Page 67 of Secrets of Avalon

I bow my head, heart hammering against my ribs as I attempt a curtsy. But my nerves get the better of me, and I stumble, pitching forward in a graceless tangle of limbs. Heat rushes to my cheeks, but Hawke's strong hands are there, catching me, righting me before I can fall.

My magic stirs, responding to my heightened emotions. More panic grips me—losing control again, in front of the queen, in front of his mother, would be disastrous. I take a shaky breath, trying to center myself, to push the magic back down.

A gentle voice whispers in my mind. Steady, Domina. You are not alone. I am here.

"Thank you," I whisper under my breath, hoping the others will think I'm merely expressing gratitude for Hawke's well-timed catch.

I straighten, meeting the queen's gaze with renewed determination.

The queen approaches. "Please, call me Isolde," she says. His mother’s voice is warm honey, sweet and comforting as she takes my hand in hers. Her skin is soft, her grip gentle but firm, a friendly communication of welcome and acceptance. "Come, Melinda. We have much to discuss, you and I."

With an elegant wave of her hand, Queen Isolde dismisses the men. As they begin to move away, my gaze locks with Hawke's, and I see my own reluctance mirrored in his eyes.

He takes a step towards me, his hand brushing against mine in a gesture that seems both reassuring and longing. "It'll be alright," he murmurs, his fingers intertwining with mine for a brief, precious moment.

I cling to his touch, drawing strength from it, until the last possible second when we have to let go.

Kellan, standing just behind Hawke, looks torn. His brow furrows and he takes half a step forward as if to protest. "Your Majesty," he begins, his voice tight with worry, "perhaps it would be best if?—"

"That will be all, gentlemen," Queen Isolde interrupts smoothly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Kellan's jaw clenches, but he bows stiffly. As he straightens, he catches my eye, his gaze intense. "We'll be close by," he says, the promise clear in his voice.

The men walk away, Hawke casting one last glance over his shoulder. I watch them go, my confidence evaporating and loneliness wrapping around me like a wet blanket.

"Come, dear," she says, patting my arm.

With a deep breath, I follow her through the magnificent doors they just came from.

We step into a sitting room that seems to have been plucked straight from the pages of a fairy tale. Lavish tapestries adorn the walls, their vibrant colors and intricate designs telling stories of love, loss, and triumph. The plush carpets beneath our feet are so thick, so luxurious, it’s like we're walking on clouds.

The air is heady with the fragrance of fresh flowers, their delicate petals arranged in stunning bouquets that grace every available surface. Candles flicker softly, their golden glow casting dancing shadows across the room, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and warmth that wraps around me like a comforting embrace.

From this opulent sanctuary, Queen Isolde guides me into an adjoining bedchamber, the sheer size of which takes my breath away. A room fit for a goddess. Along the far wall, six ladies stand at attention, their smiles radiant and welcoming, their eyes sparkling with excitement and curiosity.

Two of the faces are familiar–Elen and Lydia. My chest heaves a sigh of relief to see them again.

“I sent for your maids, hoping to make you feel more comfortable.”

“Thank you, your majesty. You are… so kind.” I don’t know what to say. Or how to say it.

“Mmmm, call me Isolde, Melinda. We are to be family, are we not?”

I swallow hard and freeze in place. She’s not mad? And she’s not still planning to have Hawke marry Vencia like he’s worried about.

“No, love. I’m not mad. And we’re not going to make our son marry that viper of a woman. We had no idea her character was so lacking.”

I put a hand to my mouth. Did I speak out loud? How? No!

She turns toward me and the corners of her mouth turn up in a teasing smile. “You did say all that out loud.” Her smile widens. “I rather like your forthrightness. It’s refreshing. I’m sure my son appreciates it as well.”

Queen Isolde's words hang in the air, a gentle amusement dancing in her eyes.

Heat rushes to my cheeks as I realize the extent of my verbal blunder.

When I search her face, I find no judgment, no disapproval. Instead, there's a warmth, and a kindness that wraps around me like a soothing balm, easing the tightness in my chest.

"I... I apologize, your majes–Isolde," I stammer, my tongue tripping over the unfamiliar informality. "I didn't mean to speak out of turn."

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