Page 89 of The Throne's Undoing

"She is fine," the queen said, pressing the wooden cane more firmly against Graeson's sternum, her expression still calm.

Graeson's features twisted, confusion rushing over him as he tried to get his bearings. "I didn't say--"

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug, then dropped it. "You speak in your sleep."

With a narrowed gaze, Graeson pushed the cane away from him.

"Let her rest."

"I need to see her," Graeson argued, throwing the blankets off him.

The queen poked him in the ribcage.

"Ow," Graeson grunted, swatting the cane away. "What was that for?"

"For not listening," Cetia hissed, setting her cane in front of her. Folding her hands on the large emerald globe atop the twisted cane, the queen leaned against it, her long, wrinkled fingers curving around the stone.

"You are not my queen," Graeson grumbled. "I do not need to listen to you."

Cetia arched a brow. "From what I have gathered, you do not listen to your queen, either."

Graeson grunted, and the god within roared.

We do not bow down to rulers who wear makeshift crowns.

Graeson bit down on his tongue, refusing to speak the god's words aloud in the queen's presence. Despite agreeing with the beast within, Graeson did not wish to insult the queen in her own home.

At least not more than he already had.

"I need--" Graeson began, but Cetia cut him off with a quick bop of her cane against his head.

"No, what you need is to face your own problems before you can even think about helping her." She gave him a pointed look.

"I do not have any problems," Graeson argued, rubbing his temple where the emerald bruised his skull.

"Tell me about your father then."

Graeson grew silent.

The queen sniffed. "Ah, see. Silence often speaks louder than words if you dare to listen. And your silence speaks volumes."

Graeson rubbed a hand across his face, and the gold rings he wore were cold on his skin. He sighed.

The chair Cetia sat in creaked as she stood. "I will not force you to speak to me. Ellie told me who your father is, though it comes as no surprise to me. Although you may be similar in many ways, you are not Barinthian. Nor must you be. We are often granted things when we are born that we would have never sought out for ourselves otherwise. Therefore, while you can fight the power that you were born with all you want, you will have to face it sooner or later." She shifted her weight on the cane.

Graeson glared down at the bed, his fingers curling into the sheets. "I have faced it."

Cetia shook her head as she released a heavy, tired sigh. "No, child, you have not. You have only pushed it away. That is not the same. How do you expect to help Kalisandre if you cannot even face your own demons?"

Cetia did not give Graeson a chance to answer before she took her leave.

Then Graeson was left alone in his room, the monster within him stirring.

When Graeson could not returnto sleep a few days later, he found himself wandering the halls. He hadn't known where he was going until he arrived outside the infirmary.

He gripped the wooden door frame, his fingers curling around the pine. It was nearing midnight, and the healers had since disappeared to their rooms further down the hall, leaving only a guard to watch over the lone patient who lay motionless on the thin mattress.

When Graeson had stopped at the room, the guard had immediately raised a brow at him, her fingers twitching at herside near her sheathed sword. But Graeson had never made it past the threshold, his feet remaining in the hall as if an invisible block prevented him from stepping any closer.

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