My Beloved Queen

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

xxxiv. the knight and the pacifist

debater
// she thinks too kindly of talk, of tongues and voices and minds. her will is strong, and her hope steadfast, but hope guarantees nothing, and rapid torrents can erode even the strongest wills.

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The dream had become real. He'd kissed her mouth and breast, and stomach and lips—finally bore witness to all he could've only hoped to have. The queen—his queen—loved him, and he could know her, all of her, as he never had. There was no warmth to rival that of her skin, nor sunshine to shadow the light of her smile. He held her and knew her but always carefully so; the walls had ears and eyes, and the world knew her to be another's.

Isil watched the branches of the little tree sway in the winter breeze, and his fingers itched for the comfort of the queen's hand, but Lady Helesis's eyes were like a hawk's. He felt her gaze, her attention, shifting to him when he turned his head. He'd look back, and she'd pretend to watch the ground, or cast her gaze to the ceiling, but her eyes weren't as quick as she thought them, and the blood that rushed to her cheeks was quite easy to spy.

He turned his head, and Lady Helesis cast her gaze to the ground, but a disgruntled hum was falling from the queen's throat, and Isil's attention fled to her. The king was late.

Perhaps he wasn't coming.

"Would you like me to send a servant to inquire for the king, Your Majesty?" Helesis inquired. Her voice was quiet and light, and she leaned toward the queen.

What good would that do?

A frown was pulling at [Name]'s lips, but its curve was purposefully soft, and she shook her head and then sighed. "No." Her hands were folded in her lap, neat and nice, and yet Isil spied her fingers curling, and the shape of her eyes was firm. "That's alright." She took a breath and raised her head, and then she continued, sternly, "We'll go without him."

Helesis's eyes grew wide, and though the remainder of her face was still and smooth, her fingers twitched. "Are you...certain, Your Grace?" The noblewoman paused to wet her lips. "Perhaps His Majesty has merely forgotten his promise."

Perhaps his memory was selective.

The queen began to stand and then, with a careful hand, she smoothed down her skirt. "Then might you wait for him in my stead, Helesis?" Her tone was light and inquiring, but a frown pulled at the line of Lady Helesis's mouth, and she hesitated. "You will miss little," the queen continued, and now her voice was almost soft and warm, "The dungeons are an ugly place."

Slowly, Lady Helesis began to nod, but her gaze fled briefly to Isil, and her frown remained firm. "Of course, Your Majesty." She bowed her head. "When he arrives, I shall tell him where to find my lady."

The queen inclined her head, and then began walking, and Isil moved to follow her. He watched the queen, and when they were well out of Helesis's sight, he touched her arm. Immediately, her gait faltered, and she took pause, and then, slowly, she turned her head. Her gaze rose to meet his, and her eyes were soft and warm and bright.

"Do you think my mission foolish?" she asked quietly. Her voice was light and soft, and Isil drew closer to her, touched her with his cursed, careful hands.

The assassin had an ugly mouth and even crueler mind, and any harm Isil could do to him would always be less than a man so vile deserved. Did she truly wish to risk suffering through all that vitriol yet again?

"I cannot say my sentiments have much changed." He held her arm, and the warmth of her skin bled through the leather of her gloves. He could delight in it a hundred times over, and yet of its touch, he would never tire. "He's an assassin, [Name]," he reminded her gently. "His mind is made up."