My Beloved Queen

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

xxix. the queen and the explorer

seeker
// man carves a path, a way gouged through mountain and forest. he uses knives and shovels and forces the earth to bend to his will, and as she conforms, he loses himself in the labyrinth of her new paths.

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The pause was drawing to a close. The sun had continued its march, and the chill in the air now gnawed like a dog at your flesh, but even somber delight had its place and purpose, and the quiet of the garden was so gray and sweet and kind. Just one moment more—one moment, and then you would depart and continue on as you had before.

The sailor's boat would not wait forever, and if he hesitated any longer, then it would simply set off without him.

Hesitation wound like shackles about your limbs, and just as your fingers curled about the edge of the bench, the chains were pulled suddenly tight. The chill was in your stomach, sick and slow, and nausea made to line your brow, but the mask allowed only a frown. The trees shivered, and the flowers tilted their wilting heads. There was a sound in the cooling air: footsteps again, but this set was much heavier than that of Ambassador Nivai.

Your stare rose, and your arms went suddenly slack. The chains must have been cut, but your knuckles were growing pale, and your legs and feet sat still and useless.

King Orelus had ventured into the garden, and though your eyes had found him, his own gaze fled from the shivering trees to the wilting flowers and back again. The chill unsheathed its claws at the sight of him, and you felt it sink its talons into the flesh of your arms; perhaps, now, it had the strength to bite through your bone.

The king of Ceorid walked slowly, and dead leaves and twigs crunched like small animal bones beneath his boots. The line of his shoulders was broad and rigid, and the glare he cast upon the garden was cold and scrutinizing, but a shadow had fallen across his harsh face. He paused for a moment just before the pale, empty bench Queen Serenna had perhaps once sat upon, and his hand, once resting atop the hilt of his blade, slipped, but then he glanced to the side, and his stare found yours.

Surprise lifted his eyebrows, but then, not a moment too soon, his eyes narrowed, and he began advancing toward you. Your heart jumped, but the mask was cool and pleasant, and quickly, you dipped your head to him.

"My lord." The nausea in your stomach rolled, but your tone remained soft and light—clear, like the cold. You forced a smile, and though it felt like wax, it tasted of honey. "What a kind surprise; I had not thought to see you here."

King Orelus's stare was firm and careful, but the weight of it had lessened, or perhaps you had merely become accustomed to the burden. A disastrous wedding night could not deter tyrants, and, of course, you would not have wished that it did. Better it was that he desired you in spite of the terror of that first night. A kind, thorough stroking of your ego it was, to be sought for regardless. Indeed, it was no horror to know that the king of Ceorid had grown so awfully numb to threats of death that their echoes did not resound for days in his head—that he did not wake in a jolt in the middle of the night gasping through aching lungs, his flesh so slick with sweat that it was only the burn in his eyes that told him he had been, and was still, sobbing.

Yes; it truly was a blessing that you had other means to occupy the long nights.

"I had not planned to come," he replied. His voice was low and rough, and though his gaze was narrowed by scrutiny, the frown that pulled at his lips was not harsh. Perhaps it was a curious frown, but curiosity, even alone, was hardly harmless.