Page 46 of Chosen By the Fae King

“None?” He seemed surprised.

“You didn't know?” I asked tonelessly, fisting a hand in my skirt.

“No.”

Zoriyah smirked, leaning closer to Nox. “Perhaps they left her once they got a look at her. Oh! Or maybe she did away with them. Killed them with her garden hoe. Can you imagine?”

Rage blazed through me, sharp as a blade. I surged to my feet, chair screeching against the floor. Nox's hand on my wrist stopped me from leaping over the table.

“Sit,” he commanded.

Glaring at the bitch still smirking up at me, I shook my head. “I would like to be excused, Your Majesty.”

“I said sit,” he repeated, throwing all his kingly might into it.

Shame heated my face. I was stuck, the king's will trumped my own. I sank back into my chair, avoiding the curious stares of the other candidates as I scooted it forward.

Nox cleared his throat. In my peripheral, a muscle ticked in his jaw, betraying a simmering anger not yet cooled. Slowly, the table eased back into conversation.

I sat there, quietly fuming, trying to collect my dignity. With nothing else to do, I picked up my fork. The delectable food was now ash in my mouth.

“Oh, look at the poor thing,” Zoriyah patronized. “Maybe you should let the little farmer go back to her room. Really, she shouldn’t even be here. Her name wasn't actually drawn. I'm surprised that the captain on horseback didn't kill her. From what I hear she crossed a line with him, one I would never tolerate if I were Queen.”

That captain on horseback. She didn't know it had been Nox.

I was debating what to say when I felt the tip of something sharp poke into the exposed flesh of my thigh. My gaze slid to the king. Something flickered in his eyes. A warning.

Zoriyah snapped her fingers and one of our servers came over to pour more wine. “Her family members could be criminals locked up or on the run. It's a disgrace, really,” she speculated, voice dripping with contempt.

I was incapable of ignoring it a second longer. If Nox wasn't going to stop her vitriol, I had to. It was either that or kill her with my silverware.

Ignoring the king and his dagger, I wiped my mouth, put the napkin on my plate, and regarded the tactless twat across from me. I'd test her in a way I knew she would fail.

“My grandparents,” I spoke evenly, “both sides, were killed fighting for the crown in the Bellwryn War. I believe that war resulted in your family taking much of the wealth from Bellwryn as a reward from the former king.”

I'd learned some things about her family at this dinner. Primarily, Zoriyah's surname was Chancery.

“Like your family didn’t benefit, you cow,” was Zoriyah’s response.

“You’re right. I believe it was the queen's personal secretary who came to my parents to share the news that the only family they had, other than their daughter, was dead. In thanks for their service we’d been awarded a fifteen-acre plot of land in Greenhollow.”

The memory washed over me in waves, bitter and cold.

“Only fifteen?” Nox asked.

“The secretary said any more would be too much for their frail bodies to harvest so he was really doing them a favor. You see, my parents had blood poisoning from working in the armories to help feed weapons to the war machine. They’d handled too much iron. Or inhaled its particles. Both, perhaps, but I don’t really know.”

I dared a glance up, noticing how Nox's jaw clenched at my words. His reaction gave me a spark of satisfaction. At least he wasn't entirely heartless.

“He left and my parents spent the next three years teaching me to grow things while they slowly wasted away.” I stared down at my hands, at the calluses and scars that told their own tale of hardship.

“We grew enough to trade for medicine and a few comforts. But no healers could undo the damage already done. None that we could afford, at least.”

Nox made a low sound in his throat, disgust marring his handsome features. Whether it was directed at me or the kingdom that had failed my family, I couldn't say.

Xerag, the brown-skinned female to the right of Zoriyah, set her goblet down, shaking her head. “How old were you when they died?”

Her question was soft. There was no malice in her tone, only gentle curiosity. She wasn't overtly friendly, but she didn't seem to play the games most of the others enjoyed playing.

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