Page 28 of Wrath of the Never Queen

“Thank you, my king,” I reply quietly. I wonder if wearing the dress of his late wife, whom he executed for cursing their son, was truly the best choice. Before I have time to defend myself, he moves on.

“So.” He sits forward and picks up the gleaming cutlery. His knife is unsettlingly large. “How are you settling into our humble abode?”

I try to push the escape attempt out of my mind.

“Very well, Your Highness,” I reply andpick up my own knife and fork. He looks at me expectantly, and I realise I need to elaborate. “The, uh…facilities are very…magnificent.”

“Indeed?” He chuckles at my obvious struggle with social niceties. “And my son? How are you finding him?”

He stabs his fork into a piece of meat as he speaks. I frown. How much does he know? His face gives nothing away.

“I…do not know him all that well, Your Highness,” I reply hesitantly. “He only called on me last night.”

“Is that right?” the king says evenly.

His expression is mild, but something simmers below the surface. Something I have seen in my father’s face many times. Something I know well. A mixture of entitled rage and disdain. I choose to say nothing. I keep my eyes fixed on my plate, head slightly bowed.

“He took long enough to bed you, did he not?”

Silence.

“I suppose he has done well, as you appear to have learned your place after only one night with him.” He laughs as though he has told an incredible joke. I press my lips together and desperately douse my anger.

“This meal is lovely, my king.” I try to change the topic, taking an enthusiastic bite of my roasted rosemary sparrow. “Thank you again for the invitation.”

“His mother was a bitch, do you know.”

I choke on my sparrow, the meat lodging in my throat.

“I suppose the blame is on me for marrying for love instead of title,” the king continues as though he does not notice my spluttering. “She was beautiful, of course. No doubt about it. But Saints! She was hard work.”

He takes a large swig of his wine as I dislodge the sparrow and frantically blink away the tears springing to my eyes.

“I…” I cough, my throat burning. “I have not heard much of the queen, I admit.”

The king snorts.

“A queen she was not.” He raises his hand and snaps his fingers. The sound cracks through the room. At once, a servant appears with a jug of wine and refills his goblet. “In title, yes, due to me. But in every other way, she never stopped being a commoner.”

I am vaguely aware of this. Aunt Meena never spoke of it, but I heard others in the village speak in hushed tones. It was a great tale of love that happened before I was born—the young, handsome king decided to forgo the many available heiresses in favour of a common girl in Mossgarde. At the time, it had been a great morale boost for the townsfolk. People believed perhaps any one of them would have a chance at riches and comfort someday.

The wedding itself was a grand affairwhich some of the older members of Mossgarde still spoke about, albeit quietly and in private.

“That was the last time I used my heart to make a decision.” The king chews, open-mouthed, and regards me. “What do you know of the curse?”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“True love will break it, Your Highness.”

“No, not that. The curseitself. What thatbitch,” he thumps a meaty fist off the table, rattling the plates and making me flinch, “did to my only heir.”

He looks at me expectantly, lip curled. His eyes are ablaze.

“She cursed him out of spite, Your Highness,” I recall what I have heard in the village and fight hard to keep the tremor out of my voice. He is even closer to me now, leaning forward with his hand still curled in a tight fist. I am painfully aware of how easily he could overpower me.

“Spite, yes!” He spits on the ground in disgust. “She was not just a commoner but amonster. Vindictive. What kind of mother curses her own son?”

He fires out each word with a terrifying poison that makes me want to recoil. I tremble with the effort of remaining composed and upright. Despite the tension in each muscle of my body, readying me to fight or flee, I refuse to cower. The role I had intended to play hasevaporated under the heat of his anger.

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