The Beauty in Pain | Book One of In Pain Trilogy *EDITING*

25. Queen Madeline

Madeline watched as Mynera disappeared behind the cover of the trees. She sat up fully.

"Can't sleep, Your Grace?"

At the very sound of the voice, she stiffened. The cold breeze wafted past her neck, cooling the nape as her thick blond hair fell over one shoulder. She closed her eyes and instantly took a deep breath, as if breathing normally would erase that voice – and him – out of her head and out of her life. Sadly, life never turned out the way she wanted it.

She heard someone shift behind her and that breath she had warming her lungs rushed out with a soft whoosh. She could hear him, coming closer. Madeline stared out into the thickness of the trees even as she felt his smirk weighing on her back before she turned and shot him the deadliest glare she could conjure.

"Leave me be," she hissed. Her voice was a harsh whisper, designed to make him back off. Instead, it seemed to beckon to him and his smirk grew.

"I could sing you to sleep if you'd like."

She'd be damned if she ever gave him the time of day again. Everyday, for weeks riding together on the same damned horse, they've been bickering. Her with her annoyed lashes and him with his noncommittal drawls. She was fed up with this dirty, lying, murderous loot! She hated his dirty, stringy hair. She was tired of his amused blue eyes. She could not stand the way his teeth winked at her whenever he smiled. And to make the iceberg of hatred even bigger, she couldn't bear the thought of him traveling with them for who knew long. She didn't know him, she didn't like him and she didn't trust him. Mynera was a fool for ever thinking he would be of used to them. All he knew how to do was get on Madeline's last nerves.

"Thinking about it, Your Grace?" his voice broke back in.

Madeling felt herself stiffen, but then she bit her lip, easing her anger out with another release of breath. "I don't even want to hear you talk, much less sing to me."

"I beg to differ, Your Grace." Her head whipped around to face him. Under the pale moonlight, he saw a frown mar her features. With a grin, he continued, "If you indeed didn't want me to talk to you, you wouldn't answered me. No, instead you would just ignore me until I gave up and stopped trying to talk to you altogether. I think you secretly, deep down, love hearing my voice."

Madeline felt her cheeks get hot in the face of his knowing grin. She opened her mouth to speak, readying to forget all her manners, everything she had been taught to put this rogue in his place but he raised a finger, cutting her off. His eyebrows raised into the air as he pointed down on a sleeping Hale. "Don't want to wake him," he whispered, that devilish glint in his eyes sparkling at her.

How dare he speak to her like that? She was his queen! He should have more respect, more honour, more sense to know what would happen when she was back in her castle and her son was on the throne. Despite all the layers of grime and awfulness on him, Madeline knew he had some sense lingering underneath all that. Yet, he insists on pestering her this way.

All that and more sprung to the tip of her tongue, ready to be let loose but she held it back. Instead, she got to her feet and made for the treeline.

Her anger and hatred lingered long after she left the two behind. It lingered well after she was among the comforting sound of crickets and the nice feeling of the night's breeze on her face. She stopped her frantic walk and just stood there. Madeline looked down at herself. She took in the dusty clothing, the drab colours and was hit – once again – by the fact that this was who she was now. A fugitive. A fugitive on the run with a son who barely said two words to her unless it was necessary, a girl who she was beginning to believe was stronger than herself, a man who was constantly trying to make everyone feel better in the midst of this terrible situation, and a rogue who she believed was hell bent driving her mad.