. It would’ve been better to just disappear and let him wonder where I had gone, maybe then he would’ve realized that he had pushed me away.

His face is blank as he hands me over to the care of Rowan and Commander Raiko and walks away with not even a bow. The commander bristles at his uncharacteristic insubordination but says nothing as he turns to command his men. I wince along with them at the newfound sharpness of his tongue. Leave it to Blaine to ruin a mood in less than thirty seconds.

“Quit frowning,” Rowan chides, resuming his role of tutor. “He’s a captain, you’re supposed to outrank him. His actions mean nothing to you, not in front of them.”

I take offense to his reprimand until I trace his gaze back to where a few of the knights are watching wearily. The gossip surrounding Blaine and mine’s relationship surely hasn’t lessened over the years since we’ve grown apart. Perhaps I can pin the blame on him once again, after all, it was his sulking I heard in the knight’s quarters the night of my engagement. If he had just held his tongue…

Rowan pinches my underarm. “Smile. You’re supposed to be sick not dying.”

I offer a weak smile then slam my heel down on the soft of his foot.

“Apologies sir,” I drawl to feign innocence, “I suppose I haven’t regained all my strength or balance yet.”

His foot promptly juts out and knocks me forward. I bite my tongue as he grips my elbow to steady me. “It would appear so.” Then he whispers with that Cheshire Cat grin, “Eat shit, princess.”

The commander clears his throat right as I’m about to retort or unsheathe that hidden blade and cut that smirk from his face. Not that it would’ve phased him. I think the gods themselves could show up, and Rowan would flip them a vulgar gesture then carry on with his day. I’d be lying if I said a part of his cool consistency didn’t excite me just a little. To know I could show the worst of me and he wouldn’t even bat an eye.

The footman opens the door with a deep bow, and I notice him biting his tongue to keep from calling me Mei Reinhavich out of habit. If Rowan notices, he doesn’t say anything, just follows me into the carriage. The door closes with a snick, then the echoes of hoof beats on gravel carry us onward.

I take to staring contently out the window while Rowan pulls his hat over his face as if to doze off, though I can tell he’s not asleep.

Grassy emerald hills roll out before us, painted golden at their arches with the morning sunlight and dew. The blue sky boasts a few fluffy clouds that dot along the horizon and the occasional small bird. We pass a fawn and its mother at one point.

“Sometimes it’s strange to think that they can go as far as their legs can take them.” I remark to Rowan’s fake-sleeping form. “No fathers or fiancés to tell them where their boundaries are. There’s no difference between the East and West deer. No talk of assassinations and arranged marriage. They’re free.”

“They don’t live long.” Rowan peaks out from under the brim of his cap.

“But theylive,” I whisper breathlessly. My companion’s eyes shutter for a moment as if considering this, then promptly close again, leaving me with only my thoughts. We have long since passed the fawn and his rolling hills. All of it for him to take.

Chapter16

Verosa

The carriage halts suddenly, and I find myself gripping the seat to keep from falling. Rowan’s eyes are open and focused over my shoulder, where a gentle sea breeze whispers through the curtains of the open window.

“Come on,” he says softly and nudges me with an elbow. “We’re here.”

Ialenia falls.It was situated on the Eastern shoreline of Krycolis and roughly a day’s carriage ride from the palace. The storm clouds we had seen briefly on our ride over have completely vanished, leaving only clear blue skies that reflect evenly across the ocean at the base of the cliffs. Despite years of neglect, the grass grows evenly, with flowers that should have been out of season still blooming in full color. The trees stretch skyward, sparse enough to provide a bit of ambiance but no real shade from the unrelenting sun. However, the sea breeze wicked the sweat from my brow as soon as it formed. The place was perfect, no doubt due to the magic deeply imbued in its roots.

I’d read that back when the pureblood mages owned and cultivated the land, it had boasted temples spanning across the entirety of the cliffside with a small village nestled at the base of the cliffs. A stairway of seven thousand steps led the way from the villages to the temples, but that hadn’t separated their magic and home lives. Even the children could make the trek with ease, an ability accredited to their pureblood blessings, and would oftentimes spend the days running through the temples or tinkering with magic in the gardens. That was before my great grandfather destroyed them all.

The mages had refused to follow Deungrid despite his being the source of their powers. Despite being overtly pious, the king hadn’t found reason to eradicate them until they began to shelter purebloods escaping Varium. cursed purebloods. They had claimed it had been a gift given to them by the god himself and that they should be free to use its blessings as they saw fit. My grandfather decided that as king, it was his god-given right to rule as he saw fit, and he slaughtered them all.

It is said that as the pureblood mages were dying, they combined their power with the dark magic of the cursed and cast a curse upon their king. He died without an heir, and thus the line of succession shifted to his adoptive brother, his brother’s son, and then my father.

“I’m surprised the king hasn’t completely destroyed this place yet,” Rowan remarked with a low whistle. “I can practically feel the magic and curse here. Maybe his heir will.”

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